Page 10 of Wicche Hunt

“That one,” I said, pointing over the detective’s shoulder, “is not your friend. She’s an asshole.”

“Too bad,” Declan rumbled. “I’d have enjoyed watching you lay her out.”

“Me too,” I groused.

“Hop in,” he said. “Let’s get you home and fed.”

“Thank you,” the detective said. “I’m sorry about—well—all that.”

“Not your fault,” I said, pulling myself back into the cab.

Before Declan could pull away, though, another familiar vehicle parked right in front of us. Detective Osso stepped out of his SUV. He nodded to Declan and then came to my open window. Osso was a bear shifter. He was almost as tall as Declan but even broader across the shoulders. He was a dark-skinned Black man who wore a perpetual look of annoyance.

“Ms. Corey, as long as you’re here, I could use your help.”

“No, no, no,” I muttered, rolling up the window.

He laid his hand on the top edge of the glass and stopped it. Stupid strong shifter.

“Ms. Corey,” he said disapprovingly.

Hernández patted his arm. They often worked together and though she was fully human, she knew that the rest of us weren’t. She gestured to the coroner’s office. “Joyce switched corpses on Arwyn, so she had to do two readings on women who’d been strangled. Her voice is just now starting to sound like itself. She’s already been through a lot tonight.”

“Landscombe’s on duty? Damn.” Patting the glass, he said, “I’m sorry she did that to you. If you’re not up to it, that’s okay.” He paused. “There’s just something about this lady. It makes no sense. And she’s got this big grieving family, calling me every half hour for an update. I’ve got nothing for them, so I notified the coroner’s office I was coming in to see her. I need to tell her family something. They’re heartbroken.”

I sighed and Declan patted my knee. He knew I was going to go back in.Damn it. I grabbed the backpack and opened the door.

“You should be ashamed,” Hernández murmured.

Osso shrugged. “It got her out of the truck.”

I trudged past the detectives. “You two both suck.”

Osso moved ahead, tried the locked door, and then knocked, his wedding ring pinging loudly off the glass.

Landscombe stuck her head out the door and looked down the hall.

“I can’t believe you knocked her chair out from under her,” Hernández whispered to me.

“I’d have paid to see that,” Osso rumbled.

“Can you check to make sure it’s the right body?” I asked him. “I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. She’s a snotty bitch who has a lazy doctor working under her. I called it out and now her ego demands that she bring me low. I’ll do this for you, but you have to keep her away from me.”

“Done,” Osso said. “It helps that she’s afraid of me.”

The doc looked pissed, but she pushed open the door. “Yes?”

“I need to see my victim and any report that may have been generated,” Osso said, voice deep and commanding.

“Reports are available in the secured database. I believe you know that, Detective.” She wasn’t giving any ground.

“I do,” he said. “As of ten minutes ago, it hadn’t been uploaded, though, so I’d like to see my victim again and see if there are any preliminary findings.”

She didn’t let him in, though. She stared around him at me. “Why is she back? I don’t want her in my morgue.”

Osso nodded gravely. “I can understand that. No one enjoys their errors being brought to light.” Before she could respond, he went on, “Regardless, Ms. Corey is consulting on this case. Now,” he said, stepping forward and forcing her back, “we won’t trouble you any. We just need to see Magdalena Lopez’s body.”

Landscombe was clearly torn and pissed off. Osso had a right to see the victim. She didn’t want me in her facility, but the way Osso conducted his investigation was not hers to oversee. After a moment, she stepped aside, telling him the victim was in the exam room, second door on the left.

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