Page 181 of White Wolf

“Let him do what?”

“He was gonna strangle you!” He slapped the dash with both hands, breathing hard through his mouth. It was too dark to see in the car, but she knew the veins in his temples and sides of his neck would be standing out, throwing shadows.

Christ, don’t let him rupture something, she thought, remembering the tumor, the coffee churning in her stomach.

“He wasn’t,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “He wouldn’t–”

“You don’t know,” he cut her off savagely. “You don’t have a fucking clue what he would or wouldn’t do. You don’t know him, Trina. You don’t even know if he’s related to you.”

“He looks like my dad did when he was young. I’ve shown you the pictures. You know I’m right.”

He turned to her finally, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. When his gaze landed on her, she realized he was even angrier and more frightened than she thought. Desperate, more like. About to fly to pieces.

“What’s happened to you?” he fumed. “You don’t buy into weird shit. You don’t trust strangers. And you sure as shit don’t invite them to help with our cases. You’re a good cop, and I ain’t ever seen anybody pull one over on you. This isn’tyou, Trina.”

She bit her lip to keep her immediate retort at bay. No, nobody ever pulled one over on her – and Nikita certainly wasn’t going to be the first to do so. But she recognized the craziness of this scenario.

She took a deep breath. “Except that itisme. Weird shit’s going on, and this is me handling it.”

He panted, chest heaving.

She reached across the armrest for him. “Lanny–”

He snatched her hand, gripped it hard in his, tight enough she could feel the bones shift together. “It’s notfair,” he said. “I don’t have – I don’t have long. And I – I don’t want to – I don’t wanna deal with this shit! I don’t! I just wanted things to be normal. I wanted us to…” He looked down at their joined hands and eased his grip, thumb stroking over her knuckles.

Trina felt something cold settle in her belly. “Normal?” she asked, quietly. “You mean, where you go out drinking and having anonymous hookups in bathrooms? And your mom invites me to Thanksgiving, and you keep whatever you think about me – about us – to yourself?”

His hand tightened again, but not as tight as before. “Trina.”

She swallowed hard. “I love you,” she said, and the admission felt like cutting herself open, letting him see her naked. “And I think you know that.” She could stop there. Lean across the armrest and take his face in his hands, feel the hot, hard shape of his jaw against her palms. Press her lips to his and taste bourbon, and regret, and desperation.

“But,” she said instead. “I wish you didn’t have to wait until you were dying to figure out you love me too.”

It was the truth, but it was the wrong thing to say. He blinked at her, processing the words, and then she saw how carefully and delicately his walls had been built, because she saw them fall, crumbling away like wet papier-mâché.

She caught the fast glint of tears in his eyes before he turned away from her and popped the car door. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Uh-huh.”

“Lanny, wait–”

But he didn’t, striding off across the parking lot.

~*~

She decided to let him cool off. It wasn’t their first, or even their most volatile argument, but it was the worst. The only one that had made her want to cry.

She went into the precinct and snagged an empty conference room, papered the long table with files…and then went to fetch more.

There wasn’t a pattern, not like with a serial killer. But there were things she noticed. Abnormalities inexplicable by human standards.

Four months ago: A young woman found dead in the alley of a pub, throat torn open, body drained of blood.

Three months ago: Two teenage boys found in the same condition, after hours, in the gym of their school. The janitor discovered their bodies when he made his morning rounds, upon which he found the exterior door of the gym forced open, the door framebent.

Two months ago: A bloodless bodega clerk slumped over his counter, called in by a would-be customer.

Just two weeks ago: An elderly woman on her own balcony. She’d been “taking the air” her husband said.

Trina wondered how many others there were, homeless or living in bad neighborhoods, where the murders hadn’t been reported.

---