Mr. and Mrs. Monster (3 page)

He threw the sheet back and looked at himself. His jutting erection stood out like a flagpole. Well, whatever the dream had been, it had certainly affected him. Grimacing, he stuffed himself into his jeans and, leaving them unbuttoned, headed toward the kitchen and food. Not much of a nap after his shift, but still enough to recharge him. He wasn’t due on till tomorrow night, but he might have to go in and get some paperwork finished. Hopefully a clue would break the case and he could get some interviews done.

After grabbing some chips, he headed for his computer and booted it up. Maybe some of that dream had been real, including Kyla, her link to the victim and his view of the truck that the killer might be driving.

“First off, let’s see what the truck brings us. The back looked different, like it had been modified. So let’s Google. He typed in end gate and body, but came up with nothing so he tried a different word. “Okay, let’s try carcasses. Ah, here we go, Wolf.”

Damien let Wolf nose her way close to the computer as he read the entries.

“Application for rendering vehicle license. Animal carcass disposal plan.” He rubbed Wolf’s ears and smiled down at his partner. “I think we have a eureka here, girl. The truck was modified to carry carcasses—animal and human. Let’s find out where he would have got the truck from.” Damien typed into the computer and grunted when a list of truck dealers in Vegas came through.

“Okay, there’s thirty. That’s not too bad. But how about we even the odds and type in carcass transport? Well, lookee here, girl. We have two. That’s a much better number.”

Printing out the address, he grinned at the computer screen. He’d deal with that tomorrow, but now it was his dream woman’s turn. Typing in Kyla Lykos, he swore, as it returned nothing. Splitting the names up, he tried her last name first. “Lykos, sounds Greek or something.” On a hunch, he typed the name into a Greek translation site to see what it meant.

“Wolf. Lykos means wolf. Great, doesn’t really help us. Hang on, girl. There’s a note at the bottom.” ‘
See mythology 1.’
What could that mean?

Clicking on the link, Damien laughed as it bought up a site on werewolves, lycanthropy and lykos. “Okay, I’ll have a read but it won’t help. Here we go…

“Zeus, as a punishment, turned the first werewolf. He changed his name to Lykos, who was adopted by Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, wild animals and wilderness, as her guard. Artemis then turned another wolf, this one female, and the two wolves bred.”

Damien jolted as his partner bumped the computer, almost knocking it off. “Whoa there. You don’t want to knock the computer off the desk. It’s not like I can even afford this one.”

Ignoring her, he kept reading and sniggering until he hit on a phrase about Artemis’ Chief Captain. “The current Captain of Artemis’ guards is a tall wolf woman with cunning in her silver eyes and a cursed streak of silver. Jesus, that’s my dream woman.”

Reading on, he burst out laughing as he finally ran across the name he’d been looking for. “Ky-la was her name. There is no record of her birth, but she was noted for serving Artemis from the eighth century. What? How old would that make her? Well, my woman isn’t freeze-dried, so it’s not her. Could be that she’s a descendent, though.”

Shrugging, he turned off the computer and headed back to the bedroom. Maybe he’d dream of his wolf woman again before interviewing the truck dealers tomorrow.

* * * *

Kyla followed behind Damien as he entered the office of O’Halloran’s Truck Dealers that afternoon. This was the first on their two-name list of modified truck sellers. Damn the man. He’d remembered both dreams and her name and Googled her. But what did she get? A smartass, he’d laughed at her—her, the Captain of the Guard. The Bringer of Justice, the…the… She was so angry that the word she needed evaporated. No one laughed at her and besides, she wasn’t that old in the scheme of things, was she?

She shook her shaggy head in disgust at her partner and focused on her surroundings. The office was small but the lot held over twenty trucks. Maybe their guy got the truck from here?

“I’m with Las Vegas P.D. I’m wondering if you could answer a few of my questions.” Damien flashed his ID at the salesman.

“Ah, sure. What can I help you with, Officer?”

“We’re trying to track down a truck you may have sold or had modified in the last month. One for carcass transport.”

The man indicated the trucks lined up outside the building. “Sorry. Most of my trucks are for normal transport. We have a couple modified trucks for animal carrying, but we haven’t sold any in months.”

Damien stared straight in the eyes of the man in front of him. “What about having trucks bought elsewhere modified by your mechanic. You do that?”

“Nope. Not me. We sell trucks here. Don’t do alterations. You could try Mason’s, down the road. They sell trucks and do modifications as well.”

Damien backed off and nodded his thanks. With his hand on his partner’s head, he backtracked and moved down the road in the direction the truck dealer had indicated. “Let’s try the second dealer and see what we can sniff out, okay?”

* * * *

“Look, Officer, I run a legit business here. I don’t want no trouble.”

Kyla bared her teeth. The stink of sweaty lies oozed from his pores. Easing closer, she extended her muzzle gently and gauged if he’d been near their perp. Damien glanced down at her, and she shook her head in a toothy no. Her partner might not consciously know who she was, but he always seemed to know what she was thinking.

“We aren’t here to give you trouble. We just need to know if you sold any modified trucks for carcass carrying.”

“I can get you the names. We sold one and had another brought in for modifications a couple weeks ago. But you’ll have to speak to the mechanic on that.” The man wiped his hand over his close-cropped gray hair, smiling nervously. “He’s over at the garage behind us.”

Damian growled his thanks and motioned for Kyla to head out. “Well, girl. He seemed a bit nervous. Wonder what he’s hiding?”

Kyla ignored Damien and padded toward the short figure standing next to an old truck in front of a garage. Damian hurried to join her.

“Hi, there.” Damian tucked his hands into his pockets and took up a casual pose. “Just talked to your boss and he said you could help us. We’re looking for a guy who may have just bought in a truck to be modified? Know anyone?”

The mechanic straightened and faced Kyla, rather than Damian. His fear wafted over her in a strong pungent scent that grabbed hold of her senses and screamed.

“Yeah, a guy came in two weeks ago with an old truck he wanted fixed so he could carry animals.”

“How’s about a name?”

“Look, buddy. All I know is he’s a big guy with blond hair and he paid me cash up front. That’s all I care about. Why don’t you check the Animal Licensing Bureau? He had a license, so I did the modifications. That’s all.”

Kyla twitched as his scent grew thicker. This guy was lying. Whoever the man was, he hadn’t had a license. Bumping against Damien’s leg, she tried to tell him with her eyes that he was lying.

Damian leaned in and growled, “Whatever side thing you got going, I don’t care. I just want the name of the man.”

“I was busy, you know. And I didn’t bother to check his license. He knew his stuff about the business. Knew he needed the truck modified and a special place to store and render down the animals. Told me about the sweet deal on property he’d found. He didn’t tell me his name, but when he answered his mobile, he said a name. Maybe it was him?”

“What was it?”

“Called himself Actaeon. Weird name, but it’s not as if you can choose them, can ya? Um, can I go now?”

Damien nodded absently. He always had a blank look when he concentrated hard on a case—on how the puzzle fitted together. She liked the fact he obsessed until he had the right answer. As for their shared case, Actaeon was a weird name and not one she’d heard before. This case wasn’t the slam-dunk she thought it would be. Then again, she was always up for the challenge of something new. She just hoped that Damien was too.

Chapter Three

Kyla watched as Damien settled in behind his desk. He wasn’t high enough up the food chain to warrant his own office, but he sat in a relatively quiet spot of the station, especially early in the evening. She chafed at the delay in tracking down licenses and addresses, but her scenting abilities were letting her down. Normally, this case would have been wrapped up, and she’d be back in the compound training the puppies again. But nothing about this case was normal and the perp obviously wasn’t human. He had way too much classified info to be mortal. More likely, he was an Otherworld, maybe even a Lykos. If true, he’d be shown no mercy. He was already dead and just didn’t know it yet.

“You ready to track down this bastard?” Damien grinned down at her. “Okay, let’s run a search on recent licenses for the rendering and transportation of animal carcasses.”

Ignoring Damien as he typed furiously, she eased herself into a prone position. It was a wasted job. This killer wasn’t on any database. He probably didn’t own a current driver’s license. He wasn’t going to find anything…

“No current licenses, but don’t stress, Wolf. We’ll find this bastard. How about we try for licensed warehouses on current and previously used buildings?”

Fighting the urge to scratch, she fervently hoped she hadn’t picked up anything from the other canine units. She’d never live that down at the compound.

“Damn, nothing on current. Last shot at old buildings.”

Her vision wavered as her adrenaline spiked.
What the hell?
Pain sliced into her head like a butcher’s knife, dicing her mind until red heat stifled her and pounded in her skull. Slowly, it formed into a voice that compelled her obedience.

Kyla… Trouble… Recall.

A whimper escaped her as the pain retreated abruptly. She noticed hazily that Damien had stopped typing to rub her ears.

“You okay there, girl? Time for a toilet trip?”

Kyla fought the need to nip him on the ankle. Toilet trip, indeed. What she needed was to get back to the casino. Artie had sent her a message in her own painfully adept way. There was one reason she’d be pulled off an undercover job and that was another murder—on her turf.

She waited until Damien was busy typing, then Kyla eased up on all fours and pulled back so the edge of the desk hid her from view. If she could get to the door that led to the armory and garage, someone would let her out. Damien wouldn’t worry too much. He knew she was independent and could look after herself.

Damien hadn’t found anything, so he couldn’t get into any trouble without her. She slinked to the door and issued a soft whine to the man standing next to the water cooler. He barely registered her and just held the door open. Just what she needed. These men were used to Damien taking her everywhere now.

She passed the armory and made for the garage and the mechanic working there.

He was a plant of their own and highly susceptible to her mental commands. She nosed his grease-slicked palms and he stiffened as she shot a mental order to let her out. Kyla grinned as her informant opened the door and she turned to speed her way through the back streets to the casino. It didn’t matter whether a male was human or wolf. Train them right and they’ll follow orders—just the way she liked it.

* * * *

“Well, well. We didn’t find any current license, but a previously used, condemned building would fit the bill perfectly. Don’t you think, girl?”

Damien looked down with a pleased grin, but his gaze met plain floors instead of his canine companion. “Where are you, girl?”

Looking around the large office space, he spotted the slightly ajar door to the garage and armory. She must have headed out for a toilet trip after all. She disappeared every now and then, but always came back safely. He had a suspicion the mechanic in the garage slipped her snacks. Cool with him. Wolf had a mind of her own and would come back when she was ready. Meanwhile, he could at least do a drive-by and check this place out. If Wolf was on a toilet trip, it wasn’t worth disturbing her. The last time he’d done that, she’d taken a large chunk out of his jacket, and he didn’t want to replace another suit.

* * * *

The warehouse, of course, would sit in the older, darker part of town. The building didn’t need to be razed. It would fall down on its own. The windows were all intact, but so coated with years of dirt and grime just vague outlines were visible. The entire place had a disheveled and desperate air to it, like a person who has lived too long and hard. Whatever color once plastered the front of the building was now faded. He was starting to regret his decision to stop instead of just driving past. Wolf would have come in handy. She could have sniffed around for a trail.

Damien shrugged and moved closer to the window again, his piece ready. The perp was probably long gone, but it didn’t hurt to be ready. He trailed around the side of the building, keeping low in front of the windows. Not that anyone would see with all the dirt and the night sky.

He’d checked the doors at the front and the side, but all were locked. There should be a service entrance at the back, and the doors there may have been forgotten. Reaching the delivery bay, Damien grabbed the handle of the small door nearest him and twisted, expecting to feel the resistance of a lock, except it turned without issue.

“We have a winner.” He eased the door open and went in low to the floor, making himself less of a target. The inside hadn’t fared any better than the outside. Large cooking vats and tanks had been turned over and foul-mouthed graffiti artists had tagged all over the walls. Most of the writing was unreadable, especially in the gloom of early evening. The concrete floor had God knew what stains on it and the smell of a damp and musty interior sucked its way into his nostrils. Damien concentrated on that smell. It left a taint on the senses. A scent that he’d smelled before…