Under the Skin (Ritual Crime Unit) (11 page)

A couple more seconds of resentful squirming, and he cracked.

“Look, I didn’t kill anybody,” he said. “They just gave me the skin and told me to keep you out of the way. I don’t
know
why they picked your mate! He was probably just there. They needed somebody police so you would listen to them.”

‘Probably just there.’ Hell of an epitaph for a good man who’d died far too young and in the most horrible way. Had he been alive when the skinbinder had—No. Don’t think about it.

“Who’s ‘they’?” she demanded.

“I don’t know, do I?” he said with as much of a jerky shrug as he could manage. “Bunch of blokes from some company doing research into all that ritual shit. I didn’t go round asking people’s names. A mate of mine got me some work with them before—driving vans, unloading stuff after dark, that kind of shit. I didn’t have anything to do with the magic side of it. That was all that freak Sebastian’s job.”

“The skinbinder.” A private company, conducting their own research into binding human skins... then where did Maitland fit in? What about the government dog that had come after her?

“I don’t know anything about that kind of shit,” he repeated, and rattled the cuffs. “Look, can you get these things off of me?” he whined. “My hands are on fire!”

“Not yet, they’re not,” she said, without the smallest pang of sympathy. “This company you were working for—what were they called?”

“I don’t know!” he said. “Just one of those stupid business-speak names that doesn’t mean anything. Sole... solutions? Something like that.”

The van she’d seen parked outside. “Solomon Solutions?”

“Yeah, that’s it. They’ve got a place just up the road.” He jerked his head. “Look, that’s seriously all I know, all right? Now get these fucking cuffs off me before—”

The door rattled. Pierce spun to look, shielding her eyes against the bright beams of the headlights that shone in from outside as it swung open.

She wasn’t really surprised to see who stepped in.

“Maitland,” she said grimly.

“DCI Pierce.” He inclined his head. “Do I trust, now, that you finally believe the two of us are on the same side?”

Pierce still wasn’t convinced he was on anyone’s side but his own. She stayed silent as a number of men in dark clothes followed him in.

“We’ll take custody of the prisoner from here,” he said.

“And then what?” she demanded, standing her ground. “He’ll just disappear? He’s involved in the murder of one of my men!”

“An unfortunate incident that would never have happened if you’d done as you were asked—
ordered
, in fact—and avoided any further involvement in this case.”

The cool statement was enough to gut her like a knife, laced with just enough plausibility to keep her up at night. Would Tim still be alive if she hadn’t pursued this?

Pierce took a deep breath and then let it out. “Well, I’m involved now,” she said. “So I guess it’s a little bit late for regrets.”

“Quite so,” he said, and gave a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve certainly followed the trail with impressive persistence. But now that we’ve learned where our targets are based, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside and let my team work.” He narrowed his eyes. “In fact, given your track record with following requests, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” He turned to address his men. “Remove the prisoner, and have her cuffed in his place. Standard cuffs—keep the silver ones on the shapeshifter.”

“Hey, no way!” the shifter blurted, struggling in vain against Maitland’s men as they pulled him away from the pillar. “I want these fucking things off me!”

Maitland ignored him, turning back to Pierce. “If you please,” he said, inclining his head towards the pillar. She knew the seemingly polite request would soon change tenor if she disobeyed. With a glower, she wrapped her arms around the pillar and allowed herself to be cuffed in place.

“Take her car keys. And her phone,” he directed his men. She tensed as brusque, impersonal hands pattered her over, removing the offending items from her pockets.

“You’ll be released when the skinbinder is secured,” Maitland told her. “Until then, I’m afraid, it’s just too much of a risk to let you run free.” He dipped his head, though he didn’t look the least bit sorry. “My apologies, but you brought this on yourself.”

Pierce scowled, but kept her mouth shut; there was nothing she could say that would make him change his mind, and plenty that would get her in worse trouble.

The captive shapeshifter protested as he was hauled towards the door. “Hey, wait, that bitch is the only one who can get these fucking cuffs off! I’ve got second degree burns here. This is police brutality! I’ll sue!”

Maitland turned to her and raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Just how much danger is he in from wearing those?” he asked.

“Might get a skin rash,” she said, with as much of a shrug as she could make while handcuffed to the pillar. “Maybe some minor blisters. It’s just silver burn—so far as we know, it’s completely harmless.”

The shapeshifter’s furious explosion of swearing as he was dragged away provided a small spot of consolation in what was otherwise a deeply shitty day.

CHAPTER TEN

B
EING CUFFED TO
a concrete pillar hadn’t started out much fun, and it only got less comfortable with time. It was cold inside the unit, and almost pitch black, only the crack of light creeping under the door breaking the illusion of an airtight space. The scent of rot she’d noticed earlier was fainter but still there, and her stomach rolled as she realised it must be the smell of the decaying skin.

Tim’s
skin. Now that she was alone in the dark with nothing to do except wait, it was impossible to maintain the professional detachment she’d held onto until now.

Christ. Tim, dead. Tim, who they’d teased for being the baby of the office, who’d still carried his spare clothes into work in the battered old backpack that he’d worn to school. Tim, who bought stupid fancy coffee because he didn’t like tea—who’d ever heard of a copper who didn’t like tea?—and fixed the computers for the rest of the office when the updates clogged the system.

That goofy kid, who hadn’t even been born when she first joined the police force, dead and skinned to make some idiot a useless disguise. Pierce tried to rub her eyes with her arm, aware that Maitland’s men might come back in at any moment, but in the dark the tears leaked nonetheless.

The minutes ticked past. There was no way to tell how long it had been; she couldn’t move her arms round far enough to look at her watch, and the unchanging darkness gave her no clue. She was able to slide the cuffs far enough down the pillar to sit on the floor, but it was far from comfortable, and the cold concrete only made her more aware of all her aches and bruises.

Was anyone still outside, or had they left her here to rot? Only pride stifled the impulse to thump and shout and demand an answer. Maitland had to come back for her sooner or later. If he wanted her dead, he’d have had her killed directly, not left her to a slow death in a place where she could easily be found.

Of course, that assumed he and his men hadn’t all been killed by the skinbinder. Pierce counted seconds, making bargains with herself. She could wait a few more minutes before shouting for help. She could wait another couple after that...

An unknown eternity passed before she heard the sound of a car engine approaching. She pushed herself up from the floor, stiff muscles aching in protest. Her heart beat fast. Were they coming to let her out... or to dispose of her now she was no longer needed? In handcuffs, there was nothing she could do to fight back. She took a slow, deep breath, determined not to let her trepidation show.

The door creaked open, and a dazzling torch beam lit the space. She flinched despite herself, her eyes streaming in the sudden brightness. She squinted uselessly, unable to even raise an arm to shield them.

“Claire?” The low whisper of her first name made her jolt in surprise. Not many people used it—she was always ‘Guv’ to her team, ‘DCI Pierce’ to most others; only a few longstanding colleagues were on first name terms.

And she recognised that gruff voice even at a muted whisper. “Leo?” she said in disbelief, trying to blink her eyes clear.

“It’s me,” he said, stepping forward to play the torch beam over the pillar she was chained to. “Are those your handcuffs?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Do they look like silver to you?” she shot back, before paranoia reminded her he might have good reason to care. She tensed. “Prove that you’re really Leo Grey.”

“What?” The way that his brow crinkled almost seemed like confirmation; an impostor would know why she was so wary. But that was wishful thinking—she needed proof.

And that bastard Maitland had taken the silver cuffs she could have used to test him.

But maybe that wasn’t the only silver around. “Got your silver bullets with you?” she asked.

“I brought my Glock and the rest of the silver-points,” he said with a curt nod. “And I’d damn well better get your signature on the paperwork to say you authorised it, because I’m taking your word that the chain of command is compromised.”

“Could be far more compromised than I was guessing,” she said. God, if they’d got to Tim, who else? “Get one of the bullets out and show it to me.”

Leo shook his head, more in bemusement than refusal. “This isn’t the best way to convince me that you’re not losing it,” he warned, but he stepped back and turned away to draw his gun, releasing the magazine with a click. He pushed the topmost round out from the stack, holding it up between his thumb and finger. Even in the half-light, she could recognise the anti-shapeshifter rounds they used, customised hollow-points with cast silver tips. “Satisfied?” he said.

It was only a small amount of silver, but he held it with bare fingers, showing no sign of discomfort. And besides, he sounded a hell of a lot more like Leo than the shifter had been able to impersonate Tim. Pierce let out her breath in a rush and sagged against the pillar.

“All right. I’ll believe you’re you. Now please just tell me you’ve got a cuff key with you.”

He reholstered the gun and drew his key to let her out. Her arms felt numb and heavy now that they were finally released from the restraints.

“Okay. You want to tell me what that was about?” he asked as she stretched stiffly, massaging her wrists.

“Short version? Shapeshifters in human skins.”

Leo frowned. “Thought that was impossible?”

“That’s what we thought, but it looks like we’re behind the times. I saw it with my own eyes.” Despite her best efforts the repressed tears leaked into her voice. “They killed Tim.”

It took him a moment. “Your Tim? Cable?”

Pierce nodded, and drew a slow steadying breath. She could fall apart when she got home; right now there was work to do.

“They made a skin of him and used it like a puppet,” she said, her fury boiling up as she spoke the obscenity out loud. It gave her a fresh surge of strength and determination after the depression of the dark. “It was falling apart by the time I saw it, but maybe they were just rushed for time. We have to assume they can make skins that allow for a perfect impersonation.”

“That’s not good,” he said, and she barely smothered a painful snort of laughter at the understatement.

“No, it’s not. Maitland and his gang went to apprehend the skinbinder, but I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them. I don’t even know if they’ve managed to find him. They were supposed to be coming back for me, and that was—” She checked her watch and shook her head, uncertain. “A while back.” She focused on Leo, wondering for the first time how he’d even known to look for her here. “How did you find me?”

“You told me I should ask your team,” he reminded her. “I called Sympathetic Magic, had them put a trace on you.” He cocked his head in response to her look. “That not what you meant?”

“Smarter than what I meant. We might still have a chance to catch up to Maitland, if he hasn’t just decided to leave me here for dead. Did you pass a place called Solomon Solutions on your way here?”

A quick search on Leo’s phone revealed a suspicious lack of internet presence for any local company by that name. But she’d seen the logo on the van, which was at least proof that some kind of front existed.