Shade Chaser (City of Crows 2) by Clara Coulson

Author:Clara Coulson [Coulson, Clara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knite and Day Publishing
Published: 2016-12-08T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

My trip to the fifth floor isn’t supposed to be a walk of shame.

But since God loves to laugh at me…

After I let Cooper out near the cafeteria, so he can grab some lunch, I arrive at the floor where I usually work. There’s no one marching through the halls, like I would expect this time of day, so I saunter down to Riker’s office unhindered. Only to find said office empty.

The desk, which Ella has been helping the captain clean up for the past few weeks, has finally been cleared of the massive paper and folder stacks that used to decorate every available inch. To my surprise, I also spot Riker’s pain medication, the little orange bottle lined up with a stapler and a box of paper clips. I’m not sure how Ella’s been coaching the captain out of his depression, but Marcus was at least partially correct back at Jameson’s.

The old Captain Riker is returning at last.

I close the office door and backtrack down the hallway, wondering where the heck everyone is. Navarro didn’t mention there was a task meeting in a progress, but it’s possible Riker, or maybe Commissioner Bollinger, called one at the last minute.

With that in mind, I turn the corner and head toward the opposite wing of the Criminal Investigations Division. As I’m passing the row of elevators again, the one on the far left dings, and the doors open when I’m right in front of the box.

A shaggy-haired man in his early thirties stands inside, texting something on his phone. He hits send and looks up to see me staring at him. I’m staring at him because he’s definitely not DSI, dressed in ratty jeans, worn rubber snow boots, and a camo hunting coat that has seen better days.

Blinking at me, like he wasn’t expecting any DSI agents to meet him on a floor of the DSI building, he stuffs his phone in a coat pocket and says, “Oh, hello there. I didn’t realize they’d send someone to greet me…”

Confusion crosses his face, and his lips twist into a frown. He examines me closely, gaze lingering on the stark white bandages that poke out of my sleeves and collar, the bruising and swelling on my face and neck, the obvious lean to my posture, favoring the leg with the less serious bone fracture. I don’t know who this man is, but he figures out who I am in about six seconds. And then, so much color drains from his face that he’d probably turn invisible if he jumped into a snowdrift.

“Christ,” he says. “Are you Cal Kinsey? The kidnap victim?”

I almost cross my arms, but the motion jars a couple ribs, so I drop my hands to my sides. “Yeah, that’s me. Who the heck are you?”

“Vincent Wallace.” He exits the elevator with slow, careful steps, like he’s afraid the lightest shift of air might blow me to pieces. “Representative of the United Lycanthrope Congress, Eighth District of Michigan—Aurora.”

Every aching muscle in my body tenses simultaneously.

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