“I never let spoiled brats get to me,” I said.
O’Donnell chuckled and pulled out tangled cords. He motioned me to come forward. I struggled to sit still while the agent strapped various things to my body that would look more appropriate in a sci-fi movie.
“Why do they bother with this machine when you can scent a lie from the truth?” I asked.
“The SRD trust a Shifter over technology?” His tone was incredulous, like he couldn’t believe I’d ask such a question.
Tucker flung the door open and glared at the old man. A coyote slipped in the room after Tucker. The younger agent turned his sour look on the animal familiar. The coyote spared me a quick glance and curled up at O’Donnell’s feet. The old man leaned back in his chair, smiling.
“Is she ready?” Tucker spat.
O’Donnell nodded instead of speaking.
Tucker grabbed a chair, flipped it around and sat backward on it, placing his face a mere foot from mine. He’d probably seen the move on a cop television show and thought it looked tough. I was unimpressed.
“Let’s get started shall we.” His expression was entirely too eager for my liking.
****
About an hour into the interview, I regretted my decision to look professional. I would give anything to trade my high heels for flip flops and the skirt for jogging pants. The chair made my butt sweat. As for the questions, they weren’t difficult. I kept excellent records and provided Tucker with a printout of all my contracts for my entire career—not just the last two years. Tucker looked like he swallowed something foul tasting. He’d given up on his tough guy act forty minutes ago.
“Are there any kills you have made in the last two years that are not on this list?”
Thankful that he had specified the last two years, I smiled and leaned in. “For the third time, no.”
Tucker bowed his head down into his folded arms and sighed.
“Agent Tucker, are we done here? I’ve more than accounted for my past activities, and unless I’m mistaken, I’ve passed your lie detector test with flying colours.”
O’Donnell smiled.
“We’re done when I say we’re done,” Tucker grumbled.
Great.
“What are you?” he whispered.
“Excuse me?”
Tucker looked up, a determined sparkle in his eyes. “You heard me. What are you?”
“I hardly see what that…”
“It has everything to do with this and will affect whether you are prosecuted or whether you’ll be reinstated as an agent with the SRD.”
Well damn. “Human,” I said.
Tucker laughed. It sounded hollow and forced. “You’re pressing your luck, Andrea.”
This man was not winning any personality awards. “A Shifter,” I breathed.
O’Donnell’s head snapped up at the same time as Tucker’s. The old man’s nose flared as he scented the air. A deep ridge formed between his eyebrows as he frowned.
Tucker turned to O’Donnell and stared, his mouth forming a hard straight line.
Without checking the machine, O’Donnell spoke. “She speaks the truth.” His voice expressed his disbelief.
Tucker’s face scrunched up. “That makes no sense. There were different animal wounds on your kills.”
I shrugged, going for nonchalance when all I felt inside was twisted panic.
“You smell of the forest,” O’Donnell whispered. He said it to himself as if it made sense.
“What was that, old man?” Tucker asked.
“Nothing,” O’Donnell mumbled.
When Tucker turned back to me, I struggled to keep my face blank. It must’ve worked because the young agent scowled.
“Where’s your fera?”
My knees banged against the table and my right elbow broke my fall as I leapt across the desk—the injuries mere flea bites in comparison to what raged inside my head. There was no chance to consider the ramifications of my actions. I strained forward and ignored the pain from the machine straps and chords ripping off my skin.
Tucker’s soft neck squished between my hands. I increased the pressure. No norm asked about feras nowadays. None. Not if the valued their lives. Shifters had been the hardest hit after the Purge. Every dumbass redneck who owned a gun ran out and used feras for target practice. So many died in the first years of the purge that they nicknamed the time the Shifter Shankings. I’d been born in the middle of those turbulent years and always assumed my birth parents had been two of the casualties. Why else would I be put up for adoption?
I squeezed harder, enjoying how Tucker’s eyes bulged.
The door banged open and Agent Booth stepped in.
“Agent McNeilly stand down,” she commanded. “Release Agent Tucker.”