Skin Trade(133)

I wanted to argue, and might have, but Thomas said, “Sorry to interrupt, but if I’m leaving patrol, I need to get you guys to the station, then get back.”

“We’re coming,” Edward called. He still had my arm. “Do you need to call Jean-Claude now?”

I shook my head. “It can wait. We’ve lost enough time.”

He looked at me a moment longer; I met his eyes clear and straight. He let go of my arm and stepped back, then turned back to Thomas all smiles. “Sorry, Thomas, didn’t mean to keep you.”

“It’s okay, but I gotta answer to my supervisor, you know?”

“We know,” I said. Actually, we didn’t. One of the reasons the U.S.

Marshals Service didn’t like having us on their team was that we’d be grafted on without any extra support staff. Bascially, we were marshals, but we didn’t have to answer to their hierarchy much. The preternatural branch was almost a law unto itself. While the other marshals were filling out tons of paperwork every time they fired their guns in the line of duty, we were blowing people away with no paperwork required. Our warrants of execution were the only paperwork. They’d experimented with having some of us do reports, but the details were so grim, so disturbing, that some suit up the line decided the Marshals Service wasn’t sure it wanted the preternatural branch’s exploits immortalized on paper. In normal police work, reports are supposed to cover your ass, but sometimes when it’s really bad, they can be used against you later. We’d never had to do reports before, and so far still didn’t. That might change, but for now, it was a sort of don’t ask, don’t tell policy.

I sat in the back of the squad car musing on what it meant to have a badge when your job description hadn’t changed. We were assassins. Legal, government-sanctioned assassins. Some of us tried to be good marshals, but in the end, the other marshals saved lives, and all we did was take them. In the end, all the badges in the world didn’t change what we were and what we did. I rode through the darkened city until light hit and I saw the Strip rising over the buildings like some force of nature glowing against the night. We weren’t headed that way, but I knew it was there, like being able to feel the ocean even though you can’t see it.

Thomas drove us away from the bright lights, and that was about how I felt tonight, like I was getting pushed further from the light, further from what it meant to be human, further from who I thought I was and who I thought I’d be. I sat in the back letting Edward’s and Thomas’s soft voices wash over me. They were talking shop; all cops do it. Talk about crime or women, and with me in the car, they wouldn’t do that. Edward would see to it, and Thomas would still be on his best behavior.

I sat there and let my confusion wash over me until it was a kind of depression. I didn’t know how to be a good cop and a good monster at the same time. My two worlds were beginning to clash, and I had no idea how to stop it.





51




EDWARD AND I got to flash badges and go down the corridor that held the interrogation rooms, but we heard the argument from around the corner. I recognized Bernardo’s voice and that of another man. I caught words: “How do you know… You can’t let her go… Why not?”

We came around the corner to find Detective Ed Morgan arguing with Bernardo. I hadn’t realized that Morgan was a little under six feet until I saw him next to the very six feet of Bernardo. Always harder to get up in someone’s face if you have to look up at them, but Morgan was trying. Olaf was leaning against the wall, slouching so he didn’t tower over everyone, looking bored.

Morgan turned on us like a storm looking for somewhere to fall. He pointed a finger at us. “You know something that you’re not telling us about Paula Chu.”

“We just got here,” I said. “We don’t even know what the fight’s about.”

Olaf pushed himself upright and said, “They want to let the weretigers go, and Bernardo is trying to hold Paula Chu.”

Bernardo looked at us, his eyes black with anger. The bones of his face tight with it.

“But he won’t tell me why he wants to hold Chu,” Morgan said, striding down the hall toward us. Edward and I kept walking, so we sort of met in the middle. He waved a finger in Edward’s face, then mine. “And one of you told him to keep her here, but not why. Why? What are you holding back?”

The anger vibrated off him in waves. I had the thought, I could feed on that anger. I’d feel better, and the fight would be over. No, bad, Anita, bad idea. I tried to put my hands in my pockets, but had too many weapons in the way.