"I've never ripped anyone's throat out," I said. Though I got close with Zan…

Hardin stood at my shoulder. "She's the third one to match this MO in the last two months. The first two were written off as wild animal mauling deaths. Coyotes, maybe. Then I started asking questions. We found that the saliva on the bite wounds is human. Mostly human, anyway."

I turned the corner out of the alley and leaned against the wall. So. Could werewolves really overcome their natures to be productive members of society, or was I just blowing smoke? I wanted to believe a lycanthrope hadn't done this. Hardin was wrong; this was some animal—

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The smell of blood and decay was overpowering. The victim had been lying here since the previous night. Carrion, my other self hinted, salivating. Stop it . I went further, to the little smells that fringed my senses, like the flash of sunlight on rippling water.

Tar and asphalt. Car exhaust. Hardin had brushed her teeth recently. Mint and tobacco. Rats. And… there it was. A wild smell, incongruous with the city's signature scents. Musky and fierce. And human, under it all. Male. He smelled of skin and fur.

I didn't recognize the individual scent mark. Nor did it smell like my pack—Carl's group. I was almost relieved. Except that it meant we had a rogue wolf running around.

"It's a werewolf," I said, opening my eyes.

Hardin was watching me, her gaze narrowed. "Friend of yours?"

I glared. "No. Look, you asked for my help, but if you're going to go all suspicious on me, I'm going to leave."

"Sorry," she said, holding up her hands in a defensive gesture. "But if I understand it correctly, if I was listening close enough to your show, you have packs, right? Can I assume that you know other werewolves in the city?"

She'd done some homework, for which I had to give grudging admiration. She stood close—but not so close she couldn't duck out of arm's reach in a second—one arm propped on the wall. Her expression wasn't inquisitive anymore. She wasn't looking to me for an answer. Suspicion radiated off her.

"You didn't bring me here as a consultant," I said. "You think I can tell you who did this. You want me for questioning."

She bowed her head for a moment; when she returned her gaze to me, her determined expression confirmed it. "You said you could smell it. If you know who did this, I really need you to tell me."

"I don't know who did this. You have to believe me."

"I could take you in as a material witness."

" Witness ? I didn't see anything!"

"You're in possession of a piece of evidence our forensics people don't have. That makes you a witness."

My head was spinning. She'd drawn me straight into the middle of this, but there was no way she could hold me there. Precedents, legal precedents—I was going to need a research assistant before too long. Was I out of my mind? There weren't going to be any legal precedents.

Hardin continued. "Would you recognize the wolf that did this if you ran into him?"

"Yeah. I think I would."

"Then keep in touch. Let me know if you find out anything. That's all I want."

She wanted me to be a freakin' witness for a crime I had nothing to do with and was nowhere near. The manipulative bitch.

"There's no way in hell an after-the-fact witness by smell would be admissible in court. The courts aren't going to know what to do with that kind of testimony."

"Not yet," she said with a wry smile. "Give me another minute and I'll drive you back."

One of the reporters, the woman in the suit, was waiting for us at Hardin's car. A man held a camera pointed at us, over her shoulder.

"Shit," I muttered.

Hardin frowned. "Ignore them. Walk by like they're not even there."

"They can't air pictures of me without my permission, right?"

"They can. Sorry."

I hunched my shoulders and ducked my head, unwilling to lose my dignity to the point of covering my face. Besides, it was too late.

The reporter dodged Hardin and came straight toward me, wielding a microphone. "Angela Bryant, KTNC. You're Kitty Norville, the radio show host, right? What is your involvement with this case, Ms. Norville? Are you a witness? Is there a supernatural element to these deaths?"

For once, I kept my mouth shut. I let Hardin open the car door and close it when I'd climbed inside. Calmly, she made her way around to the driver's side. I propped my elbow on the inside door and shielded my face with my hand.

We drove away.

Hardin said, "For a celebrity, you're a shy one."

"I've always liked radio for its anonymity."

We stopped in front of the KNOB studio. I was about to get out of the car—slink out of the car as innocently as I could—when Hardin stopped me.

"One more question." I braced. She reached into her coat pocket. "I felt stupid when I went looking for these. But they were easier to find than I thought they'd be. I guess there really is a market for this kind of thing. I have to know, though—will they work?"

She opened her hand, revealing a trio of nine-millimeter bullets, shiny and silver. I stared at them like she was holding a poisonous snake at me.

"Yeah," I said. "They'll work."

"Thanks." She pocketed the bullets. "Maybe I should invest in a couple of crosses, too."

"Don't forget the wooden stakes."

Waving a half-assed good-bye, I fled before the conversation could go any further.

Chapter 8

The phone rang eight times. Didn't the guy have voice mail? I was about to give up when he finally answered.

"Yeah."

"Cormac? Is this Cormac?"

There was a long pause. Then, "Norville?"

"Yeah. It's me."

"So." Another long pause. Laconic, that was the word. "Why are you calling me?"

"I just talked to the cops. That spate of mauling deaths downtown? A werewolf did it. I didn't recognize the scent. It's a rogue."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

I'd seen his rates. Despite the show's success, I couldn't exactly hire him to hunt the rogue. Did I think he'd do it out of the kindness of his heart?