Page 4 of Protected By Her Mate

I nearly drop it as I juggle my mug of tea. “Lunch,” I say to my seven-year-old son, grabbing his paper bag lunch off the counter and tossing it to him.

Catching it against his chest, he says, “Hug.”

“Hug,” I agree, reaching for him.

We engage in a business-like hug, finishing with our secret handshake-high-five combo, grinning at each other. “Better hurry. Uncle Jorge will leave without you.”

“You too,” he says, dragging his pack over one shoulder. “Don’t be late again for work.” He waves as he rushes out the door.

I watch from my third-floor window as he exits the building, hopping into my brother’s van. Well, technically it’s the family van. Almost my entire family lives within the same few blocks in Brooklyn and we share a vehicle based on need. Today, it’s Jorje’s turn to drive the nieces and nephews to school.

I wave and six kids wave back as the sliding door of the van closes.

I move through my apartment quickly, dragging a jean jacket over my tee-shirt and pouring my tea into a go-cup. Snapping the lid on, I pick up my purse and keys, and head down to the street.

I climb into my company vehicle, tossing my purse into the passenger seat. Before I can put the truck in drive, my radio squawks.

“Fire investigator needed at the scene of a fire in the meatpacking district.”

I pick up the radio. “This is Charlie Lopez with precinct five. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll let them know.” She gives me the address, which I punch into the truck’s GPS before pulling into traffic.

I see the flashing lights of the fire trucks before I arrive at the scene. The fire is out but the air is still thick with ash and smoke as I leave my truck.

Fire Chief Dale Rochester approaches, his features grim. “Lopez.” He fills me in while I drag my gear from the back of the truck, pulling heavy fire-retardant overalls on over my street clothes. “We got the call at 3 AM. Took us four hours to put out.”

I frown. That means the fire’s only been out an hour. “Why do you need an investigator?” Investigators are sent in after the fire to determine the cause, but not usually until the building is rendered safe.

“We have a body.” He has resting angry-old-man face, but today the grooves around his eyes seem extra deep.

“Shit.” I pull on my fire-retardant jacket. “How bad is it?” I’m squeamish around bodies.

Instead of answering, he grabs my mask from the back of the truck and hands it to me. We stride toward the building together, me pulling the mask over my hair and adjusting it on my face. I check the oxygen flow.

“I’m the first one in?”

Rather than giving me the affirmative I expect, the Chief growls, “Cops insisted on going in after the body.”

“Assholes,” I mutter. The building is Fire’s jurisdiction until we allow access to the crime scene.

Nodding at the Chief, I enter the building, pausing until the smoke clears enough that I can see. I spot my prey immediately.

“Hey you!” Carefully navigating through the mess of wet ashy debris, fallen supports and charred wood, I make my way toward the cop. He’s not even wearing the proper gear. “What are you doing contaminating my crime scene? Who let you in here?”

He stares at me as though he doesn’t understand.

I frown at him, my gaze crawling down his body. He’s wearing a mask, but no oxygen tank. Idiot. He’s tall, more than a foot taller than my 5’4” frame. His sandy blond hair tumbles over the top of his mask giving him a disheveled look. His outfit though, from the tips of his shiny shoes to the knot of his silk tie, is perfection. And wildly out of place at the scene of a recent fire.

It takes him a moment to find his voice. “You’re the fire…investigator?”

Rather than responding to his question, I snap, “I want to see some credentials.”

A few seconds pass before he pulls his wallet from inside his suit jacket and shows me a plastic ID card. It reads: Detective Lennox Wolven-North. Precinct 9, Shifter Division.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Must be pretty quiet in your division. We don’t get a lot of shifter-related crimes around here.”

“You’d be surprised,” he replies, his voice deep, his eyes unreadable as they meet mine. “And you are?”

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