Chapter Twenty-one

His eyes were closed; he didn’t appear to be breathing. There was so much blood; I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Not in this light.

I leaned in, thought I felt the drift of his breath across my cheek, then the match burned down to my fingertips, and I dropped it, cursing.

Instead of lighting another, I scooted closer, ignoring the dampness of the ground beneath me and the metallic scent of blood all around me. Placing my palm on his chest, I closed my eyes.

I thought I detected a slight rise and fall, but I couldn’t be sure. I strained to hear something, anything, and caught a faint whistle.

I lit another match, and with it started the whole book on fire. The resulting conflagration revealed what the single, tiny flame had not.

Sullivan’s throat was a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered as I tossed the matchbook into a damp corner where it hissed, smoldered, and went out. Then I punched nine-one-one into my cell phone.

The connection was fuzzy between the two buildings, but I didn’t want to leave him. Instead, I shouted to be heard and held on to Sullivan’s hand.

“Officer down!” That should bring them running.

I gave my name and our location, then agreed to wave them in as soon as I saw their sparkly red lights.

“Hang on, Conner.” I squeezed his hand and nearly jumped out of my skin when he squeezed back.

His eyes opened, shining far too brightly considering the lack of light. The wheezing whistle became louder. I wanted to put my hand over the gap in his throat, and then again, I didn’t. He tried to talk, coughed, and something gurgled.

“Don’t,” I urged. “The ambulance is on the way.”

“See it?” he managed.

I opened my mouth to ask what, but I knew. “The wolf?”

He smiled and closed his eyes. I took that as a yes.

“Eyes.” The word whispered out, low and desperate.

“Do they hurt?” My fingers fluttered over his face.

My knowledge of first aid was limited to CPR, which, from the size of the hole in his throat, was not going to do either of us any good. For all I knew, pain in the eyes signaled imminent death.

“No.” His hand tightened almost painfully on mine, which encouraged me. He was still strong; he didn’t seem to be fading. “The wolf’s.”

“What about them?”

“People eyes.” Sullivan took a deep, uneven breath. “Werewolf.”

“Sullivan,” I began, though I’m not sure what I planned to say.

His own eyes flew open and once again they seemed lit by an inner flame. Reaching up, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pulled.

“Knew them,” he said, so softly I would never have heard the words if we hadn’t been nose to nose.

“You knew the eyes?” I repeated.

He closed his in acknowledgment.

“Whose were they?”

Sullivan didn’t answer.

“Sullivan? Conner!” I shook him a little, but he’d passed out.

Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer, shrieking louder than the crowds, the music, any howling there might have been out there in the dark.

As if someone had thrown a switch, silver light splashed into the alley, and I lifted my face to the cheery crescent moon that had climbed high enough to peek past the buildings shielding us.

I should have been happy for the illumination; instead I began to shiver.

The police arrived shortly thereafter; the ambulance right behind. The moon shone down like a beacon.

Emergency services stopped right outside the alley and ran toward us without being hailed.

Then the lights were too bright, the voices too numerous. I wanted to go back to my room and hide.

Especially since I was covered with blood, muck, and the remnants of that drunken guy’s cocktail.

Looked like I wasn’t going to get a chance to spit in his drink after all. Bummer.

I tried to call King, to tell him I wasn’t going to be able to work, but no one answered the phone at Rising Moon. A little while later I caught sight of him lurking in the crowd. The noise and lights must have drawn him out, though I had to wonder who was minding the store.

I lifted my hand, and he acknowledged me with a sharp nod and a scowl at all the hoopla. He wasn’t happy he’d be working solo, but he understood.

I scanned the crowd for John, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps he could help King, though cocktail- waitressing was probably beyond even his spectacular abilities.

Emergency services whisked Sullivan away as quickly as they could. No one would tell me if he would live or die; everyone appeared grim, especially when I told them what I’d seen.

“A wolf?” The detective, who’d identified himself as Mueller, shook his head. “There haven’t been any wolves in Louisiana for over two decades.”

“So I hear. But you got one now. A freaking big one.”

“How big?”

“About one seventy.”

“What you’re describing is impossible. A large male timber wolf would run about one twenty in Alaska.

Lower forty-eight they don’t get over eighty.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about wolves for an officer in a town that doesn’t have them.”

“We’ve had sightings. Of course in New Orleans, we get reports of black panthers, leopards, wild boars, and dragons, which usually increase in number and frequency right around this time of year.”

“I have no idea why,” I murmured as I watched the crowd weave drunkenly past.

“We’ve never found any of them.”

“I heard there was one rabid wolf in the swamp a year or so back.”

His brow lifted. “You’re awfully well informed for a newcomer.”

“People don’t become private investigators because they like the outfit.” Whatever it was. “Most of the time it’s because we’re curious.”

“Nosy,” he muttered, and I didn’t contradict him. “A wolf was reported. Powers that be brought in an outside hunter.”

That j ibed with what Sullivan had said. However, I was starting to wonder about that outside hunter.

Who had he been? What, exactly, had he done? And where had he gone?

“My theory is that people see coyotes,” Mueller continued. “City folk don’t know the difference. Anything wild and canine—must be a wolf. Except for a coyote to come into town…” He shook his head.

“Doesn’t happen. Might have been a big dog or a hybrid.”

“Even an oversized canine, or a wolf-dog mix wouldn’t attack a man of Sullivan’s size unless it was nuts,”

I agreed. “Or rabid.”

Mueller started, then scribbled something on his notepad. Noticing my curiosity, he explained. “The detective will need shots if they can’t find the animal.”

One glance at Sullivan’s throat and several of the officers had fanned out into the city. So far no one had reported finding anything—not a wolf, not a coyote, not a slavering naked man covered in blood.

I winced at the thought, but once I’d had it, several others followed.

A wolf that wasn’t a wolf. A beast with human eyes. One that appeared beneath the crescent moon. In New Orleans that meant one thing.

Loup -garou.

I needed to talk to Maggie. Unfortunately I didn’t know where she lived or even her last name.

I decided to head to the hospital instead. I’d already missed work. Mueller had kept me hanging around for hours. I doubted I’d sleep. I had to find out how Sullivan was doing. Sure, I could call, but I figured I’d have better results if I stood there until they answered me.

Mueller offered to give me a lift, but I could tell he was just being polite; he had a lot more to do at the crime scene.

I hailed a cab and shortly thereafter I was dropped off at the entrance to the ER. I should have known something was wrong even before I reached the chaos in the waiting room. An ambulance idled in the drive, but no one was inside; the rear cargo doors hung open as if someone had jumped out in one helluva hurry.

Maybe the patient had coded.

My steps increased in pace, wondering if perhaps that patient had been Sullivan.

I burst through the doors, causing the small huddle of people in the corner to jump; some of them gasped.

They all stared at me with the pale faces and shocked eyes of accident victims.

Several chairs were upended. A table was smashed into kindling. The reception desk loomed empty.

Beyond it, several nurses, doctors, and security personnel had their heads stuck together in deep discussion. From what I could see, there’d been a rampage back there too. Broken glass sparkled on the floor, shiny metal instruments had been tossed hither and yon, one of the white curtains separating the patient care areas appeared to have been shredded by a knife.

“Excuse me?” I called.

Every one of the hospital employees in the small group looked at me. Their faces were tense with shock.

My nerves began to dance beneath my skin like Mexican jumping beans.

“I’d like to check on a friend.”

One woman separated from the rest. Though her smile was strained, she still managed one. She’d no doubt perfected the expression from years in a very difficult j ob. I couldn’t imagine how many hysterical people she dealt with each day in a place labeled “emergency.”

“We’ve had a bit of trouble here,” she said.

“Seems like more than a bit.”

“Yeah.” Her smile faded. “Who’s your friend?”

“Sullivan. Detective Conner.”

The nurse had been bending over her desk, peering at her admission sheet. Now she glanced up and her eyes widened.

“Uh—um. Doctor?” she called.

Uh-oh.

One of the white coats left the crowd and j oined her. “She’s asking about the detective.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

With a quick glance at the still-hovering ER waiting room crowd, the doctor murmured, “Come with me.”

He strode through a second door marked HOSPITAL PERSONNEL ONLY. Just inside, he stopped.

“I’m Dr. Haverough.”

“Charmed,” I snapped, my increasing nervousness making my borderline manners go south. “Where’s Sullivan?”

“We’re not sure.”

“Excuse me?”

“He took off.”

“With a mortal throat wound?”

The doctor, who appeared far too young and far too tired to be working here, rubbed his chin. “More mortal than you know.”

I rubbed my forehead. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The detective coded in the ambulance. We tried to resuscitate him, but we were unsuccessful. He was pronounced dead.”

Tears scalded my eyes; my breath burned in my chest.

“Then he got up, trashed the place, and ran out the front door.”

My tears receded as my lungs suddenly filled with air. “He wasn’t dead?”

“Obviously.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t send him for an immediate autopsy.”

His lips tightened. “Mistakes are made, and miracles occur. Nevertheless, the detective’s throat wound is severe. He won’t survive without treatment.”

“There was some concern about rabies.”

“So I understand. However, that isn’t a direct threat to life, given the incubation period of the disease; the blood loss is.”

“If he was bleeding so badly, he ought to leave a trail even you could follow.”

“You’re right. He should have.” The doctor’s confused expression became even more so. “But he didn’t.”