Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery Book 1, Jaime Johnesee [i have read the book txt] 📗

with my hands when I speak. I was in the midst of gesticulating wildly when I knocked over my glass of water. As it pooled on the glass side table and began dripping off the edge, I felt a sadness I hadn't expected. As if my life was that water and it was just running away from me in dribs. It hit me then that I'd never really properly mourned the loss of my humanity. I'd just sort of set it aside in a box in my mind the way I tend to do.

I have always been good at compartmentalizing things. It's how I made it through my childhood. I had one friend in my teens that showed me the coolest way to do that. Let's just say if I were unpacking those boxes the horrors found within mine would shock the hell out of you. Instead, I keep those demons behind their proper doors, barred and chained. I shall never let them out, or if I do, it'll be on the poor defenseless and undeniably delicious bunnies I hunt.

Go ahead and hate me.

I eat bunnies and they're delectable.

Sometimes I get the urge to hunt and bunnies bring out the playful side of me. To be fair, if I'm not hungry I don't go hunting. I figure it’s better that I give in to my urge with lagomorphs than with humans.

Also, my neighbor is an organic farmer and he constantly complains about the rabbits eating his crops. Since I've moved in, he's had the best harvests of his life. See, me eating bunnies—tasty, tasty bunnies—helps the environment. Meh, screw it. Either you're going to hate me over this bunny thing or you won't. I am what I am and I do what I do.

I wiped up the spill with the paper towels Grace handed me and sheepishly tossed the sodden mess into her wastebasket. "Sorry."

"Not a big deal."

"You're too kind."

"No, Sam, I'm just honest. Remember the saying about spilled milk? Well, it applies to water, too."

"Thank you." I grinned.

She had a way of making me feel better. Sometimes I wondered if she shouldn't have been a psychologist instead of a forensic specialist.

"No problem. If your sire bothers you that much, stay away. Maybe one of the other three jags can answer your questions. Hey, don't you have a murderer to catch?"

"Oh, crap!" I looked at my watch and saw I'd spent almost a half an hour talking with Grace.

“Been there.” Grace chuckled.

I was definitely going to get yelled at by Gerry. Possibly screamed at.

"Sorry, I have to run. Gerald is going to kill me for being late. Or worse, put me on desk duty." I shuddered.

The worst thing about being an agent is all the damn paperwork. For most of us, desk duty is almost worse than a suspension. I know I'd rather have the black mark on my file than be forced to do my unit's reports for weeks. I stood, gave my friend a quick half-hug, and rushed out the door while promising to call her later. Halfway down the hall I realized I'd forgotten the file containing the forensics report and I hurried back to Grace's office. She met me halfway.

"Thank you, for everything."

"Catch this monster, that'll be thanks enough. This guy is bad news."

"More than that, he's straight up evil."

"I would have to agree." She nodded as she handed me the file.

“Thanks again.” I nodded and did a quick about face, heading for the elevators double time.

I was hoping I wouldn't run into Fitzpatrick again. Luck was on my side as I slipped into an empty car and rode it down to the first floor. The moment the doors opened I bee-lined for Gerry's office. I was fairly certain Quinn would already be there waiting for me.

I didn't think I'd be overly late, I hadn't talked to Grace for that long. I also made sure I perused the report in the elevator while I made my way to Gerry's office. So, hopefully, he would forgive my lateness. I opened the door as soon as I felt comfortable discussing what was found by the forensics team.

"Hey, Gerry, Quinn, sorry I'm a bit late. I was going over the forensics...." I trailed off when I realized there was nobody in the office.

I looked around to make sure they weren't seated on the couch behind me and shrugged. I turned around, walked out, and headed for my desk. Q's was opposite mine and I thought that it was possible he and Gerry were there waiting for me. Quinn was, indeed, there, but there was no sign of our boss.

"What's wrong, Reece?"

"I just went to Gerry's office looking to share the forensics with you guys, but neither of you were there. I guess I just assumed he'd be over here with you."

"He's in the break room getting a cup of coffee,” Q said. “He asked us to meet him in his office when you got back from Grace's.”

He took a sip out of his own mug and sighed in delight.

"Good coffee?"

"James brought in some Kona."

"I love that guy." I grabbed my light blue Good Kitty mug, told Q I'd see him in Gerry's office, and hustled my ass down to the break room to get some delicious top shelf coffee.

James Brady was a godsend. He brought in all kinds of seriously expensive first class beans. He hated the cheap government stuff we were supplied with and took it upon himself to keep us all in the good stuff. You’ve got to love a guy like that.

His brother owned some ritzy coffee shop so he got awesome deals on some fantastic beans. He never kept the coffee at the office, though—I don’t blame him for that—so when he was working and one of his badass blends was brewing there was usually a line out the door.

Inside the drab beige and brown break room Gerry, James, and Sheila Stork were standing around the coffee pot waiting. I must've either hit the tail