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

but there had to be some way for him to know for sure they weren't human. The only way I can think of that being possible is if he is a shifter or vamp himself. Think about it; we know he's killed at least three lycans. Why would he only attack shifters?"

"We can assume someone is targeting lycans for three reasons. One, they lost someone to lycanthropy. Two, they watched a lycan attack and possibly kill someone. Three, they were bitten themselves." Gerry looked extremely uncomfortable.

He was spot on and it could be a bad situation for lycans, not to mention the super community at large, if the news got hold of this.

"Do you think this is deliberate?" I shuddered from the chilling thought.

If it was, if someone was this determined to cast a bad light on supers, then we were as good as screwed. Once the humans picked this story up, and blew the bed right off us, AWFA would run with it and make it sound as though Grisly was the hero and we were the villains.

I could see them now pointing at our dead hookers' photos and bringing up the fact that these women had sex with countless men and never told them they were infected. It wouldn't matter that the virus wasn't active if we weren't furry; they'd form a lynch mob and it'd be Salem all over again.

"I sure as hell hope not." Gerry swiped his massive brown hand over his face and brought it back up to pinch the top of his nose where it met his brow.

He looked far older than his forty-eight years. His black hair had started graying long ago and worry lines had deepened into wrinkles. He'd lost weight recently and his clothes hung limply on his tall frame. I was starting to worry about him.

He'd been fantastic to me when I was still getting used to things around the office. When those who hated supers came to him to complain about me he told them to stop being racist, though species-est would probably have been a better term, and he reiterated to them my arrest rate, which was higher than anyone in our department.

I owed it mostly to the fact that I couldn't let puzzles go until I solved them. I didn't like leaving anything unsettled or undone. Not even laundry, and everyone knows that laundry sucks.

"We have to go and meet with the preacher,” Quinn added. “Should we meet up again afterwards, Gerry?"

"Yeah, hopefully Josh will give me some more insight and the good father will give you some, too. Then, we can figure out where to go from there.”

"Sounds like a plan." I stood, cradling my mug with both hands, and walked to the door.

I stepped out and headed back to the break room to wash out my mug. I drank the remaining coffee from it, washed it, and grabbed two disposable to-go cups. I filled the travel cups with coffee and the appropriate cream and sugar for me and Quinn, then quickly walked to my desk to leave my ceramic mug there.

"Took you long enough," Quinn chided.

"Well, then, I guess you don't want your cup of coffee to go?" I held the cup over the wastebasket and acted like I was going to drop it in.

"I apologize. Thank you for my coffee, you wonderful, amazing, totally beautiful lady," Quinn said sweetly in the manner of a petulant schoolboy.

"You're welcome." I grinned.

Without another word we moved to the door and the parking structure beyond to go and interview the priest who had been asked to absolve our murderer.

Chapter 5

"IS IT BY THE EXPRESS OIL?”

"No, I think it's near Starbucks. I hate these chain stores."

"Holy shit, Sam, are you becoming a hipster?" By his shit eating grin I knew Quinn was just screwing with me.

"Yup, that's it exactly. Just remember, I was a hipster before there were hipsters. Also, watch the language, we're in God's parking lot."

"Sorry, God."

"Good man. Now, let's go talk to a priest about some whores."

"Sounds like a line from a western."

"Bad or good?"

"I don't know, let's find out." Quinn reached ahead and opened the heavy wooden door for me.

"Thank you."

"Welcome."

The church was gorgeous. Like many Catholic churches in Alabama it looked more like a cathedral than a church. The stone and woodwork was beautiful and gave it the feeling of being centuries old, even if it was just under a hundred.

The pews lined either side of an aisle created using different flagstone than what the rest of the floor was created with. The confessionals were at the front to the left of the altar along the wall.

I looked around for someone who worked in the church, but, aside from a little old woman who looked to be praying for someone, there was nobody there. I shrugged at Quinn and walked to the confessional. I stepped inside and pulled the olive colored velvet curtain closed behind me. I sat on the uncomfortable wooden seat and looked to my left at the little cut out to the other booth where the priest sat.

"Father? My name is Special Agent Samantha Reece. I was told someone here has some information about a man who has been killing women in the area." He was probably hoping for some juicy affair details and I'd most likely just burst his priestly bubble.

"Yes, that was me. I'm James Richmond. I took your killer's confession."

"Father, thank you for speaking with us and for breaking the seal of confession."

"I wouldn't have done so if I didn’t feel it was important. My superiors are of the same opinion, in that we believe your killer has just started and is in the grips of some religious delusion. He can't be allowed to run free hurting people the way he has."

"Oh, he's done more than hurt folks. He’s killed several women."

"So he said. I'm sorry to hear he has done such horrific things. I would have kept him here if I thought