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

wear off within a day or two of the new blood entering their system.

Truth be told, I think the reason they stop producing the cells is simply nature's way of keeping an overly evolved predator in check. With their speed, reflexes, and evolved elongated fangs they could easily wipe out the entire human population.

As for shifters, there are just as many of those stupid Hollywood "facts" about us. I adore silver and wear it often. I don't have to change on the full moon, and I'm not some reasonless animal when I shift. I'm still me. Just a great big kitty version with big teeth and a really soft tail. I'm serious, it's like mink fur soft.

Anyway, a silver bullet would definitely kill me, but so would any other type of bullet. I think the myth that turning into their animal heals a shifter comes from the fact that our virus eats other viruses like candy. The good kind, not like banana Laffy Taffy.

“Sam?” Quinn looked at me with a raised brow.

“Yeah? Oh, sorry, got lost in thought for a moment.”

“It’s okay. You ready to debrief the canvassers?”

“I am, indeed.” I strode out the door to the manager of the Sleep-tite Motel’s office.

A portly bald man with a beet red face and sweat stains on his ROLL TIDE shirt stood when I entered.

“I’ll assume you’re the manager of this … uh, establishment?” The place was a roach motel if ever I saw one.

“I am.” He didn’t seem proud of it and I didn’t blame him.

“Can you tell me where everyone else is?”

“Um, well, I don’t rightly know. I gave the sack guy a room to use to coordinate things.”

“You mean the Special Agent in Charge?”

“Yeah. He introduced himself as the sack; I just assumed it was a nickname.”

“Which room?”

“One.”

“Thanks.” I turned and left without saying anything further.

When I looked back the man was in his chair, full-attention returned to the football game. I wish I could have joined him. Instead, I sighed and moved, with Quinn on my heels, to the room Gerald had commandeered.

“Hey, Gerry,” I greeted him.

“I hate when they call me in on these things.”

“Don’t blame you, boss.”

“So, has anyone come back from questioning potential witnesses?” Quinn had apparently decided to skip the small talk.

“A few. Nothing to report. Either nobody saw him or they didn’t notice him.” Gerry looked annoyed.

“That’s too bad.”

“Sure is. Look, once ERT and the forensic pathologist are done we are wrapping up and heading back to the office. I’ll make sure you get every report from the interviews.”

“Thanks, boss,” I said, relieved.

Having to question each agent and officer individually would have been a bitch. Getting their reports in one lump would make things so much easier. I just wish it wasn’t necessary. Nobody should be turned into chunks of meat.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. Hey, can you get a whiff of this guy?”

“I can try.” The FBI knows all about us shifters and other supernatural beings.

Those in charge of both the government and private sectors, like police and hospitals, know about us. The general public, however, is kept unaware of our reality. Those that are in-the-know tend to not spill because they fear the backlash that would definitely come their way.

“I’m going to head back to the office and get started on the paperwork with Officer Hahn. You okay to catch a ride back with the boss?” Quinn asked.

“Hey, O’Reilly, what if the boss doesn’t want to give her a ride back?” Gerry winked and chortled.

“Gee, thanks.”

Luckily he knew me well enough to know I wasn’t being insubordinate.

Quinn chuckled and walked to the parking lot. He and Josh got in our car and left. Quinn waved at me before he turned out of the lot.

“So, just you and me, boss.”

“Someone has to stop this guy, Reece. He’s growing more violent.”

“I know.” I involuntarily shuddered as I recalled the human soup in the bathtub. “This last one was really bad.”

“Looks like the techs are done. You wanna get in there and take a whiff?”

“Honestly, no. Smelling that much carnage is going to be hell. I’ll do it anyway, though.” I sighed and gathered the courage to get my panther self into that room.

Gerry walked with me. I entered the room and he closed the door, standing outside to act as a sentry. I closed the blinds and removed my clothes, placing them neatly on a chair by the window. Then I called my jaguar forth and changed.

In moments I was a big black fuzzy Jungle Book reject. I sniffed delicately; the smells of blood and meat made my predator’s stomach growl. I opened my mouth and pulled the scent in over my palate in a process zoologists call flehmening. It allowed me to get a better picture of what had happened.

I smelled fear and pain from the victim and excitement from the killer. I inhaled deeply, capturing a scent profile of the killer. Once I was sure I had his scent and could recognize it anywhere, I changed, then dressed.

I can speak in my furry form. I retain my human voice box. I just prefer not to because it creeps people out to have a large cat talking to them. I don’t blame them for it. It’d probably freak me out, too. I told Gerry I was good to go and we left to head back to the office.

When we arrived, I went looking for Quinn and was told he and Officer Hahn had gone out to pursue a lead.

Great.

Nothing better than getting left behind by your partner. I figured I’d work on the paperwork myself until I got a call to do otherwise.

As I typed up the report, I fumed over some crap an anti-shifter group was pulling. They were trying to out us to the world at large, but, as my friend Bob says, we weren’t ready to come out from under the bed.

He’s a great guy, for a zombie. No, zombies aren’t just people chompers. Some of ’em are really good