Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(100)

I felt my mouth drop wide open. By the pleased purse on Emerson’s lips, I could tell that she knew she’d hit a nerve. She looked about to say something smart but was silenced by an officer carrying a Ziploc bag stuffed with hideous fabric.

Emerson made a tiny puppy sound, then shoved me out of the way. “Where are you taking that? That is my fabric!” she yelled. “I told you he stole it.” She snatched the whole bag out of the officer’s gloved hand and gaped. “It’s ruined!”

The officer snatched the bag back. “It’s evidence.”

“Evidence?” Emerson said. “But it’s mine. I need it for the competition!”

Pike came over to us, getting in front of Emerson and letting the cop scurry away. “Reginald used that fabric to hang himself.”

“Oh, my God,” I whispered.

“Did he use it all? Do I have enough for my garment?”

I swung my head toward Emerson, astonished. “That’s what you’re worried about? Your stupid fabric?”

“We’re in a competition, Nina, or have you forgotten?”

“We’re at the scene of a suicide!” Part of me wanted to give Emerson’s neck a little slash just to see what kind of demon she was. But I could hear her breath, hear the blood pumping from her heart and pulsing through her human veins. My stomach turned in on itself knowing that someone still in possession of her soul could be so callous. “A man is dead.”

“Can you ask someone about the extra fabric?” she asked Pike.

“I’m just a photographer, but I can ask one of the cops. . . .” he said, though clearly uncomfortable as he stepped back.

“I cannot believe you, Emerson. I knew you were a snake but I didn’t peg you for completely heartless. Reginald is dead.”

“And I’m sorry for that,” she said unconvincingly. “But he was still a competitor.”

I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head and for once, I couldn’t think of a thing to say. That seemed to be just fine to Emerson, who shrugged again.

“And then there were two,” she said before walking back toward her apartment.

I was shaking my head, still shocked, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and blinked into the slate-gray eyes of yet another police officer. This one was short and stocky, with tree-trunk legs and a little leather notebook clutched in his baseball-mitt hands. He used the tip of his Bic to scratch at his receding hairline. “Are you the one who discovered the body?”

For some reason, my voice was stuck in my throat so I nodded, dumbly.

“I just need to take a quick statement. Your name and address, please.”

I must have recited everything properly because the cop seemed satisfied. He looked up from his notebook, eyes laser-focused on mine. “What was the state of the body when you first entered the premises?”

I was trying to think of a kind way to say “hanged,” but nothing seemed to soften the blow. “It was, uh, deceased. Hanging. No one touched it, though.”

The officer, whose name badge read Hopkins, raised his eyebrows. “It?”

“The body,” I said. “Reginald. We went in with Felipe and saw him . . . there. Like that. Then . . .” I waved my hand, gesturing to the chaos.

“So, you were with the others when Felipe opened the door?”

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.

Hopkins wrote something in his little notebook and I wondered briefly why cops always seemed to repeat your answers back to you. “And the others were Felipe, Emerson, Pike, and uh, Nicolette?”

I suddenly drew a huge blank. “I think.”

Hopkins raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I mean, yes.”

Look—we have an impeccable sense of smell, super speed, and no discernible weight. Memory? Strictly breather-class. It’s not good.

Hopkins cut his eyes to me, then to Felipe, who hung back in the hallway, and back to me. He chewed his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes, à la every incompetent cop I’d ever seen on TV. “What was your relationship with Mr. Fairfield?”

I swung my head. “We didn’t have much of one. We were colleagues. In the fashion industry.”

“So you didn’t know anything about Mr. Fairfield’s emotional state.”

I think it is perfectly obvious that Reginald Fairfield wasn’t of sound mind. No one in Easter-colored seersucker could be. But I pegged Hopkins for more of a by-the-book kind of cop rather than a down-the-runway one. “No, I didn’t.”

Hopkins sucked in a long breath, then tucked his pen in his chest pocket. “It’s likely we’ll have some more questions for you later, okay? You’ll want to stay around.” He turned and disappeared into Reginald’s apartment once more, and Felipe rushed toward me, a bottle of water quaking in his hands. He was no longer crying, but his body already looked ravaged from his grief. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes looked hollow and sunk into the redness around them.

“Since we’re not supposed to leave, why don’t you come inside, Felipe? I’m just down the hall.” I looked over Felipe’s shoulder and eyed Pike. “You’re welcome to come inside as well, Pike.” I liked the way his name sounded on my tongue and yes, I did admonish myself for thinking of Pike in my mouth while a team of police officers were cutting a dead man down next door.