Secrets in the Moon (Crescent City Werewolves #1)

Chapter Eight

"Maisie, what time is it?" asked Cora, absently braiding the fringe of her lace shawl while the maid entered the room with a tray of coffee and cookies.

It was a question Maisie had heard all morning, but her answer remained as neutral as before. "Ten past eleven, miss."

"Oh. Thank you." Cora settled her hands in her lap and looked back at the letter she was supposed to be reading. Now that her chances of being arrested and charged with her father's murder had faded to nothing, his battalion of lawyers, advisers, and estate managers sought her out when a nod of approval was needed. It was all very boring, but she hated waiting with nothing to do.

After reading the same paragraph twice without taking in one word, she realized the futility of pretending everything was fine. And she was braiding her fringe again.

With an impatient huff of breath, she reached for her appointment book and checked it. She had thumbed through its pages nearly as often as she had asked Maisie for the time, even though the entry she sought out remained the same.

9:30 - Detective Hayes.

He had never been late before. Worse, her two attempted calls to his office had gone unanswered. Something must have happened.

She couldn't help thinking of the expressions on those brutes from the day before. The way that she-wolf had so ruthlessly smashed in his face. What if one of them had slipped into city limits? Yes, she was safe with her name and connections, but what stopped them from going after him?

"Maisie?"

She thought she heard the other girl grind her teeth before appearing in the doorway. "Yes, miss?"

Cora quickly scribbled on the back of the nearest letter and handed it over. "I'm going out. I don't know for how long. Tell anyone who asks that I'm off shopping. If I'm not back by tonight and haven't rung you about it, then call the police and give them this address."

Then she picked a coat and hat in record time and left in the car. Normally, she would have been lost in the thrill of speeding along while the engine growled and the wind whipped at her face, but today even those couldn't budge her worry. What if he was dead? She couldn't even imagine how awful that would be.

Perhaps Hayes was too reserved for his own good, and certainly too stubborn, but he was also fearless, and clever, and determined, and she didn't want to see all that reduced to a lifeless body torn apart by savage teeth. The thought of finding him like that left her mouth trembling, and she quickly distracted herself by checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror. If she was about to face a police interview for finding a body, then at the very least she could look fantastic while doing it.

She knew the address for his office, having found it back when she was still looking for private detectives. It led to one of the industrial sections close enough to the port that brine tinged the air and rust splotched cars. A few gulls wheeled overhead as she turned down a street crowded with offices, cafes, and shops.

It was a nice area, quiet except for the distant echoes from the docks, and nobody even glanced at her as she found the right place—a two-story brick building as bland and well-kept as its neighbors. She didn't see broken windows or any other signs of violence.

The address led her to the upper offices. There were two nameplates on the door—Hayes' and someone called J. Feral. The window revealed an unlit front office, empty of movement even when she knocked.

At the lack of an answer, Cora tried again, surprised at how badly her heart pounded. Then she pulled a hairpin free and crouched before the lock, her fingers deft and sure. Within a minute, she heard the click that meant she had succeeded, and cautiously opened the door.