Watching as one of the younger cops deliberately wrapped his fingers around the grip of his service revolver, she smiled wryly and murmured, “Easier said than done.”
Duncan glared at the cop until the younger man flushed and turned away.
“I could shoot them if you want,” he offered.
“That seems a little extreme.”
His glare swept around the silent room. “Not to me.”
A door was suddenly thrown open and a small, dark-haired woman appeared.
“If you all have time to stand around scratching your balls then there’s a stack of cold case files in the basement I can start handing out,” she announced, her hands planted on her hips as she watched the cops scurry to look busy. “No? Good.” She turned her attention to Duncan and Callie. “This way.”
Callie hid a smile as they were led out of the room and down a short hallway. This had to be the infamous Chief Molinari. Somehow she’d thought the woman would be six feet tall with horns and a tail.
Not that her diminutive size made her any less intimidating.
In fact, she reminded Callie of the Mave. Stern, frighteningly competent, and ruthless when necessary.
Keeping his hand on her lower back, Duncan urged her closer to his side as they followed the chief down the hall.
“You said the man asked for me?” Duncan demanded.
“Yep,” the chief confirmed. “He wandered in off the street. He says his name is Hektor. No last name.”
Odd.
“And he claims to be the owner of the coin?”
Molinari’s heels clicked on the industrial tiled floor. “He said it belonged to his—”
Duncan and Callie exchanged a puzzled glance as her words trailed away.
“His what?” Duncan at last prompted.
“Brotherhood,” the chief muttered.
“Brotherhood?” Duncan frowned. “Is he a gangbanger?”
“You have to see to believe.”
The chief halted in front of a two-way mirror, nodding toward the interrogation room on the other side.
The room was deliberately barren, with white walls and a linoleum floor that were bathed in a harsh fluorescent light. In the center of the space was a long table with a half dozen wooden chairs.
But it was the lone man seated at the table who captured Callie’s attention.
“Christ, what now?” Duncan muttered.
Callie was wondering the same thing as she took in the stranger. He was a thin man in his late forties with short black hair smoothed from a narrow, ratlike face. His skin was tinted a honey brown, as if burnished from long days in the Middle Eastern deserts. An image only emphasized by the long white tunic he wore over a pair of loose pants.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the small wooden box that he’d laid on the table in front of him. On the worn top was carved a strange symbol that resembled the bird that had been etched onto the vessel. The vessel that had held the coin stolen from Calso’s safe.
Callie felt a sudden surge of hope.
This man clearly had some knowledge of the coin. Was it possible he could help them find the necromancer responsible for stealing it?
Duncan sent her an expressive glance that revealed he’d noticed the symbol as well, then, with a nod toward the chief, he led Callie into the interrogation room.
“Hektor,” he murmured, heading toward the long table. “I’m Sergeant O’Conner and this—”
“High-blood,” the man hissed, surging to his feet as he stared at Callie with open contempt.
Callie came to an abrupt halt, astonished by the man’s reaction.
Not by his obvious hatred for high-bloods. That was all too common.
But his ability to instantly realize that she was more than human.
Most of the local cops had seen her at crime scenes. They would easily recognize her, even if they hadn’t already known she was coming to the station with Duncan.
But without Fane at her side, and her eyes hidden by her reflective glasses, it should be impossible for a stranger to know she was a high-blood.
Duncan, on the other hand, didn’t seem remotely interested in how the man had known. He was stiff with a fury that made the air prickle with a sudden heat.
“This is Ms. Brown,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “She’s a partner in this police investigation”
Hektor’s dark eyes flashed with a matching fury. “I won’t speak in front of my enemies.”
“Watch your mouth, you—”
“Duncan, it’s okay,” Callie hastily interrupted, scenting violence in the air.
“No, it’s not,” he growled. “The bastard can learn some manners or I can kick his ass.”
“Either she leaves, or I do,” Hektor muttered, unwilling to back down an inch.
A true fanatic, Callie acknowledged with a grimace.
“I’ll wait outside.”
Duncan jutted his chin to a stubborn angle. “That’s not necessary.”
She reached to lightly brush her hand down the rigid muscles of his forearm. She wouldn’t allow Duncan to risk his job because of her.
“There’s no use in wasting time,” she said, turning toward the stranger with a cold smile. “Besides, the stench of prejudice is making me queasy.”
There was a long silence as Duncan struggled to contain his urge to shove his fist into the man’s face. At last, his cop training allowed him to resist his thirst for blood, although his expression warned he was just waiting for an excuse to snap.
With a muttered curse, he walked with her back into the hall, his hands clenched at his side.
“There’s a private conference room next to the chief’s office,” he said, his voice rough. Callie understood. He’d already been infuriated by his fellow cops’ reactions to her. Now he had to allow a complete stranger to insult her. For a man who was devoted to protecting others, it had to be making him nuts. “Wait for me there.”
She discreetly brushed her fingers against his tight fist, her smile teasing. “I’ll be fine.”
His lips parted, but before he could remind her that her welcome wouldn’t be any warmer among his friends, she was turning to make her way down the hall.
The sooner Duncan could question the stranger, the sooner they could get out of here. And she really, really wanted out.
Stepping back into the main room, Callie kept her gaze trained on the open door on the back wall, her pace steady. She hoped to slip past unnoticed. Hey, cops might be trained to be observant, but shouldn’t they be busy doing police things?