Master of Wolves by Angela Knight Page B

over at Faith, he drawled, “You got me out of bed at midnight for a dead junkie?”
    â€œSomehow I don’t think it’s an overdose, detective.”
    He grunted. “Looks like a dog attack to me. Bet whoever he buys his drugs from turned his pit bulls loose on the guy.”
    â€œHell of a way treat a customer.” Faith frowned down at the body, considering the theory. People figured out some pretty creative ways to commit murder, but she still wasn’t sure she bought it. “You know, I’ve seen dog maulings before. This one…” She crouched and shone her flashlight into one of the wounds. “Look at the distance between those teeth. I’ve never seen a dog with a bite like that. Looks more like a bear or something.”
    Taylor eyed her. “Who died and made you CSI ?”
    Faith glowered up at him, stung by the insult. Cops in general did not have a high opinion of CSI . For one thing, most real crime scene techs didn’t conduct criminal investigations—they just collected evidence and handed it over to detectives.
    Despite his scorn, she straightened and faced him. “Detective, I arrested this guy last night. He literally begged me not to lock him up in the city jail because he said people who go to that jail die. He even claimed some of them get eaten.”
    Taylor stared at her. “You suggesting one of our jailers ate him?” His voice dripped incredulous contempt.
    â€œI’m not suggesting anything, detective,” she told him with elaborate patience. “I’m reporting what the man said.”
    â€œHe was a junkie, Weston. He probably saw flying monkeys, too.” He nodded down at Cruise’s mangled corpse. “And it’s a lot more likely monkeys did this than the jailers.”
    â€œKnowing the jailers, I’ve got to agree. I can’t believe any of our guys would be involved in something like this. But—”
    Taylor cut her off. “Where’s the coroner?”
    â€œEn route. He lives on the other end of the county.”
    â€œGlad I’m not the only one to get hauled out of bed for this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of surgical gloves. “Help me roll him.”
    â€œWe haven’t taken pictures of the body yet. I was waiting for you.”
    He gave her a superior-officer-to-dimwit-subordinate sneer. “So go get a frigging camera already and snap a couple of shots.”
    Simmering, Faith stalked back toward her car to retrieve the cheap digital she carried to record accidents. Clarkston didn’t have the budget for a crime scene photographer.
    Taylor watched her walk off. One of the other patrol officers stepped over to him.
    â€œWeston asks way too many questions,” the uniform said in a low voice.
    Taylor grunted. “Yeah. We’re going to have to do something about her. She’s becoming a pain in the ass.”
    Â 
    Over the past month, watching Faith work out in her home gym had become Jim’s favorite guilty pleasure.
    He lay on the carpet next to her weight bench with his head on his paws. His stomach growled, but he ignored it in favor of concentrating on his pretty partner. He’d learned to eat kibble, but his belly never stopped hoping for something more substantial.
    At the moment, however, his focus was on Faith, though he knew good and damned well he was no more likely to sample her than he was a T-bone. At least, not any time soon.
    Sweat gleamed on her long legs and arms as she did barbell presses in a series of smooth, controlled thrusts. Every time she forced the weight bar upward, her hips unconsciously rolled.
    He’d love to paint her like this. The morning light spilled a golden shimmer across her sweating skin that he badly wanted to capture. Her arms weren’t brawny by any means—certainly nothing like his own—but the flex of those working muscles fascinated him with their clean, elegant