Shifters at Law (A Complete Paranormal Romance Shifter Series) Read online

  Finding his true mate has been good for him.

  He’s kinder now, gentler.

  “Good morning, cat,” I say, leaning back in my desk. Oliver looks like he just rolled out of bed: probably because he did. This isn’t unusual behavior for him. He lives right upstairs, so he doesn’t seem to have a problem with strolling around the offices on the first floor in his pajamas. He’ll scurry back upstairs before the clients arrive, of course, but he often comes down to tell me good morning.

  I’m always the first one at work, after all.

  Now that things are going to hell in a hand basket, I’m wondering if this is why I’m so good at my job. Being a workaholic isn’t something to be proud of, but at this point, it’s part of who I am. I pour my heart, soul, and mind into this job, and I get so much out of it.

  I get to help people.

  I get to work on new and interesting cases.

  I get to be around my three best friends and the women who love them.

  I get so much.

  But now?

  Now I wonder if this is just me being scared. Do I spend so much time here because I’m afraid of forming a real relationship with someone? Do I spend so much of my time and energy at the law office because I don’t have anywhere better to go? Am I just afraid?

  I shake my head and look back at Oliver. He’s leaning in the doorway and he’s got a pensive look on his face. I know that look, and I don’t like what he’s going to ask next.

  I don’t like it because it’s an impossible question.

  “Are you okay?” He asks, and my heart sinks. Sure enough, I have a million and nine answers to that question.

  Am I okay?

  What does that even mean?

  Am I okay that I’m single?

  Maybe.

  Sort of.

  I don’t know.

  Am I okay that I kind-of-totally-completely-absolutely had a one-time mini-fling right after I found out about the news?

  Maybe.

  Sort of.

  I don’t know.

  Am I okay that my job is the only thing I have going for me?

  Maybe.

  Sort of.

  Probably.

  I think so.

  Am I okay that my ex-boyfriend is the sole person of interest in a case involving a missing college student?

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Not even a little bit.

  I should lie to Oliver. I should tell him I’m fine, but we both know I’m not. I’m not fine. There’s nothing about this situation that is fine. No matter how you slice it, my ex-lover may have kidnapped or killed a young woman, and I’m the only one who can find her.

  I’m the only one who’s ever been close enough to him.

  I’m the only one who knows him.

  It’s a lot of pressure for one person.

  Oliver watches me as I formulate my response. He’s patient and watchful. I blame it on him being a cat, but the truth is that shifter or not, Oliver is a great person. He’s kind and thoughtful and interesting, and he always looks out for the people around him. No matter what I’m going through, I can always count on him to be there for me, and I will appreciate that for as long as I live.

  “Yes,” I say finally, but he just narrows those kitty-cat eyes at me and waits.

  That’s the annoying thing about lawyers: they have an infinite amount of patience. I hate it. This ability to wait people out makes lawyers fantastic in the courtroom, but super annoying in real life.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask politely, but I don’t look up at him. Instead, I focus on rearranging a set of very important papers on my desk. Okay, they’re receipts I’ve already copied and dealt with. I just need to finish filing them. Still, he doesn’t know that, and he certainly doesn’t need to.

  No, the only thing Oliver needs to do right now is leave. If he could do that, it would be just great.

  He doesn’t, though, and it’s just my luck. Stupid tiger. Why do I have to work with a bunch of attentive, handsome, kind, amazing shifters, anyway? Why can’t I work with mean ugly dudes who don’t like me and who aren’t nice to me? Not that I’m attracted to Oliver or any of the other guys. I’m not. We’ve never had that type of relationship, and they’re all happily married, anyway.

  Still, I don’t mind the eye candy.

  No shifter would.

  “Oliver?” I look up at him, silently begging him to just leave.

  “Joyce,” he says.

  “What are you waiting for? Don’t you need to…you know, shower? Don’t you need coffee? Don’t you need to spend some time with your bride before work?”

  “My beautiful wife left an hour ago and we both know I don’t have any clients until eleven today, so if you’re trying to get rid of me to avoid talking about your problems, it won’t work. That’s not how I operate, Joyce. You’re smarter than this.”

  He speaks gently, kindly, and I know he’s right. I am smarter than this. Wiser. I’ve been through a lot to get where I am right now. Oliver, Landon, and Ronan have always been there for me. Through thick and thin, I’ve always been able to count on them.

  Is this really any different?

  I wouldn’t be here without them. I owe them everything, and now Oliver is asking me for something that’s really quite small. It’s really quite minute in the grand scheme of things, and you know what?

  I think can give this one thing to him.

  I think I can do this for him.

  I think I can be honest.

  “I’m scared,” I finally say, and Oliver strides into the room and sits in one of the chairs. He looks at me, and then he speaks.

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you make me say it?”

  “Because you need to learn how to communicate your needs, Joyce. You need to be able to put your feelings into words.”

  “I can put my feelings into words,” I protest weakly, but we both know it’s just that: a weak protest.

  At my job, I’m fearless. I’m unstoppable. I’m brave. I’m incredible.

  In my personal life, though?

  That’s where things get murky.

  Ever since Logan and I broke up, I’ve been off my game. It’s been over a month now and Charlie Hill still hasn’t been found. Charlene. That’s what her parents named her: Charlene. It was just Logan who called her Charlie. I’ll never forget him calling her Charlie.

  I’ll never forget walking in on them together and finding out my boyfriend had been seeing other women the entire time.

  I’ll never forget the look of horror or embarrassment on her face as she realized he had tricked her, too.

  I’ll never forget the way my stomach dropped.

  “What are you scared of, Joyce?” Oliver asks. His voice is firm, but there’s a gentle touch to it. He’s not being mean or harsh with me. He just wants me to tell him what’s going on. He wants me to tell him what’s been happening. I know it.

  I’ve been living at the law firm. Each floor above the main one is a converted apartment. Landon lives with his wife and their child, so when I confessed to the guys that I was in a sticky situation, they moved me right into Landon’s old space. Now I’m safe, and I’m comfortable, and I’m surrounded by people who are kind to me.

  And I’m still completely afraid.

  “I’m scared for Charlie Hill,” I tell him.

  “She was abducted over a month ago,” Oliver says slowly. “You most likely don’t have to be scared for her anymore, Joyce.” His words make me feel sick. I’ve worked here long enough to know he’s right, though. There’s not much of a chance Charlie is still alive. Not after all this time.

  No, if Charlie was abducted, it’s most likely that she’s already died, but I don’t want to let myself think like that.

  I can’t.

  I can’t let myself believe that she’s gone, that she’s dead. I have to hold out hope because it could have been me. That’s the thing nobody understands
. I could have been the one he took. I could have been the one who was stolen away. The only reason it wasn’t me is that I found out about his cheating. I caught him red-handed, and I left.

  Charlie?

  Charlie didn’t leave him.

  She stayed.

  I don’t really blame her.

  She’s a student and he’s a professor. Maybe she thought leaving him would impact her grade. Maybe she thought if she asked for help, the school wouldn’t take her seriously. Maybe she was afraid they’d expel her. I don’t really know, and it’s too late to find out now.

  “I just think,” I say slowly, cautiously. “I think that if she is still alive, which I know she’s probably not,” I add quickly. “That I bet she’s scared, and that makes me scared, Oliver. I’m scared because…”

  I take a deep breath.

  I can do this.

  I can be honest with him.

  “It could have been me, Oliver. It could have been me who was taken, and it should have been. I know I was the one he wanted to take.”

  “What are you talking about?” Oliver shakes his head. “What do you mean that he wanted to take you?”

  Then he looks at me, and his eyes narrow once more.

  “Joyce Lawson,” he glares at me. “What have you done?”

  Chapter 2

  Wyatt

  It’s not a busy day at the office.

  It rarely is anymore.

  The excitement that accompanies kidnapping cases has died off, and now I’m left with a pile of clues that don’t make sense and a crew of guys who are begging me to close the case and move on.

  Some cases don’t get solved, I’ve been told, and it’s true. There’s something weird about this one, though, something that’s just not right. It’s something that makes me feel uncomfortable, and I can’t quite calculate why.

  I’m not from Bradshaw.

  I didn’t grow up around here, didn’t go to college here, and I certainly didn’t start my work in the police force here. Maybe that’s why I can’t let this one go. Maybe I need to prove myself. Maybe I need to make this case, my first big case in Bradshaw, be a memorable one.

  Even if it never gets solved, it’s memorable, all right.

  Logan Smith is a professor at Bradshaw Community College. It’s a cute little place, the school. It’s likeable, and it looks safe. The people seem friendly and nice and there are always lots of sponsored events at the college, but there’s more to this place than meets the eye.

  Shortly after I moved to Bradshaw to head up the shifter division of the local police force, a young college student named Charlene Hill went missing. Her friends called her Charlie, but her mother insisted that Charlene hated to be called that. I know because I interviewed the woman twelve times to try to get a lead.

  And nothing.

  Charlene just seemed to vanish into thin air, and the last one who saw her alive was none other than Logan Smith. Logan and Charlene were talking after the night class she was taking from him. Class let out at nine, and they were talking, as seen on camera in the commons, until nine-thirty. Then they both went their separate ways, and Charlene vanished.

  It’s been four weeks and five days since she went missing.

  It’s been a lifetime, and there’s no way that girl is still alive.

  There’s literally no way.

  Right now, we’re no longer searching for an abducted woman. We’re searching for a body. We’re searching for motive. We’re searching for clues. We’re searching for anything that could help us figure out who took Charlene Hill and why.

  And it’s been one dead end after another.

  And I’m tired.

  My team is tired.

  My contacts are tired.

  The truth is that I’m going to have to set this aside pretty soon and focus on other, more active cases. As the leader of the shifter squad, I have some leeway when it comes to the way most police stations function. Shifters have their own code of conduct, and it’s my job to enforce that.

  Logan Smith?

  He’s definitely a shifter.

  His ex-girlfriend, Joyce Lawson, confirmed it when I called her a few weeks ago. They only went out for a short time, maybe a few months, and then he left her for Charlene. He left Joyce, which typically would mean that she’d be considered a suspect, but she has a rock-solid alibi for the disappearance, and she’s been backed up by not one, not two, but three of Bradshaw’s best attorneys.

  Yeah, I’m not messing with her.

  Still, not being able to figure out what happened to the girl bothers me. I should have been able to get somewhere – anywhere – after all of this time.

  “Dixon!” A shrill voice calls my name and I groan inwardly before pasting on a smile and swiveling my seat around to see Marie Martin, Bradshaw’s most obnoxious reporter, striding toward me.

  “Miss Martin.” I smile politely, but that’s all I’m offering right now. I don’t have anything else to give her, and even if I did, I wouldn’t share. All of my energy right now is going toward finding out what happened to Charlene Hill and Marie Martin is nothing but a distraction.

  “Sergeant Dixon,” she repeats my name as she gets closer. Within seconds, she’s managed to scurry across the office floor in her five-inch stilettos. How the woman manages to walk in those things, I’ll never understand.

  “What can I do for you?” I say.

  “I was wondering if I could get a statement from you on the Charlene Hill case.”

  “I believe I gave you a statement just last week, Miss Martin.” I meet her gaze, but now my smile is gone. I can’t fake that anymore. I’m much too tired, and it’s not because I didn’t have any coffee this morning or the fact that I didn’t sleep well.

  No, this fatigue is something much deeper, something much worse.

  This is the fatigue of a man who has been searching for a killer and coming up short.

  This is the fatigue of someone who just can’t seem to get ahead.

  “Surely there’s been a development since last week,” Marie says. She smiles, but I notice that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I’m not sure if she’s pushing me to make a statement or trying to needle me because we haven’t made much progress on the case. Either way, I don’t have time for her crap.

  Not today.

  “Miss Martin, you know I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of an ongoing case,” I say, standing up. I might be a bumbly, quiet bear in my personal life, but at work?

  Here I’m in charge.

  I cross my arms over my broad chest and stare at her. I give her my best badass glare. There’s no way Martin is a shifter and if I’m correct, she doesn’t realize I am, either, or why this case is so important to me.

  Logan Smith stole a girl.

  I’m sure of it.

  He kidnapped her, probably hurt her, and I want to save her. He didn’t have the right to do what he did, and shifter or not, I plan to see him punished to the full extent of the law. I just wish this asshole didn’t seem to be one step ahead of me at all times.

  “I…Sergeant,” Marie Martin shakes her head. She seems a little bit intimidated, but I can see her inwardly chiding herself for that emotion. I know why. As a reporter, she can’t be scared by anyone or anything. She can’t back down when someone yells at her or when someone sounds scary.

  But this isn’t like the other fluff pieces she’s worked on before.

  This is different, and Logan Smith is dangerous.

  I don’t want Marie Martin poking around because I don’t like her. She’s conniving and she’s sneaky and she’s shrill. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s shrill. That’s not why her poking around is a problem, though. My personal opinions aside, she needs to back down because Logan has an agenda and I don’t know what it is.

  He’s gone about his normal life without any changes to his routine. He hasn’t varied his days. He hasn’t done anything unusual or strange. We’ve had to pull surveillance off of him to pursue othe
r cases, and I hate knowing he could be doing something right under our noses.

  Every search of his home has turned up clean, though.

  His office?

  Clean.

  His car?

  Clean.

  If Logan is the one who took Charlene – and I’m sure he is – then he’s doing an incredible job covering his tracks. I don’t like the idea that another shifter is getting the better of me, but that’s what this is. He took her.

  I know he took her.

  “Sergeant Dixon,” Marie tries again. “I know you’re telling me you can’t say anything about an ongoing case.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But I know that you regularly discuss this case with other people who are not reporters, nor are they law enforcement.”

  “Is that right?”

  The accusation is bullshit, but I’ll listen to what she has to say. I’ve got a few minutes before I go insane from this conversation.

  “I have it on authority that you discuss this case with other people related to this investigation.”

  “You’re going to have to give me something more than that,” I growl. “Because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Really? You aren’t even going to admit to it?”

  “Admit to what?” This time, my voice turns to a growl, and I know we’ve reached the end of our conversation. I have to stay calm, cool, and collected at all times. I have to stay in control of the situation. It’s my job as a cop and my job as a shifter. I am in control.

  “Joyce Lawson.”

  “Yes, the ex-girlfriend. We’ve spoken with her several times.”

  “I think you’ve done a little more than talk to her,” Marie pushes, and I shake my head. I haven’t. I actually haven’t even met Lawson in person. We spoke on the phone several times, but that interview was handled by another shifter cop. I was originally scheduled to speak with her, but something else came up in the investigation and I was needed elsewhere. My deputy recorded the interview and I listened to it several times, but I haven’t met her in person. Even the follow-up interview questions were handled by another cop. Miss Lawson and I have had no physical contact.