A girl walks into a bar…
No. A human girl walks into a Shifter bar…
The bar was empty, not yet open to customers. It looked normal—windowless walls painted black, rows of glass bottles, the smell of beer and stale air. But it wasn’t normal, standing on the edge of Shiftertown as it did.
“You the lawyer?” a man washing glasses asked. He was human, not Shifter. No strange, slitted pupils, no Collar to control his aggression, no air of menace. Well, relatively no air of menace. This was a crappy part of town, and menace was its stock-in-trade.
Kim told herself she had nothing to be afraid of. They’re tamed. Collared. They can’t hurt you.
When she nodded, the man gestured with his cloth to a door at the end of the bar. “Knock him dead, sweetheart.”
“I’ll try to keep him alive.” Kim pivoted and stalked away on her four-inch heels, feeling his gaze on her back all the way.
She knocked on the door marked “Private,” and a man on the other side growled, “Come.”
I just need to talk to him. Then I’m done, on my way home. A trickle of moisture rolled between Kim’s shoulder blades as she made herself open the door and walk inside.
A man leaned back in a chair behind a messy desk, a sheaf of papers in his hands. His booted feet were propped on the desk, his long legs a feast of blue jeans over muscle. He was a Shifter all right—thin black and silver Collar against his throat; hard, honed body; midnight black hair; definite air of menace. When Kim entered, he stood, setting the papers aside.
Damn. He rose to a height of well over six feet and gazed at Kim with eyes blue like the morning sky. His body wasn’t only honed; it was hot—big chest, wide shoulders, tight abs, firm biceps against a form-fitting black T-shirt.
With old-fashioned courtesy, he placed a chair in front of the desk and motioned her to it. Kim felt the heat of his hand near the small of her back as she seated herself, smelled the scent of soap and male musk.
“You’re Mr. Morrissey?”
The Shifter sat back down, returned his motorcycle boots to the top of the desk, and laced his hands behind his head. “Call me Liam.”
The lilt in his voice was unmistakable. Kim put that with his black hair, impossibly blue eyes, and exotic name. “You’re Irish.”
He smiled a smile that could melt a woman at ten paces. “And who else would be running a pub?”
“But you don’t own it.”
Kim could have bitten out her tongue as soon as she said it. Of course he didn’t own it. He was a Shifter.
His voice went frosty, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out. “I’m afraid I can’t help you much on the Brian Smith case. I don’t know Brian well, and I don’t know anything about what happened the night his girlfriend was murdered. It’s a long time ago, now.”
Disappointment bit her, but Kim had learned not to let discouragement stop her when she needed to get a job done. “Brian called you the ‘go-to’ guy. As in, when Shifters are in trouble, Liam Morrissey helps them out.”
Liam shrugged, muscles moving the bar’s logo on his T-shirt. “True. But Brian never came to me. He got into his troubles all by himself.”
“I know that. I’m trying to get him out of trouble.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed, pupils flicking to slits as he retreated to the predator within him. Shifters liked to do that when assessing a situation, Brian had told her. Guess who was the prey?
Brian had done the predator-prey thing with Kim at first. He’d stopped when he began to trust her, but Kim didn’t think she’d ever get used to it. Brian was her first Shifter client, the first Shifter, in fact, she’d ever seen outside a television news story. Twenty years Shifters had been acknowledged to exist, but Kim had never met one.
It was well known that they lived in their enclave on the east side of Austin, near the old airport, but she’d never gone over to check them out. Some human women did, strolling the streets just outside Shiftertown, hoping for glimpses—and more—of the Shifter men who were reputed to be strong, gorgeous, and well endowed. Kim had once heard two women in a restaurant murmuring about their encounter with a Shifter male the night before. The phrase “Oh, my God,” had been used repeatedly. Kim was as curious about them as anyone else, but she’d never summoned the courage to go near Shiftertown herself.
Then suddenly she had been assigned the case of the Shifter accused of murdering his human girlfriend ten months ago. This was the first time in twenty years Shifters had caused trouble, the first time one had been put on trial. The public, outraged by the killing, wanted Shifters punished, pointed fingers at those who’d claimed the Shifters were tamed.
However, after Kim had met Brian, she’d determined that she wouldn’t do a token defense. She believed in his innocence, and she wanted to win. There wasn’t much case law on Shifters because there’d never been any trials, at least none on record. This was to be a well-publicized trial, Kim’s opportunity to make a mark, to set precedent.
Liam’s eyes stayed on her, pupils still slitted. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you? To defend a Shifter?”
“Brave, that’s me.” Kim crossed her legs, pretending to relax. They picked up on your nervousness, people said. They know when you’re scared, and they use your fear. “I don’t mind telling you, this case has been a pain in the ass from the get-go.”
“Humans think anything involving Shifters is a pain in the ass.”
Kim shook her head. “I mean, it’s been a pain in the ass because of the way it’s been handled. The cops nearly had Brian signing a confession before I could get to the interrogation. At least I put a stop to that, but I couldn’t get bail for him, and I’ve been blocked by the prosecutors right and left every time I want to review the evidence. Talking to you is a long shot, but I’m getting desperate. So if you don’t want to see a Shifter go down for this crime, Mr. Morrissey, a little cooperation would be appreciated.”
The way he pinned her with his eyes, never blinking, made her want to fold in on herself. Or run. That was what prey did—ran. And then predators chased them, cornered them.
What did this man do when he cornered his prey? He wore the Collar; he could do nothing. Right?