It came out in a babble that sounded nuts even to her. She waited, hearing nothing but her breathing during the pause on the other line.

“This is Spade, isn’t it?” she asked, wary. What if she’d hit the wrong number somehow?

His voice flowed back immediately. “Yes, apologies for that. Why don’t you tell me what you believe you saw?”

Denise noticed his phrasing, but she was too wired to argue about it. “I saw my cousin murdered by a man who didn’t even twitch when I maced him with pepper spray and silver nitrate. Then the next thing I saw, a big damn dog was standing where the man had been, but it ran off, and the police think my twenty-five-year-old cousin died of a heart attack instead of being strangled.”

Another silence filled the line. Denise could almost picture Spade frowning as he listened. He scared her, but right now, she was more afraid of whatever had killed Paul.

“Are you still in Fort Worth?” he asked at last

“Yes. Same house as…as before.” When he’d dropped her off after murdering a man in cold blood.

“Right. I’m sorry to inform you that Cat is in New Zealand. I can ring her or give you her number, but it would take a day at least for her to get to you, if not more.”

Her friend and expert on all things inhuman was halfway around the world. Great.

“…but I happen to be in the States,” Spade went on. “In fact, I’m in St. Louis. I could be there later today, have a look at your cousin’s body.”

Denise sucked in her breath, torn between wanting to find out what had killed Paul in the quickest way possible, and feeling edgy about it being Spade doing the investigating. Then she berated herself. The deaths of Paul, Amber, and her aunt meant more than her being uncomfortable about who was helping her.

“I’d appreciate that. My address is—”