Mate Bond

“I’m like that too,” Ramirez said. “Ask him if, when he feels better, I can come talk to him.”

“You want to come to Shiftertown?” Kenzie asked quickly.

“Better I go to him than he come see me at the station. People would get the wrong idea.”

“If Shifters see you roll up to our house in uniform in a patrol car, they’ll get the wrong idea as well. Shifters get nervous around police.”

Ramirez shrugged. “Then I’ll come by after work and not in uniform.” He gave her an open look. “I’m asking for help. That’s all. I think Shifters can help me do my job better, and I’m happy to work around regs to do it. So what do you say?”

He sounded sincere, but Kenzie had spent the last twenty years being suspicious of everyone. Ramirez might be the exception to the rule, or he might be trying to play Kenzie and the other Shifters for his own reasons. Only one way to find out, really.

She flashed him a sudden smile. “Sure. Come tonight and meet Bowman.” That would be fun to watch.

“Thanks, I will. After I’m off duty.”

“It’s a date. Am I free to go now?”

Ramirez laughed again, that rich, warm sound. “You always were. See you, Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Kenzie.” She gave him another smile, opened the door, and climbed out of the car. Across the way, Jamie and Cade came alert, but again she waved them off. “See you, Mr. Ramirez.”

“Gil,” Ramirez said. “When I’m off duty.”

“See you, Gil,” Kenzie said, and shut the door.

She hated to admit it, even to herself, as she turned away. She liked him.

* * *

Bowman woke from a sleep a few hours after Kenzie had gone and found Ryan, who was no longer snuggled against him, standing at the foot of his bed. “Woman’s here to see you,” Ryan said, his eyes narrow. “Human. Says she’s a vet.”

“Just came to check on you.” The breezy voice of the woman who’d set his leg last night came to him from the hall. “I like to follow up on my work.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The vet swept into the room. Bowman hadn’t had a clear look at her the night before—he’d been in severe pain, the back hall had been dim, and she’d been wearing groupie makeup.

Bowman remembered her scent, though. Beneath the perfume, which she’d left off today, she’d smelled clean, like soap. Today she smelled like antiseptic and whatever scared dog or cat she’d been working on.

Cat, Bowman decided, wrinkling his nose. All felines had a distinctive odor, whether Shifters or house cats.

The woman was about thirty, with a pointed face and blond hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. Now that she had no penciled-in cat whiskers and cat’s eyes and had taken the black paint off her nose, he could see her cheekbone structure, light-colored lashes, and light green eyes. She wore no makeup at all, in fact, her lips a pale brownish red. She wasn’t as tall as Kenzie but she had curves beneath her button-up shirt and slacks. Obviously she’d just come from work.

“So?” she asked. “How’s the leg? Got it re-splinted, I see.”

Bowman lay still, not bothering to pull the blankets over his naked chest. His lower half was covered, except for the leg stuck out over the sheets.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

She smiled, revealing dimples. “It’s Patricia. Patricia Brookman.”

“Dr. Brookman,” Bowman said, giving her a nod.

Her smile widened. “Too formal. Everyone calls me Dr. Pat. You don’t have to call me anything if you don’t want to.” Her scent and her babbling conveyed her nervousness. “I don’t know what to call you. You’re the leader of all the Shifters around here. I don’t know if I’m supposed to bow or what.”

“If you bow, my son will shit himself laughing,” Bowman said in all seriousness. “Just call me Bowman.”

“Fair enough. You haven’t answered me about the leg, you know. How is it?”

She advanced into the room, her gaze on the splint, as though longing to take it off and examine what was beneath.

“A lot better,” Bowman said, not moving, though he had the sudden urge to wriggle his toes. They were starting to itch. “I’ll be healed in a day or so.”

Pat’s eyes widened. “No, you’ll be healed in about six to eight weeks. Those bones were seriously shattered.”

“Shifters heal fast,” Bowman said—he kept saying the words, reassuring everyone to also reassure himself. “You sticking them back together last night helped a lot. I thank you.”

“Did it help? You were up on it, and you re-broke it running around the parking lot.”

Bowman shrugged. “It had already started to set by that time. When a Shifter’s fighting adrenaline is up, the metabolism speeds up even more. Hell of a hangover the next day, but we can heal at the same time as we fight.” An exaggeration, because he felt like shit, and rebreaking the leg had caused a boatload of pain. But it never hurt to make Shifters seem invincible.

“Interesting.” Pat looked thoughtful. “I’d think the adrenaline would hinder the healing process, kind of putting it aside until the danger is over. You might not feel pain, but you shouldn’t get better until much later.”

“No idea,” Bowman said, unworried. This woman was so harmless she amused him. He kept an eye on her and assessed her to figure out what she truly wanted, but for now, she could ask questions. “Healers might understand it, but I’m just a fighter. I fight, I heal. It works—I don’t argue.”