Disclaimer: Moonlight and characters don't belong to me; I'm simply a fan having fun with the characters.
"Beth!" Maureen strode toward her, expression serious. "You still working on that theft spree story?"
Beth leaned back from her computer screen. "Well there's no solid evidence yet, but I'm working to connect this to a kidnapping."
Maureen nodded approvingly. "I like it. I've got a fresh one for you. It's just a few streets down and the cops are already all over it."
"Cops? Really?" Beth stood. "I'm on my way."
Maureen smiled. "That's what I like to hear." She handed Beth a slip of paper. "Here's the address."
Mick grimaced as he stepped around the mess of people. If there was one thing that hadn't changed about LAPD in 55 years, it was that on cases like these, they always got involved the moment the trail became discernible, never before. And of course, that was usually the point at which Mick was already midway into his own investigation of the same case. Police involvement complicated matters, made it harder for Mick to get the information he needed quickly and subtly. Always leaving their scent all over the place,
Mick thought resignedly.
Even with all the extra layers of smells, Mick could tell almost immediately that there was blood on the scene. There was nothing like the scent of freshly shed blood to a vampire. He hurried toward the store, pausing long enough to flash his credentials at the uniformed men who had been eyeing him suspiciously. As he neared the store, he began to pick up the scent of desperation. That was new.
He followed the trail of lingering emotion to the baby aisle which, unsurprisingly, was also the source of the fresh blood. The characteristic mess was there, but this seemed to have been more hurried. Merchandise was strewn down the aisle, entire shelves were almost bare and most of what was on the floor had suffered some damage.
There were police officers spilled all over the scene but the scent of what had happened was still fresh enough for Mick to get a clear image. Finally.
A man with unkempt sandy blond hair, dressed in black, face hidden is the focus. He is half-crouched, motions frantic as he tosses can after can of formula off the shelves, seemingly unaware of the racket he is making.
Another man approaches, this one older with grey-black balding hair. His footsteps are quick, his anger and annoyance evident. "Hey!" he calls brusquely. "Sir! You have to pay for those!"
The first man whirls around, not bothering to hide his face. His blue eyes are wild, bloodshot—they look almost inhuman in their frenzy. "Where is it?" he growls. "The other formula, the special one? WHERE IS IT?"
The older man presses his lips together. His eyes are all but narrowed behind his glinting oval spectacles. "This is all we have. I'm sorry if you didn't find what you're looking for but if you don't pay for this damage, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call the police."
The first man hisses in frustration. In one fluid motion, he rises and shoves the other man aside, sending him flying into the shelves. Merchandise explodes from the shelves and clatter across the floor narrowly missing the man. He barely notices this, nor does he notice the older man lying limply among his handiwork, blood trickling from the back of his head. Instead, he takes off, his movements still wild as the few people shopping there begin to realize something is amidst.
Mick inhaled sharply. Until now, he hadn't been able to get a face—at Anna's, it had been shrouded in shadows and at the other scene, the memory of the crime had been overlapped with too many other memories to provide a clear image. Now though, it would seem that the stakes had shifted considerably. He had a face—a face he had seen not too long ago. Looks like Beth's wild speculations are right, he thought grimly. Shane Worrester was indeed the man they were looking for.