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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

NED

Ned told Lennox about the lawyer's concerns as they were preparing to enter the conference room. Another full-division meeting had been called for, and Captain Williston himself would be attending, yet another sign that the case had taken a new level of importance, the division's entire focus, for the time being. The lieutenant didn't have much to add, though; just that as he had thought, Maxwell worked with DA Douglas, and yes, he was very deeply involved with the gay marriage agenda. "People like him are just something we'll have to deal with until this is over," the grey wolf said, adjusting the twisty she'd tied her mane back with. "With prominent gays getting married, it's inevitable that the gay community is going to take a strong interest and be speaking out against homophobia and hate crimes."

The meeting was somewhat brief, especially considering the gravity of the situation, and only Lennox, Williston, and Arkady did any talking. Photos and notes concerning the Wittmore crime scene were already tacked all over the board, along with the newest Ten Commandments list and the warning note.

Captain Williston was a big, tall man, very muscular despite being in his mid-fifties. He was ex-military; Special Forces or something, a common career for Dobermans. He had a deep, booming voice with a southern accent, and as he stood in front of the board, arms crossed, Ned felt the dog's eyes moving over them, making sure all the officers were attentive.

"I'm sure you've all figured this out by now," he growled, "but this is now officially classified as a serial killer case."

Lennox was frowning, but the Doberman just shook his head and finished. "Now you've been warned." He turned to the fox standing next to him, equally tall, if not so wide. "Sergeant Denison, you 'ad something to add, I believe?"

Arkady nodded. "I had that warning note analysed. The words are a direct quote from a speech Senator Adam Johnson, of Tennessee, gave in 2012 during the presidential election. Word for word. Also, the lab test on the paper came back the same as the last two; ordinary paper, ordinary ink. Nothing to go by."

"A senator's words, now. Now that's something interestin'" Williston mused. "No connection 'tween the vics and this mugwump? 'The Prophet?'"

"Beyond that he apparently hates them? No" the fox said, shrugging.

"The media got hold of that nickname" Ned added suddenly, causing Williston, Arkady, and pretty much everyone else to look his way. His ears flickered, and he swallowed, but remembering Holly Vaughn's sticky-sweet voice, he continued. "We had a reporter referring to the killer as "The Prophet." Which, incidentally, is also what Johnson's supporters call him."

"That's right" Montoya said. "Same dude that was on TV the other day, muttering some nonsense about sinning. They called him 'The Prophet.'"

The Doberman looked thoughtful. "Did they, now? Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think our killer has a name?"

"You're going along with that?" Scarlett asked, curious.

"Why not?" the police chief argued. "Every serial killer gets a nickname, and this one seems to have chosen his own, so we'll humour him. Ladies and Gentlemen, you're going after a prophet."

The rest of the day was insane beyond belief. Lennox and Arkady were constantly running to answer phone calls, and there was a media whirlwind going on all over San Fernando. A crowd of reporters and cameramen had gathered outside of the station, so that every time an officer dared step outside, he or she would be accosted and demanded of more information about the murder of Claudia Wittmore. Not only that, but the dispatcher's telephones were ringing off the wall, mostly from curious citizens who wanted confirmation that "Claudia Wittmore was murdered?!"

At some point Arkady revealed that analysis of the arrows used to kill Mrs Wittmore were crossbow arrows, but not the ordinary variety sold in sportsmen's stores for deer hunting and the like; rather these were genuine-article arrows meant to kill people, and as such had probably been obtained via the black market. That gave them something to go by; they could probe into who had been buying a crossbow and arrows in the recent timeframe. The killer seemed to be symbolically choosing his weapons so that a different one would be used each time; which eliminated the possibility of his returning to a place he'd previously bought the weapon.

Ned had taken notes from the board in the conference room and at his desk he stared at them, all the pieces of the puzzle - the Ten Commandments list; the references to religious retribution; the different method of death for each victim; the victims themselves, who'd apparently been carefully selected; and the possible connections to Senator Johnson and the Traditional Marriage Foundation. So many pieces, but how did they fit together? And they did not have so much as one suspect to look into.

He was still puzzling over the various evidence that evening when he suddenly heard a familiar voice from across the room. "Working late, eh, stud?"

"Garrett?"

Sure enough, it was the coyote. "Practically all your friends have gone home" he observed, glancing around the mostly empty room. "And yet you're still here."

"Just trying to get somewhere with this evidence" Ned explained, feeling his tail thwapping the back of his chair. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"I'm not surprised" Garrett said, sitting on the edge of Ned's desk so his bushy tail swished aside some of Ned's notes. "Claudia Wittmore dead....I bet your division is going crazy right now, all the pressure on you."

"Pretty much" Ned agreed, pushing his notes into a pile. "I guess I can quit for now though. Sorry I had to bail on you last night."

The coyote waved a paw. "Don't mention it. I know what it's like for police when you can get called out to a case all the time. Kind of like medical folks who're always getting called back to the hospital."

Ned nodded, swivelling in his chair so he and Garrett were facing each other directly. "Something like that. I did have a really great time, yesterday. Not sure if I told you that....but I did."

Garrett grinned. "The date or our time in the car afterwards?"

The mention of their date made Ned look around the room self-consciously, but pretty much everyone had left. Nolan and Scarlett had left early; Arkady was probably out looking into field evidence or talking to the crime lab, he rarely took the time to relax; Montoya and Diego had asked Ned if he wanted to go down to Salty Sebastian's with them, but he'd declined. Lennox was around somewhere, but his desk wasn't entirely visible, tucked in a nook as it was, so he and Garrett were at least slightly protected from view.

"Both" he answered finally, and meant it. Just the memory of their last moments driving Garrett's car before the call had come in made his jeans feel tighter, and he licked his lips subconsciously.

"Oh really?" Garrett said, but Ned could see he was pleased; his tail was wagging and shuffling papers all over the desk. The coyote seemed so cheerful, sitting there facing him after this tough day, that Ned felt inspired. Standing up, he put a paw around the side of Garrett's face and leaned in so their muzzles were just centimetres away, feeling Garrett's soft breathing against his muzzle - his breath smelled, oddly, like pineapple; maybe he'd eaten some of that recently - his eyes meeting the coyote's yellow ones, and Garrett smiled and put his ears back, leaning up into the kiss.

Because they did kiss. They had only had two dates, but somehow, Ned thought, it was time for a first kiss; something more substantial than the peck on his cheek that first night by the beach. As their muzzles touched he pulled Garrett off the desk so they were clasped together, the coyote sliding his arms around the wolf's neck. Garrett had melted when Ned had kissed him, letting Ned take the more dominant role, so Ned held the coyote as they kissed passionately, letting his tongue slip between his lips and into Garrett's muzzle, feeling the smooth surface of Garrett's fangs on his tongue-tip.

Kissing Garrett was reminiscent of his first kiss, so many years ago. Technically it had not been his "first" kiss; that had been a weasel named Saloni Marsh, in the 8th grade. Sal was a nice girl, but her kisses did nothing for him. His first real kiss, with a boy, had been with Wade Umbria, a dog of some mixed ancestry with whom he'd been friends during high school. Whatever had happened to Wade? He'd moved back east their senior year, and Ned had never heard from him again. It'd been a long time since the dog had so much as crossed his mind, but now, feeling Garrett's arms on his shoulders as their tongues twisted together, he remembered that, and felt again the same thrill that kissing another guy had always brought for him; something that, for whatever reason, no girl could duplicate.

Presently one or the other of them pulled away, and Garrett blushed slightly and looked down. "You're a good kisser" he murmured at length.

"I try" Ned said confidently, licking his lips. "It's not hard when the guy you're up against is a cute coyote."

Garrett's ears flicked and Ned saw he had appreciated the compliment. "It's been a long time since I kissed a hot wolf" he whispered, leaning closer again. "...or since I did....this."

Abruptly he thrust his paw through the top of Ned's jeans, right down into his underwear. Ned whistled slightly. "Do you do this with-" he swallowed, taking a deep breath "with all your dates?"

"Only hot wolf dates" Garrett snickered, massaging Ned's shaft with expert pawpads, and leaning in so his head was pressed against Ned's shoulder. Looking down, the wolf studied the darker sandy-brown of the fur on Garrett's head; darker than the more beige colours of the lower part of his muzzle and arms, and tipped with black. He took a paw and began rubbing one of Garrett's big ears again, in the way that he knew larger canids liked to have their ears played with, pads caressing the base, below the earring..

God, Ned thought, I'm forgetting where I am. Right here in the office, and I'm kissing a guy and he has his paw on my cock. He glanced back around the corner, but saw no one. "This isn't the best place or time for this" he murmured at length, having to force the words. There was a significant portion of him that did not want the coyote to pull away; that in fact wanted to bend him over the desk and lift his tail, but one has to maintain responsibility, right? Not to mention common sense.

"Not all of you agrees with that" Garrett reasoned, giving Ned's cock a hard squeeze. "And besides; you're tired after a difficult day at work. What better way to relax than this?" With his free paw he took the paw that was not massaging his ears and put it on his butt, right over the base of his still-thwapping tail.

Automatically Ned pressed down, feeling coyote ass under his fingers, and breathing in the scent of...horny coyote. The bugle being pressed against his leg was evident that he wasn't the only one sporting an erection, and Garrett's caressing fingers were quickly bringing him to a point at which keeping one's pants buttoned was uncomfortable.

Screw responsibility.

"Push your pants down" Ned ordered, spinning the coyote around so he was leaning over Ned's desk. "I hope you came prepared." Moving almost by instinct, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pulled his shaft out, already hard and dripping. The scent of his own arousal was more evident now that his cock was out in the open, and as such was more likely to be scented by someone, but there wasn't time to worry about that.

Garrett was pushing his pants down, exposing the same sandy black-tipped fur pattern of his ass, and pulling something out of his jacket pocket. "I always come prepared when I'm dating a sexy wolf" he almost purred, squiring something on his paw and slathering it over Ned's cock.

Ned didn't even bother answering. Garrett was offering stress relief of the best kind, and he was taking it. No more reason for chitchat. The coyote looked just as enchanting bent over the desk as he'd imagined, especially when he lifted his tail to the side and revealed the darker patch of bare skin underneath his tail, which he was currently rubbing more lube into.

Seeing his boyfriend fingering himself almost made Ned loose it right at the beginning, and he brushed Garrett's paw aside impatiently. "I'm sure that's enough" he said shortly, grabbing Garrett's shoulder as he pressed his throbbing cock up into the delightful warmth under the coyote's tail.

Ah, finally. It had been too long since he'd experienced this, much too long. Garrett fit him perfectly, every inch as he pressed up deeper and deeper, his ears pricked to catch Garrett's low moan. Garrett was bracing his paws against the top of the desk, head thrown back, ears flat against the back of his head, muzzle pointed at the ceiling.

Somewhere in his frenzy of thrusting Ned's paw found itself under Garrett's belly to grip the hard-on he found there, feeling stickiness on the coyote's shaft. He stroked it as best he could without letting up on his frantic humping, tongue lolling from his muzzle.

This was what sex was meant to be like, he thought vaguely; this was what true passion was, like solving a case or finding the perfect clue. Garrett's passage was impeccably tight, stroking him in all the right places, and by the way the coyote kept making high whimpering noises each time Ned hilted him, he was feeling something similar.

His knot went in without any warning; just a wet squelch and pop, and then he was jabbing erratically, caught up the moment, before pulling the coyote's back to his chest and moaning into Garrett's sandy fur, so much rougher than his own, as he felt himself releasing within the coyote.

Garrett must have come at around the same moment, because he was still whimpering, the semi-muffled variety of someone who's trying not to be loud but failing. Ned's paw felt stickier than before. The scent of coyote musk was everywhere.

Ned's first thought was that was fucking awesome.

The second was I just fucked Garrett in the middle of the police station, where our scent is likely to remain for days.

And not only that, but they were tied, and likely to remain so for the next half-hour or more.

Shit.