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suspect’s dirty trailer from all sides. The bike sat near the back—and it was sticky with the scent Emmett had detected at the restaurant.
    Even that close, no one shot out at them, and a couple of seconds later, Emmett’s leopard picked up a new scent. Blood. Fresh and thick. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, knowing what they’d find. He was right.
    The shooter lay slumped over a rickety table, the back of his head blown off execution style. “Vincent knew we’d picked up his scent,” Lucas said, taking in the scene from the doorway beside Emmett. “I bet that blood is still warm.”
    They both stepped back out, Emmett’s frustration making him want to kick something. “Think there might be intel in there that could lead us to Vincent?”
    Lucas nodded at the neighbors in the surrounding trailers, a few of whom were openly staring. “We can’t risk going in and giving the cops a reason to hassle us. As it is, these folks saw us open the door, stand in the doorway. No harm, no foul.”
    “I wouldn’t let it bother you,” Clay said, breaking his customary silence. “This guy, he was expendable. They’d have told him squat.”
    Emmett tried to believe that as he circled the trailer.
    A hint of movement in his peripheral vision, prey breaking into a run.
    He didn’t even think about it, shifting into hard pursuit between one second and the next. The skinny guy in front of him didn’t look back as he snaked through the trailer park. Not until he passed a group of children kicking around a dusty soccer ball. Emmett’s gut chilled as the man’s hand came up. “Get down!” he yelled, thrusting himself into an incredible burst of speed. Slamming into the shooter’s arm, he pushed it up just as the man fired. The shot was silent, the bullet lost in the sky.
    The shooter was already moving, using his body with the fluid grace of an experienced street fighter. His fist hit Emmett’s cheek with enough force to jerk it back, but Emmett didn’t let go of the man’s wrist, holding the gun pointed up, even as he used his free elbow to hit the assassin’s jaw. The bastard didn’t go down.
    Fuck it. Emmett squeezed the man’s wrist, crushing his fragile human bones.
    With a scream, the shooter dropped to his knees, the gun falling out of his hand. “Keep an eye on it,” Emmett ordered Vaughn.
    The jaguar nodded and made sure any kids who hadn’t already scattered got the hell out. Emmett kept his hand around the shooter’s wrist as the whimpering male knelt in the dust. This one, Emmett thought, would know something about Vincent. Dropping into a crouch, he met the man’s shiny-wet eyes. “Tell me what I want to know,” he said very quietly, “or I’ll crush your wrist so badly, they’ll never be able to put it back together.”
    The man spat at him. “I’ll get a cloned replacement.”
    Emmett heard the faint sound of Enforcement sirens and knew he had a couple of minutes at most. Leaning close, he deliberately let his eyes go cat, his claws shooting out. Then he smiled. “You know, they’re not very good at cloning eyes.” He touched a claw to the very edge of the man’s right eye. “Funny how a claw can accidentally blind a man during fighting.”
    Fear burned off the shooter, acrid and thick. “You can’t do that. There’re witnesses.”
    “Really?”
    He watched as the man turned . . . to see only closed doors and shuttered windows.
    “You threatened their kids,” Emmett whispered. “Who do you think’s going to come forward to save you?” He pressed in the claw until the edge actually touched the delicate surface.
    The fear turned into sheer terror. “I’ll answer your questions!”
    Emmett asked them hard and fast. By the time Enforcement arrived, the Crew male was so grateful to see them, he confessed to the shooting just to get away from Emmett. The cops looked like they wanted to take Emmett in, too, but all of a sudden, there were twenty witnesses who’d seen