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suddenly cold. “Donovan’s Collar was off when the rangers found him. We know the hunters stripped it from him after he was dead, but the hunters claimed they didn’t see a Collar and therefore thought Donovan fair game.” The anger of that boiled inside her. “The hunters claimed that Donovan must have taken the Collar off himself, and so they weren’t to blame. An innocent mistake, they said. Innocent, my ass.”
    Diego listened with quiet sympathy. “Donovan couldn’t have taken his Collar off himself?”
    “The Collars don’t come off. If Donovan had tried to pull off his Collar, he could have died from it. They’re programmed to shoot shocks and all kinds of crap through us when we’re aggressive, which includes trying to take the damn things off.”
    “Shifter Division would have known that,” Diego said. “What did they say?”
    “They conveniently ignored that detail,” she said, tasting bitterness.
    “In other words, the humans got off, and nobody cared?”
    “You got it, Lieutenant.”
    “Call me Diego.” Diego sent a gaze down her body. “Seems like you should.”
    Fire licked through her. Usually it amused Cassidy how hung up humans were about clothes, but right now she was very aware of being bare in front of Diego.
    Shifters did understand the eroticism of naked human bodies. Cassidy had first gained Donovan’s interest when she’d flashed him in the dark parking lot outside Coolers. She’d pulled up her tight top, no bra beneath, and Donovan had decided right then to mate-claim her. They’d both been crazy, loving to dance and party and laugh. They’d laughed so much. The fact that, the night Donovan had gone out to die, he’d left in anger had haunted her to this day.
    “It’s a warm night,” she said, forcing her tone to be light. “Maybe you’d be more comfortable if you shed some of your clothes.”
    Diego flashed her a sudden grin. “Not out here where I can get thorns up my ass.”
    “I’d make sure you didn’t.”
    “You’re a tease, woman.”
    She returned his grin. “Yeah, they all say that.” She hadn’t much felt like teasing anyone for a long time. “You know, Diego, you’re not bad for a human.”
    “No? Damn, I’m flattered.”
    She stopped smiling and studied him. “There’s a darkness in you, though. You told me that your partner, your best friend, died. I’m truly sorry about that.”
    Cassidy sounded truly sorry. Like she understood.
    “He got shot,” Diego said.
    He’d never forget the horror of watching Jobe, a towering giant of a man, get to his knees and lay his pistol on the floor in front of ten guys armed with various pistols and shotguns. Then the greater horror of watching Jobe buckle as a bullet went into him, his blood bursting onto the white carpet of the hotel room.
    “They shot me too,” Diego said, the words stiff. “I lived. Jobe didn’t. He was my closest friend, and I should have been taking care of him.”
    The counselors were supposed to help Diego deal with his pain and guilt. They’d told him that he needed to see the shooting in a larger context, but Diego knew damn well that there was no larger context.
    Diego hadn’t thought there were more than two men in that hotel room, had thought that he and Jobe could bring them in without much trouble. An easy bust.
    He hadn’t known until he’d burst in, twenty steps ahead of Jobe, that the men who’d rented the penthouse had sneaked half a biker gang up there for a party. When Diego had entered by himself, one Sig to their arsenal, the bikers had decided to play the game of Hang the Stupid Cop off the Balcony.
    Jobe had called for backup, but instead of waiting for them, he’d tried to rescue Diego himself, terrified for his partner. Jobe had paid the price.
    Diego had expected to get dismissed from the force, but even after the department’s investigation into what had happened, the police chief decided to turn Diego and Jobe into heroes. Jobe deserved it, yes,