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Zerbrowski had called my cell phone in the car on the way there. Everybody was wanting answers, answers about the monsters, answers that he couldn’t give, because he didn’t fucking know. His quote, not mine.

I debated on whether to yell for Zerbrowski or call him back on his cell phone. I don’t usually mind being short, but this time I couldn’t see through the crowd, and I sure as hell couldn’t see over it.

I glanced at Webster. He was damn near six feet. “Can you spot Sergeant Zerbrowski?”

Webster suddenly looked even taller. I realized that he’d been slumping, artfully, the way some tall people do, especially if they got tall early and didn’t like it. Standing with his shoulders back, and trying to gaze across the crowd, he was at least six one, maybe an inch more. I’m usually a pretty good judge of height.

“He’s on the far side of the room.” He suddenly seemed to shrink, shoulders rounding, almost like his spine compressed before my eyes.

I shook my head, and said, “Can you get his attention?”

He got a mischievous grin on his face, a look that Zerbrowski and Jason had made me dread. “I could put you on my shoulders, then he’d spot you.”

I gave him a look that wilted the grin into a smile. He shrugged. “Sorry.” But it was the kind of sorry I’m used to, the one Jason always gives when he’s not sorry at all.

Either Zerbrowski is more psychic than I thought, or he was trying to get away from the man who was dogging him. It was one of the Mobile Reserve officers in full combat black, body armor still in place, but he’d lost his helmet, his mask, and his eyes were wild. The whites kept flashing like a horse’s when it’s about to bolt.

Zerbrowski saw me, and the look of relief on his face was so pure, so happy, that it almost scared me. “Officer Elsworthy, this is Anita Blake, Marshal Anita Blake. She’s our preternatural expert.”

Elsworthy frowned, blinking a little too rapidly. It was as if it took longer than it should have for the words to filter through and have meaning. I’d seen enough shock to know the symptoms. Why wasn’t he at the hospital with the rest of his squad?

Zerbrowski mouthed, “Sorry,” to me.

Elsworthy blinked at me, his brown eyes didn’t even look like they were focusing, as if what he was seeing was somewhere inside his head. Shit. A moment ago he’d been yelling at Zerbrowski, now he was staring at things that we couldn’t see. Probably reliving the disaster. He was pale, and there was a light dew of sweat on his face. I was betting he would be clammy to the touch.

I put my face close to Zerbrowski, and spoke low, “Why isn’t he at the hospital with the others?”

“He wouldn’t go. Said he wanted to ask RPIT how the hell a werewolf can grow claws when it’s still in human form.”

I must have reacted to the question, because Zerbrowski suddenly gave me a look through the rims of his glasses. “I told him it wasn’t possible for a shifter to gain claws while still in full human form. Was I wrong?”

I nodded. “A shifter has to be really powerful to be able to do it. I’ve only known a handful that could do partial change while they pretty much looked human.”

Zerbrowski lowered his voice even more, “It might have been good to know that before they busted in on Van Anders.”

“I thought a minimum of one person from each squad went down to Quantico for the big preternatural class and lecture.”

“They did.”

I gave him a disgusted look. “I don’t go around assuming that I know more about the monsters than the freaking FBI.”

“Maybe you should,” Zerbrowski said softly.

The way he said it took the heat out of my words. I couldn’t really get angry with Elsworthy standing there blinking like an innocent come to slaughter.

“Is it hot in here?” Elsworthy asked.

Actually, it was, too many people in too small a space. “Detective Webster, take Elsworthy out into the hall for a breath of air, would you?”

Webster did what I asked, and Elsworthy went without a single complaint. It was as if he’d used up all his anger before