The Crown Victoria slowed beside the inactive construction site and stopped near the curb.
Nick remained behind the wheel for several seconds while examining the area.
Temporary fencing surrounded the unfinished building, and stacks of unused lumber sat beneath faded plastic covers.
There were no workers in sight.
The reported vehicle was easy to find.
A white Kia Rio had been left directly in the construction entrance, blocking any truck or equipment from entering the property.
Its rear windshield was completely missing.
Someone had stretched a sheet of clear plastic over the opening and secured it with several layers of silver duct tape.
Nick narrowed his eyes.
The Kia looked relatively new, which made the makeshift repair seem even more suspicious.
Auto glass was expensive, but most owners would at least take the vehicle to a repair shop instead of covering the rear opening with something that looked like a shower curtain.
There was a reasonable chance the car had been stolen.
Nick picked up his radio.
“Dispatch, Burkhardt Seven-Eight.” “Burkhardt Seven-Eight, go ahead.” Laila’s voice had returned to its calm professional tone.
There was no trace of the woman who had been flirting with him over the private channel only minutes earlier.
“I’m at the location.
The vehicle is parked on private property and blocking the construction entrance.
Its rear windshield is missing, so it may be stolen.
Run the plate for me.” “Copy.
Checking Oregon plate Tango X-ray Yankee Five-Eight-Four.” Nick watched the mirrors while waiting.
A few seconds later, the radio crackled again.
“Burkhardt Seven-Eight, plate confirmed.
The vehicle is registered to Joshua Coffey with an address in Beaverton.
No stolen-vehicle report and no active wants associated with the registration.” “Copy.
Mark me on scene.” Nick placed the radio back in its holder but did not immediately leave the patrol car.
The call had been dispatched as a non-emergency parking complaint.
That did not mean it was safe.
He reached across the passenger seat, grabbed a marked ballistic vest, and pulled it over his uniform.
Portland did not experience shootings at the same rate as several larger American cities, but complacency was one of the easiest ways for an officer to get hurt.
“Burkhardt Seven-Eight, status updated,” Laila said.
“Do you need another unit?” “Negative.
Everything is calm for now.
I’ll handle it.” Nick opened the door.
He had already spotted a man lingering near the vehicle.
The stranger was squatting beside the construction fence twenty feet from the Kia.
He appeared to be in his forties, with a thinning hairline and several days of stubble covering his face.
A hand-rolled cigarette rested between his fingers.
“Hey,” Nick called as he approached.
“Is that your car?” The man looked up but made no effort to stand.
His clothing immediately caught Nick’s attention.
Portland was experiencing a warm late-summer afternoon, with the temperature climbing into the mid-eighties, yet the man wore a dirty insulated vest over a heavy shirt.
Loose, stained pants hung around his legs.
The outfit looked more appropriate for a cold night beneath an overpass than a humid afternoon.
Then the smell reached Nick.
The sharp odor of marijuana hung heavily in the air around him.
Nick’s expression remained neutral, but his left hand drifted closer to the Taser on his duty belt.
The man had clearly noticed the patrol car arrive.
Even so, he took his time standing and looked Nick over with an almost lazy contempt.
“Yeah, it’s mine,” he answered.
“I’m not doing anything.
Just hanging around.” “On an active construction site?” “Is that a problem?” The man brought the cigarette to his lips and took one final drag.
Maintaining eye contact with Nick, he dropped it onto the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe.
The gesture was deliberate.
Nick felt the last of his patience begin to disappear.
He had hoped to finish his final patrol shift without creating unnecessary paperwork.
A small amount of marijuana was rarely worth turning a parking complaint into an arrest, especially when proving possession could consume more time than the citation deserved.
A cooperative driver would have received a warning, moved the car, and gone on his way.
Openly provoking an officer was different.
Nick was not going to invent charges or abuse his authority, but he also would not ignore suspicious behavior simply because dealing with it was inconvenient.
He walked toward the rear of the Kia.
“Do you have identification?” “No.” The man slapped the back pocket of his pants and started toward the vehicle.
“No identification?” Nick repeated.
A faint smile appeared on his face, but there was no warmth behind it.
As he reached the Kia, Nick casually pressed his fingertips against the corner near the taillight.
Officers sometimes touched vehicles during traffic stops so there would be physical evidence that they had approached them if something later went wrong.
The man glanced back.
“Maybe it’s in the car.” He moved toward the passenger door first.
His eyes swept across Nick as though he were measuring the distance between them.
Nick had already removed his Taser with his left hand.
It remained pointed toward the pavement, while his right rested near the Glock 22 secured in its holster.
The man noticed both movements.
Without opening the passenger door, he changed direction and walked around the front of the Kia.
He tried to make the decision appear casual, but his shoulders had become tense.
Nick shifted sideways to maintain a clear view of his hands.
“Take it slowly,” he ordered.
The man reached into his pocket.
Keys rattled loudly inside.
“I’m just getting my identification.” “Keep your hands where I can see them.” The man withdrew a key ring and held it up.
He approached the driver’s door, then turned his head to look at Nick once more.
A sly smile spread across his face.
That was when everything changed.
Nick saw the man’s features twist before his eyes.
The transformation happened so quickly that his mind could barely process it.
The sparse hair surrounding the man’s bald scalp thickened into a coarse mane.
His forehead lowered, while his nose and mouth pushed outward into a distorted animal-like muzzle.
The corners of his lips tore backward until the mouth seemed to stretch almost to his ears.
Two tightly packed rows of sharp teeth appeared behind them.
The change lasted only an instant.
Their eyes met.
A chill raced down Nick’s spine, and every hair along the back of his neck stood upright.
Even after boarding the Nostromo and surviving a city filled with infected people, he had never witnessed anything like this in the real world.
Then the monstrous face vanished.
The balding man stood beside the Kia again, looking completely human.
Nick froze for half a heartbeat.
The stranger’s reaction was even more extreme.
He stared directly into Nick’s eyes, and all the confidence drained from his face.
His skin turned pale as terror replaced the mocking expression he had worn seconds earlier.
“You’re a Grimm!” The scream echoed across the empty construction site.
Before Nick could respond, the man spun around and ran.
“Hey!” The suspect had already covered more than sixty feet by the time Nick started after him.
Nick raised the radio clipped near his shoulder while accelerating into a sprint.
“Burkhardt Seven-Eight.
I’m in foot pursuit of a male suspect heading south from my location.” “Copy, foot pursuit heading south.
Additional units are responding.” “Help!” the fleeing man screamed.
“Somebody help me!
Don’t let him kill me!” Nick could hardly believe what he was hearing.
The man whose face had transformed into a nightmare was running through the neighborhood as though the police officer behind him were the monster.
“Stop running!” Nick shouted.
“You’re going to be Tased!” The suspect ignored the warning.
Nick maintained a distance of roughly fifty feet.
His Taser remained in his left hand while his right stayed close to his holstered pistol.
The initial shock of the transformation was already fading.
Nick had experienced death aboard an alien spacecraft and fought through streets filled with the undead.
Compared with those memories, seeing a human face turn into something bestial was disturbing but not enough to break his composure.
If anything, curiosity had begun replacing fear.
The creature had called him a Grimm.
Nick wanted to know what that meant.
The chase continued south for less than two hundred yards.
The suspect’s pace quickly collapsed.
His clothing was too heavy for the weather, and his physical condition was nowhere near Nick’s.
He stumbled into a vacant lot covered in dry grass and construction debris.
After several more steps, he stopped and bent forward, gasping desperately for air.
Nick slowed as he entered the lot.
“Turn around and show me your hands.” The man straightened and faced him.
“Please,” he stammered.
“Please don’t kill me.” He kept backing away, his terrified gaze fixed on Nick.
It was as though the transformation beside the Kia had never happened.
The man now looked like an ordinary suspect confronted by something beyond his understanding.
Nick advanced two steps before stopping roughly twenty-five feet away.
His Taser was raised and aimed at the man’s torso.
His other hand rested firmly on the grip of his Glock, ready to draw if the suspect transformed again or reached for a weapon.
“Nobody is trying to kill you,” Nick said.
“You’re a Grimm.” “I heard you the first time.” The man’s breathing remained ragged.
His eyes darted toward the surrounding streets as he searched for an escape route.
Nick did not allow his focus to waver.
He had seen the teeth.
He had watched the man’s skull and face reshape themselves in less than a second.
Whatever stood before him might look human again, but it was not an ordinary person.
Nick tightened his grip on the Taser.
“Now answer my question.” The suspect swallowed hard.
Nick stared directly into his eyes.
“What exactly are you?”