The Darkest Kiss

Chapter 2

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, it’s obviously not a dead something, because otherwise I’d be feeling it.”

My clairvoyance was tuned to souls and dead things—which was probably why I’d been sensitive to the presence of vampires, even when my clairvoyance hadn’t yet been forced out of the closet by the ARC1-23 drug.

I stepped closer to Gerard’s body and caught a stronger whiff of the woman’s perfume. The jasmine and orange scents were sharper, but mixed in amongst them were notes of lilac and roses. I frowned. “I know that perfume.”

“I didn’t think you wore perfume.” Kade’s reply was almost automatic. He stepped around me, his nostrils flaring as he pulled some rubber gloves from the box sitting on the edge of the desk.

“I don’t, but I walked past the Chanel store the other day, and some lady was testing something that smelled just like this.”

Of course, I hadn’t hung around to find out just what it was. That much perfume coming out of such a confined space had just about blown my olfactory senses. And the next time I walked past that shop, I’d be doing so from the safety of the other side of the street. I grabbed some gloves and snapped them on. Kade was bending over the body, studying Gerard’s neck.

“What have you seen?”

“Scratch marks.”

I moved around the desk to look. Gerard’s shiny butt loomed large. Fitness and careful eating had obviously not figured on his agenda. Still, some of the most powerful men in history had also been some of the most un-appealing when it came to physical attributes. In life, it was the power of these men that attracted. In death, that power was never obvious.

“What sort of scratch marks?”

“Cat, I think.” He pointed to the three slashes etched deep into Gerard’s neck. “The wound smells fresh.”

The scent of blood, though faint, was evident this close to the body. I leaned closer still, and lightly pressed one of the wounds. They opened a little at my touch, showing how deeply the claws had sliced into flesh. “The wounds haven’t healed, so he didn’t shift shape at any time before his death.” I glanced up at Kade. “You think it possible his partner was a cat-shifter?”

“Well, I doubt he has a pet cat. Bird-shifters and feline pets have something of an aversion to each other.”

I glanced at the wound again. “Those cuts are definitely from cat claws, not human ones, so why would she even be in cat form if they came here to fuck themselves silly?”

Amusement glinted in Kade’s eyes as his gaze met mine. “Maybe he just wanted to play with a bit of pussy before he got down to business.”

“As puns go,” I said heavily, “that sucks. It would be interesting to view the security tapes, and see if there’s any record of her entering or exiting in either form.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling. She didn’t report his death, wasn’t here when the PA found her, and the place was apparently locked up tight. All of which smacks of secrecy. So, why would she let herself be seen coming into the building?”

“Assuming, of course, we are dealing with a female.”

That perfume definitely seemed female-oriented, but given I didn’t even use the stuff, I could hardly claim to be an expert. “Were there any rumors about Gerard being gay?”

Kade shook his head. “But politicians are great at covering that sort of shit up. And the positioning of the body is suggestive.”

My gaze skated down his spine to his butt. “Not if she was underneath him at the time of the death, and merely moved him enough to get out.”

He stripped off his gloves and dumped them into the disposal unit. “I don’t think we’re going to uncover much here. You want to head over to his apartment and see if there’s anything—or anyone—there?”

“You do it. I’ll go talk to the PA.”

He nodded and walked out of the room. I took a final look at Gerard, waiting a little longer to see if his soul would come out to play, then shrugged and headed into the outer room.

Cole looked up. “Leaving so soon?”

I smiled. “I’ll stay if you really want me to.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You lie, wolf man.”

He didn’t deny it, which was a nice change, but his blue eyes were still cool. He was a man not easily swayed by hormonal attraction—not that I really wanted to get anywhere, particularly not at the moment—but half the fun was in the trying. I’m not sure what I’d actually do if he ever said yes. Besides the shock such an event would cause, there was Jack’s ruling to consider.

I flung a hand in the direction of the main office. “You noticed the scratches on his neck?”

“I did.”

“Want to send me the full analysis and autopsy report when it’s done?”

“I will.”

“Thanks. I’m off to chat to the PA—what’s her name, by the way?”

“Rosy Ennes. You can let her go once you’ve spoken to her.”

“Thanks, I will.”

I headed down, taking the stairs rather than the elevators, not wanting to risk another of those stomach-churning stops.

The smell of coffee hit as soon as I pushed open the door and I breathed deep. It wasn’t a particularly fresh smell and it had a slightly burned edge, but any coffee was drinkable when you were as addicted to the stuff as I was.

I looked around for the two women, spotting the blue of a police uniform in the far corner, then headed over to the counter, grabbing two white coffees and a couple pieces of chocolate cake. Once they were paid for, I picked up some sugar and walked across the room.

“Can I help you?” the cop said, green eyes as cool as her voice.

“Riley Jenson, Directorate.” I dumped the coffees and cakes on the table, then dug my badge out of my pocket and showed her.

She didn’t look impressed. No surprise there. Though the police in general were thankful for our presence—particularly given it freed them from dealing with the worst of nonhuman excesses—there were still pockets who considered us little more than licensed killers. Which, in many ways, was nothing but the truth. It looked like this woman might be one of those.

Either that, or she just wasn’t taken in by my charming personality and easy-to-get-along-with ways.

“I wasn’t aware the Directorate now had day-shift guardians,” she said, inspecting the badge more carefully than necessary.

Like anyone in their right mind would want to fake a guardian badge.

“New squad, announced several months ago.” I shoved the badge back into my pocket and resisted the urge to suggest that maybe she should start reading internal memorandums a little more often. “I’ll take over here for the moment. Thanks.”

She sniffed, then rose and moved away. I sat down in her seat, my nostrils flaring as I sampled Rosy’s scent. She smelled of lavender and eucalyptus, and also very human. I shoved a coffee and a piece of cake toward her. “Here. You look as if you need this.”

She ignored the cake and wrapped her hands around the Styrofoam cup, her smile as wan as her lined features. I’d presumed—wrongly—that someone like Gerard James would have a young and attractive personal assistant. Someone that was easy on the eyes as well as efficient at her job. From the little Kade had said, he’d just seemed that type.

But Rosy had to be in her late fifties—and with no makeup and her gray hair cut into an old-fashioned bob, she looked a good deal older. Maybe it did his political image good to have an older assistant or maybe she was simply damn good at her job.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you about this afternoon, and finding Gerard James.” I lifted the lid off my coffee container and tossed it lightly into a nearby trash can. “You can take your time. There’s no rush.”

She nodded, but for several seconds she didn’t say anything. She just sat there with her hands wrapped around the coffee cup and her eyes cast downward.

“Rosy?” I said gently.

She jumped a little. “Oh, yes.” Her voice was quivery, but she continued. “It was a little after two-thirty when I arrived at the office.”

“Do you always start so late?”

“No, but last night he was at a fund-raiser, so he gave me the morning off. We were going to work late to make up for it.”

“So the office was all locked up when you came in?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of coffee, then added, “I have a set of keys, because I’m usually here before him. He likes—liked—a cup of coffee to be ready as soon as he arrived.”

“What time was he due in, then?”

“Not until three, but he’s usually fifteen minutes early.” She hesitated, her pale blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I went into his office to put his coffee on the desk as usual. And that’s when I saw—”

She stopped and took a large gulp of air. Her hands were trembling so hard the coffee was threatening to spill over the sides of her cup and scald her fingers. I reached out, gently plucking the Styrofoam cup and placing it back on the table. But I couldn’t help wondering if the depth of her reaction was due just to shock, or if it was something deeper. Something that wasn’t actually sexual, because from everything I’d heard about Gerard James, I very much doubted if Rosy would be his type. But that didn’t mean Rosy couldn’t have had a thing for him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a PA had fallen for her boss. And, after all, there was probably little more than ten years or so between them. Not much, in the scheme of things.

“Was there anything unusual, or out of place, that you noticed?”

She shook her head. “Just him, on that desk.” Her lip quivered, and a lone tear tracked down her pale check. “It was such a shock, seeing him like that, you know?”

“I know.” I hesitated. “Did you notice his clothes anywhere?”

I certainly hadn’t, but maybe Cole’s crew had already bagged them.

“No,” she said, “but they’re probably hanging in the bathroom. He was always neat like that.”

Even when in a mating rut? I found that hard to believe, but then again, he was a politician. They were a breed far different from the rest of us. “What function did he attend last night?”

“It was at the Crystal Palace in St. Kilda. Some charity fund-raiser he was asked to speak at.”

“Do you know who his date was?”

Her snort was disparaging. For the first time, I saw something more than sorrow in her face. “Alana Burns. She was one of the Toorak Trollops.”

Amusement twitched my lips. No need to ask Rosy what she thought of the “Trollops,” because it was right there in the tartness of her voice. “Who are?”

She waved a hand, coming perilously close to knocking over her coffee. I reached forward and slid it out of the way again. “They’re a dozen or so single or divorced Toorak ladies who make themselves available to attend all the best functions. With only the best-bred men, of course.”

“So they’re high-priced hookers?”

She frowned. “No. Money doesn’t change hands, as far as I know. Can you imagine the scandal that would have caused Mr. James? No, they’re just well-bred, well-connected sluts, pure and simple.”

I smiled, but I had to wonder if she’d voiced such sentiments to her boss. Somehow, I suspected not. “And did he go out with Alana often?”

“Quite a few times, although I think he was getting a little tired of her.”

I took a sip of coffee, then asked, “Why?”

She hesitated. “He generally preferred to keep things casual.”

And if Alana had started making demands and had gotten the wrong reaction, it might just explain his murder. Dumped women didn’t always resort to chocolate. Some of them got angry—and others got even. “How did he usually dump his lovers?”

“With flowers the next day. I usually order them, which is how I knew he was getting tired of Alana. He asked me to check the prices on the roses.”

Well, at least he didn’t dump her with daffodils. “But they went out last night?”

“Yes. I rang her that afternoon to confirm the date, as I usually do. She was in a complete snit.” Rosy sniffed. “Most of those women think they’re too good to be dealing with the common folk.”

And maybe the Trollops weren’t the only ones with a chip on their shoulders. “Was Alana the first Trollop your boss dated?”

“No.” She wrapped her hands around the coffee again and slid it toward her. “I kept telling him they’d get him into trouble one day, but he liked the contacts they could give him.”

“Who else did he date, then?”

“There were several of them. He was with one for about a year, but she got very clingy and he called it off.”

Meaning she probably wanted a commitment. Poor woman. I wondered whether she’d received the roses, or if she’d simply been shown the door. “What was her name?”

She frowned. “Cherry something. It’ll be in the files—although I believe she’s changed address, so those details won’t be right. It’s filed under T.”

This time, my grin broke free. Rosy definitely had more fire in her than first appeared. “Are Alana’s details there, too? I need to speak to her.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything that might be useful?”

I reached out telepathically as I asked the question and linked lightly to Rosy’s mind. Her thoughts were a confusion of sadness and grief for her boss as well as worry about her age and whether she’d actually find another job. I couldn’t find anything resembling lies or half-truths, or anything she was concealing. So I gently withdrew.

She took a sip of coffee, then frowned. “Like what?”

“Well, had he been sick recently? Had he received any threats? Had anything unusual happened in the last week or so?”

“No. To all of that.”

“Then for the moment, there isn’t much more you can help me with.” I waved the cop back over, then added, “I’ll get the officer to take you home, if you like.”

Said officer didn’t look too happy at being relegated to chauffeur duties, but Rosy looked pleased. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

I picked up my coffee and the uneaten bit of cake, then said my good-byes and got out of there. I munched the chocolate cake as I walked back up the stairs, leaving a trail of crumbs behind me.

Cole looked up as I reentered the office. “You expect me to just fall into bed with you, and yet you didn’t even have the decency to get me a cup of coffee? Women these days. So selfish.”

I grinned. “Yep, it’s all about me and my appetites, buddy boy, not yours.”

Amusement briefly touched the blue of his eyes. “What can I do for you now?”

“You seen a Rolodex?”

He waved a hand toward the desk. “Second drawer.”

I dumped my coffee on the desk, then put on some gloves before opening the drawer and retrieving the Rolodex. Alana’s address was indeed listed under T for Trollops. In fact, there were a total of seven women listed. Gerard had obviously been making his way through the Trollop ranks. I jotted down all their names and addresses, then retrieved my coffee and nodded a good-bye to Cole. I was almost out the door when I remembered what Rosy had said about clothes, and stopped.

“Cole, have you found Gerard’s clothes yet?”

He answered without looking up. “Yeah, they’re neatly stacked up in the bathroom.”

“Really?”

I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice, and he looked up with a smile. “Yeah. I suspect our boy is a bit of a neat-freak. Both offices are extraordinarily tidy.”

“Except there was nothing neat about what they were doing last night.”

“Well, no, but then, not even a politician would expect sex to be neat.” He paused to pick up a strand of hair and place it in the bag. “The bathroom window is broken, though, which is odd.”

That raised my eyebrows. “So if our killer was a cat-shifter, she could have escaped that way?”

“If it wasn’t for the five-story fall to the pavement, yes.” His voice was edged with exasperation. “It’ll be in my report. If I ever get to finish my report, that is.”

I knew a hint when it clubbed me that hard. So I turned around and headed back downstairs.

Once in my car, I switched on the onboard computer and typed in Alana’s name, looking for anything we had on her. As luck would have it, there was practically nothing. The worst thing she’d ever done in her life was being late to pay a speeding ticket. The Trollops might be hard-loving, life-enjoying women, but it seemed this one, at least, was basically law-abiding.

I double-checked that the address we had listed was the same as the one in the Rolodex, then started up the car and headed off.

To say Toorak was a well-to-do suburb would be the understatement of the year. Only millionaires and over could afford to live there—though in recent times, some of the more affluent had been moving out to the trendier beachside suburbs like Brighton.

The only time I came to Toorak willingly was to visit Dia—a psychic who was on the Directorate’s payroll who’d become a friend—or to go window-shopping along Chapel Street. Actually buying anything more expensive than a coffee was out of the question—the Directorate didn’t pay us that well—and even the coffee came with a higher than normal price tag in this suburb.

The strident blast of a horn brought my attention back to the road, and I swerved to avoid an oncoming car. Ignoring the rather animated gestures from the driver, I flicked the computer over to satnav and let it guide me to Alana’s.

It turned out she didn’t live in one of the leafy acre blocks that populated the money end of Toorak, but given her apartment was near the Yarra River end of Kooyong Road, it would still carry a million-dollar price tag. At least.

I climbed out of the car and looked up at the building. It was only three stories high and modern in design, all concrete and windows. The floors weren’t built directly onto each other, but at slight angles, giving everyone a view and the building an ill-stacked look.

Not ugly, not stunning, just another building that would probably get knocked down and replaced by something bigger and grander in another twenty years. That seemed to be the way in Toorak of late. Even Dia had received offers for her beautiful old house—apparently the plan was to knock it down and build grand-looking apartments that could be flogged for millions each. Dia had so far resisted the temptation—for which I was grateful, because I loved her place. It was such a warm and relaxing home to visit—especially when compared to the bombsite that was my apartment. A good housekeeper I wasn’t. Neither was my brother—though he tended to be far tidier than me.

I locked the car and headed in. My phone rang as I jogged up the front steps, and I stopped at the top to dig it out of my purse.

The minute I hit receive, a sharp voice said, “How many times have I told you that the Directorate is not your personal answering service?”

I grinned. There was no mistaking that voice—it belonged to Salliane, the vamp who’d taken my place as guardian liaison and Jack’s main assistant. “And how lovely it is to hear your dulcet tones again.”

“Bite me, wolf girl,” she snapped back. Obviously, Jack wasn’t in the room, or else she’d be all sweetness and light. Sal wanted to get into Jack’s shorts something bad, and I guess she figured bad-mouthing the boss’s favorite guardian while he was in hearing range wasn’t going to help her efforts.

Of course, I pretty much figured nothing would—not only was there his own ruling to consider, but Jack had been holding firm for months now against some pretty sultry onslaughts, and I very much doubted giving in was in the cards in the near future. But it was fun watching her try. And fail.

“Sal darling, nothing in this world would get me to bite you. And what’s this about personal messages?”

“I’ve got one here from a Ben Wilson. He says it’s urgent and asks if you could call him immediately.”

I frowned. “Ben Wilson? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“He says otherwise.”

Which didn’t exactly help. I shifted from one foot to the other and watched a woman in ultra-high, ultra-red stilettos toddle past. My nose twitched. She smelled of rum and cigarette smoke. “Is that all he said?”

“No, he said something about remembering Shadow, whatever the hell that is.”

The name clicked. Ben was Shadow, a big, black wolf who managed Nonpareil, a stripper business that catered—as both strippers and studs—to human and nonhuman parties alike. I’d met him briefly while investigating a case a few months ago, and while we’d shared an attraction, I’d been with Kellen at the time and had promised to remain faithful to him.

Fat lot of good it had done me, too.

I blew out a breath, pushed away the lingering remnants of heartache, and said, “Did he leave a phone number?”

“He did. But this is the last time I’m relaying personal messages.”

“It’s not personal. It’s business.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, because I actually had no idea what Ben wanted. I doubted if it would be personal, though. Not after all this time.

She grunted. “Not believing that for an instant, wolf girl.” She rattled off a phone number. “He also said you can contact him via the office if there’s no answer on his cell.”

“You’re such a sweetie, Sal.”

“You know where you can shove being a sweetie,” she said and hung up.

I chuckled softly. Jack had told me numerous times to stop being such a bitch around Sal, but baiting that woman was just too much fun to let it go.

I dialed the number she’d given me. It rang several times, then a deep voice said, “Ben Wilson speaking.”

“Ben, it’s Riley Jenson, returning your call.”

“Thank you for calling back.” There was more than a touch of relief in his rich tones. “I know you don’t know me or anything, but I’m in need of some help, and you’re the only guardian I know.”

Well, at least I’d been right before. It was business. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, then wanted to smack myself for even thinking the latter.

“What sort of help?” I said, perhaps a touch more sharply than I’d intended.

He hesitated. “One of our strippers has just been murdered.”

“Then call the police.”

“I have. They’re treating it as low priority.”

“Why?”

“Because Denny was a known participant in the BDSM scene, and his death looks like sex-play gone wrong.”

“And if he was into that scene, they might just be right.”

“Except for the fact that Denny only dabbled in BDSM. What really got his rocks off was asphyxiophilia.”

I frowned. “Which is?”

“Erotic asphyxiation. Only he wasn’t found hanging from his neck, he was found hanging by his wrists, with his back and stomach stripped.”

“He got off by trying to kill himself?” That didn’t sound like very much fun to me. There again, neither did having my back and stomach beaten so badly that the flesh peeled away.

“He didn’t do autoerotic asphyxiation. He was always—always—with a partner.”

Something Ben couldn’t actually be sure of, unless he was there each and every time. And as frank and as open as wolves were about sex, most of us didn’t go blathering to all and sundry about each and every sexual exploit. “Did police find any indication of a partner in the apartment?”

“No, although there had to be one given the state of his body.”

“So what do you want me to do? Try and find the partner?”

“I want the truth of what happened. Finding the partner would be a good start, yes.”

“I’ll need to get in his apartment.” Smell the smells, see if his soul was hanging about for a chat. Though not all souls did, as evidenced by Gerard.

“I have a key. I can let you in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a key to all your employees’ apartments?”

“No, just those who are into the more dangerous stuff.”

“You mean there’re sexual fetishes more dangerous than trying to strangle yourself?”

“Maybe not as dangerous, but certainly walking the edge, yes.”

I walked across to the apartment building’s main doors and pressed the buzzer for apartment 1B. While I waited for Alana to answer, I asked, “How long ago did he actually die?”

“Yesterday. He didn’t turn up for work today, so I called in on the way home. That’s when I found him.”

So at least twenty-four hours had passed, if not more. I wrinkled my nose. The chances of the dead man’s soul hanging about were slim. Even if he was there, the odds that I’d actually understand him were practically nil. To date, it seemed that the fresher the kill, the stronger I could see or hear the soul—and vice versa.

“The police took your statement, I presume.” I pressed the buzzer again, then stepped back and looked up. No one answered, and there didn’t seem to be any movement or sound evident from either of the first-floor apartments.

“Yes, they did. You can double-check it if you think I’ve been lying about anything.”

I smiled. “Oh, I will, but not because I think you’re lying. I want to see what the cops and coroner all thought.”

“I didn’t think coroners worked that fast.”

“It depends on the situation.” And in this one, it could be days before a full report came out. He was right on one thing—BDSM deaths stood side by side with suicides at the bottom of the priority list when it came to cause-of-death examinations. Still, they’d have initial impressions, and those would be in the case notes. “Where are you now?”

“Home.”

I gave the intercom buzzer one final push. Still no answer. Alana was either out or working. “Can you get to your mate’s place quickly?”

“Be there in fifteen.” He gave me the address, then added, “I really do appreciate this.”

“You owe me a coffee. And I hope you realize there may be nothing I can do.”

“I know.”

“Meet you there, then.” I hung up, then shoved my cell back into my purse and headed down to my car. Ben’s dead friend lived in Prahan, which wasn’t that far away, even with the late-afternoon traffic going nowhere fast.

I got there with a few minutes to spare. Ben was nowhere to be seen, so I leaned against the trunk of my car and studied the building. It was one of those boring brick designs that were put up in the latter part of the twentieth century—a basic straight-up-and-down affair with few windows and little imagination. Someone had recently painted it cream, and there were neatly trimmed hedges along the front and the sides, but the greenery didn’t do a whole lot to relieve the blandness.

Not a place I could live in, if only because the apartments didn’t look particularly large. It would have made me feel like a caged animal.

The roar of a motorcycle caught my attention. I looked around to see a leather-clad man on a big, mean-looking bike come roaring up the street toward me. He gave me a wave when he saw me looking, then slowed and drove the bike into the parking spot behind my car.

I smiled and walked back to him. “Fancy entrance,” I said, as he took the helmet off.

Ben patted his bike affectionately. “Haven’t given this old girl a run for a while. It’s nice to be on her again.”

I looked at the bike. It didn’t look anything particularly special to me. “It’s a bike.”

Amusement gleamed in his bright blue eyes. “No, it’s a 1975 GL1000 Gold Wing. Some of this baby’s features were way ahead of her time.”

“Well, I’m charmed to meet her,” I said, voice dry. “Now, do you want to take me up to your mate’s place?”

His grin was as sexy as all hell as he climbed off the bike, his teeth a stark contrast to his rich black skin. “Not into motorcycles?”

“No.” But my treacherous hormones were certainly into all that leather. He was a tall man—nearly a foot taller than me, and at five seven, I wasn’t short—and powerfully built, with chiseled features and thick black hair. And all that wonderful black leather fit like a glove, emphasizing and enhancing his muscular build.

He undid the stud at his neck, then lowered the jacket zip, revealing a dark blue T-shirt underneath. My nostrils flared, sucking in the musky scent of man mixed with just the faintest hint of perspiration.

Very nice indeed.

“I think you need to come for a ride on one of my bikes. That’ll change your tune.”

The image of pressing close to his leather-clad body as we roared through the streets on his noisy machine had my pulse rate tripping—but I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or panic. I mean, I liked looking—a lot—but I didn’t feel ready for anything more right now. A quick dance with a stranger during the moon heat was safe enough for both my wounded heart and my emotions.

This wolf was not.

I stepped back, and waved him on ahead. “Cars are safer.”

“That’s the problem. There’s no direct thrill.”

“There is with sports cars.”

“It’s not the same, trust me.” He glanced down at me, eyebrow raised. “And how can a guardian afford to get around in a sports car?”

“She can’t. But I’ve been in them.”

“Not the same.” He began climbing the building’s outside steps to the first floor, leaving me rather ideally placed for some butt-viewing action. “Denny’s apartment is the end one. He hated having neighbors on both sides.”

“Did the cops talk to the neighbor he has got?”

He shrugged, making the leather jacket ripple rather nicely. “They weren’t exactly telling me much.” He threw a grin over his shoulder. “But that could have something to do with me calling them pricks who wouldn’t know a murder if it slapped them in the face.”

“Could be,” I agreed dryly.

We reached the end of the balcony. He stopped and opened a door that looked freshly painted. The air that flooded out was filled with the scent of roses and death.

I stepped past Ben into the apartment. It wasn’t exactly a huge place, but it was neat and bright, thanks to the white walls and the skylights. The first room was a living room and kitchen combined, and the whole area was extraordinarily clean. Even the sink gleamed.

I scanned the scenery photos on the walls, wondering if he’d shot them himself, then said, “Where was he found?”

“In the first bedroom.”

I walked around the L-shaped sofa and headed toward the first door. The smell of death was sharper the closer I got to the bedroom, and my skin crawled. Not because of the death scent, but because there was something else here, something that felt wrong.

I stopped just inside the doorway, briefly noting the blood splatters on the walls and the wide dark stain on the carpet before my gaze was drawn to the heavy-looking hook hanging from the ceiling above the stain.

“That where it happened?” Stupid question, but sometimes they just had to be asked.

“Yes.”

Ben had stopped right behind me, and the thick, warm heat of him flowed over me, drowning my senses and sending desire prickling across my skin. Not what I needed right now.

Or later, for that matter.

I turned around and lightly pressed my fingers into his stomach. Felt the steel of muscle underneath the cotton T-shirt. “You need to step back. You’re overwhelming my senses.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing a woman has said to me in a while.”

He didn’t move, but then again, I wasn’t pushing very hard. Not yet.

I snorted softly. “Somehow, I’m doubting that.”

“You’d be surprised.” He took several steps back. The richness of his aroma abated enough to allow more of the room’s flavors in. “We strippers are taken for granted more often than not.”

“I thought you didn’t do much stripping now.” I turned around and took a step forward, distancing myself a little more and trying to catch the source of that tenuous, unsettling scent.

“I don’t. But I wasn’t always a manager.”

“So how long have you been in the profession?” I took another step forward. That strange scent got a bit stronger, reminding me more and more of a vampire’s scent—only if the killer was a vampire, then he was one who smelled like no other vampire I’d come across.

“I’ve been in the business since I was seventeen. There wasn’t a whole lot else a kid with little schooling could do. Even apprenticeships need minimum grade levels.”

The closer I got to the bed, the stronger that odd smell got, and the more certain I became it was vampire. A vampire that smelled like no other, but a vampire all the same. And he’d been here recently. I stripped off the bedcovers and bent to sniff the sheets.

The scents of wolf and sex emanated off them, but though the vampire stench was extremely strong near the bed, he—or she—hadn’t been in it. Not that it meant anything. Someone who liked hanging themselves for kicks wasn’t likely to be restricted to a bed for lovemaking.

I looked at Ben. “Were any of Denny’s lovers vampires?”

He frowned. “Not that I know of. He had a couple of wolves he’d mentioned recently, but never a vampire.”

“Well, one’s been in this room. You can smell him near the bed.”

He came into the room, filling the whiteness with his dark vitality. He drew in a breath, then his blue gaze met mine. “Something smells old. Off, almost.”

I nodded. “Vampire.”

He frowned. “Vampires don’t smell like that.”

“Maybe not the ones you associate with, but the ones I deal with, yeah, they do.” I contemplated the heavy metal hook for a moment. There were no vibes of power in this room, no chill that indicated the other side was coming out to play. Maybe his soul had moved on, or maybe he simply didn’t want to talk. “I guess the first thing we need to do is try and uncover the name of the vampire who was here. What clubs did Denny frequent?”

Ben smiled. “All of them. He liked to cruise.”

“No favorite, then? No club he went to more than others?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I could ring up and ask Jilli. She might know.”

“Jilli being one of the wolves he mentioned recently?”

“Yeah. She owns and runs a coffee shop near the Blue Moon.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Not Chiquita’s? They have the best blueberry muffins there. And the coffee’s not bad, either.”

“So this coffee that I owe you—shall I pay the fee there?”

I considered him for a moment, seeing the amusement and playfulness in his eyes, feeling the answering response low down in my belly. Wondered when—if—I was ever going to get back to the business of being a free and easy wolf.

I didn’t know, I really didn’t know, and I knew part of that was the fear of getting hurt again. After all, my heart couldn’t be broken again if I didn’t put it out there. And yet, how much longer could I continue to ignore a side of myself that was a part of my soul?

“It’ll probably be easier if I was there to talk to her, so yeah, that would be fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, expression a little quizzical. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re avoiding the intent behind that question?”

“Because I am.” I turned and opened the drawer of the bedside table. Painkillers, books, and condoms. I pulled one out and showed it to Ben. “He fucked humans?”

“Yes. Not all the time, but he liked the challenge of the restraint they represented. He used condoms so there were no unwanted pregnancies.”

Because a wolf didn’t have to worry about STDs, thanks to our ability to heal all sorts of things during the shapeshift. “A condom is not one hundred percent safe.”

“It’s better than nothing.” He considered me for a moment, then said, “So despite the fact I can smell your interest, you don’t want to go out with me?”

I shoved the condom back in the drawer and slammed it shut. “Don’t take it personally. I’m not going out with anyone at the moment.”

“You’re a wolf. That’s a physical impossibility.”

“Obviously, I’m not talking about the moon heat.” I stepped around him and walked to the closet. Opening the doors revealed that Denny’s neatness continued here. His clothes were all stacked via type and color.

“And I’m not talking about sex,” Ben said. “Just coffee and a chat. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I cast him a look over my shoulder, a smile twitching my lips. “I’m not believing that for a moment. You, wolf man, have loving on your mind.”

“I can control my mind. And I don’t do sex on first dates.”

I just about choked on my disbelief. “Yeah. Right. Must have made being a stripper hard, then.”

He waved a hand. “Stripping is different. So is sex for the need of it. Outside of work and the moon heat—or maybe even because of them—I prefer to take things slower. Get to know the girl before I fuck her.”

Then he was a rare man in wolf ranks. I shut the wardrobe door. “How about we do the coffee-and-chat thing while asking if this Jilli actually knows anything, and see what happens from there?”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Though I have to admit, I am curious about this sudden turn-about in your behavior. Last time we met, you were not so reluctant.”

“Last time we met, I wouldn’t have acted on my impulses, either. No matter how fierce the desire.”

He nodded. “I saw that. I can also see that the reason here is different. It is a puzzle I shall have to solve.”

“Try too hard and there’s no coffee. I’m not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed right now.”

I walked around to the hook. The vampire scent was strongest here, which did suggest he might have been involved in Denny’s death. “Why would someone want to kill Denny?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t the type to have enemies.”

Everyone had enemies, even the nicest of people. My gaze went to the thick metal hook. I just couldn’t imagine someone willingly tying a rope around his neck and cutting off his oxygen almost to the point of death just to get his rocks off. But then, I couldn’t ever imagine finding joy in being beaten so badly the flesh on my back hung in raw strips. Yet I’d seen that done, and had felt the sheer and utter pleasure the women had gotten from it.

To each his own, I suppose.

But even here, the point where he had died, there was no feeling of energy. No sense of the dead coming back. Denny had obviously moved on to the next level in his life.

I stepped around the dried bloodstain and checked the bedside table on this side, but there was nothing more enlightening than socks. I faced Ben again. “There’s really nothing more I can do here at the moment. I’ll need to read the police report and talk to his girlfriend before I can decide what to do next.”

If there was anything that could be done next.

Ben looked at his watch. “Jilli does the day shift, so I doubt we’ll catch her there now.”

“Well, great, because I actually do have a job to do. Phone her, and make an appointment for tomorrow.” I reached into my purse and took out a business card and a pen. After scrawling my cell phone number onto the back of it, I handed it across. “Ring me when you get a meeting time.”

He glanced at the number then shoved it into his back pocket. “Thanks for coming out, Riley. I really do appreciate it.”

I waved his thanks away. “As I said, it may yet turn out that there’s nothing I can do.”

“But you tried. More than the cops are doing, I fear.”

There was no point in answering, simply because he was right. The cops wouldn’t be chasing a BDSM session gone wrong as hard as they would a straight-out murder. It was a simple fact of policing life that priorities had to be given.

We left the apartment and rattled down the stairs. A couple of older men were near Ben’s bike, one of them kneeling, as if inspecting the internals. I smiled. “You’ve got fans. Or your bike has.”

“Beautiful bikes always get admirers. It’s par for the course.” He shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You will.” I half-waved a good-bye, briefly watching—and enjoying—the sight of him sauntering toward the two men, then climbed into my car and drove off.

As I headed back into the traffic, I grabbed my phone and rang Kade.

“Hey, horse man,” I said, when he answered. “What’s happening out your way?”

“Nothing of interest at Gerard’s place. I’m going back to the Directorate to hassle Cole for his initial report. There might be something helpful in there.”

Hassling Cole didn’t work. I’d tried it. “So no sign of a cat, real or shifter, at Gerard’s?”

“Not a hair.” He paused, and in the background, the music changed from dance to rock. “What are you doing?”

“The secretary told me who he was dating last night. I’m heading over to talk to her now.”

“You want me along?”

“No, I’ll be all right. I’ll meet you back at the Directorate. Have a coffee ready for me. The real stuff, not that black muck we have in the machine.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, voice deepening and oh so sexy.

I snorted. “Not going to work, my friend.”

He laughed. “I can but try. See you soon.”

I hung up and headed on. The traffic was so bad it took me another twenty minutes to get back to Alana Burns’s apartment. Pressing the buzzer once again had little effect and there was no security guard handily sitting inside the small foyer to harass.

I stepped back and studied the balconies. There was a small concrete wall that separated the front stairs from the drive that led into the underground parking lot, but even if I stood on that, it was still a hell of a jump to the first balcony.

But maybe it wasn’t so far for an inexperienced seagull to fly.

Excitement and doubt fluttered through me. Flying from a drop was a whole lot different than flying upward, but I had nothing to lose by trying. Nothing except more bruises.

I grabbed my cell and my badge out of my purse, shoved them into my pocket, then dropped the bag behind a potted bush, well out of sight. Then I clambered onto the wall and called to the magic in my soul. It swept through me, changing muscles and bone and body, until I was once again that dreaded seagull. I paddled along the wall a little bit, then looked up at the balcony.

It looked like a long, long way.

I could do this. It was just a matter of concentration. I adjusted my tail feathers and raised my wings, beating them as fast as I could to get the lift I needed. Down, back, up, down, back, up. And suddenly, I was going up, cutting through the air. Flying.

I felt like cheering. I concentrated on not falling instead.

I fluttered up and over the railing, then spread my tail feathers to act as a brake. But the change was too sudden, and I dropped too quickly, splattering chest-first against the concrete.

“Ow,” I muttered, even though it came out little more than a harsh squawk. I rolled onto my back and shifted to human form. My chest still hurt. More bruises, no doubt.

Even so, I couldn’t help a silly grin. I’d flown. Even if my landings needed more work, I’d actually flown rather than simply making a guided fall. Maybe this whole flying gig wasn’t as bad as previously thought.

I climbed to my feet. As usual, my jeans had made it through the shift just fine, but my shirt had been shredded. They were usually pretty useless after a shift to wolf, but the destruction here was even worse.

Maybe it had something to do with trying to squash everything into a smaller form. I didn’t know, but maybe Jack or Henry would.

I pulled off the now-useless remnants of my bra and shoved it into my back pocket, then tied the torn edges of my shirt together. I wasn’t going anywhere except back to the Directorate once I finished here, so the state of my clothing didn’t really matter. Now I just had to get into the apartment.

I walked toward the glass sliding door, and that’s when it hit.

The smell of death.

A death that was old and as rotten as hell.