Deadly Desire (14 page)

The bitch was back, I thought with a grin. “I will get whoever did this.”

“I know.” She sniffed. “Cole sent me through a fingerprint and we found a match. You want the address?”

“Patch it through to my onboard.”

“Sending it now.”

“Thanks.” I paused again. “Would you be able to get me a complete list of both Garrison's and Armel's lovers? I think it might be worth cross-checking, just to be sure there is no connection.”

“I'll see what I can do,” she said, and hung up.

I blew out a breath. Sal and I might never be great friends, but that didn't stop me from feeling sorry for her. I knew what it was like to lose someone—even if my someone had walked away rather than be
murdered—and I wouldn't have wished that sort of pain on anyone. I wondered if she had anyone to talk to or lean on. Certainly having Rhoan and Liander there had helped me through the worst of it.

The onboard beeped as a message came through and I touched the screen, bringing it to life. It was the zombie's last listed home address and, naturally, he lived in the opposite direction from where I currently was. I transferred the North Coburg address into the nav-computer, then started the engine and drove off.

It took half an hour to get across to Coburg, and I wasted another ten minutes trying to find parking in a street already crowded with cars.

As I walked back to the house, I saw an all-too-familiar silver car cruise past, obviously looking for parking just like I'd been.

I snorted softly and shook my head.

I should have known I wasn't going to get rid of Kye that easily.

o, are you going to arrest my butt, just like you said?” he said, walking toward me with a dare-you smile that played havoc with my pulse rate.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.” I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the fact that he looked positively edible. Faded jeans, white shirt, and a black sports jacket gave him a classy yet casual appearance, and showed off both his broad shoulders and his long, strong legs to perfection.

He stopped several feet away, but it was close enough for his scent to fog my senses.

His nostrils flared, and the spark that brightened his golden eyes suggested I wasn't the only one having trouble with my hormones. Only
he
seemed to be having a damn easier time controlling them.

He glanced up at the house. “The parents are werewolves,
and they may not be too pleased with you coming to take away their son for a second time.”

“I'm well aware of those facts. The Directorate doesn't send people in blind.” Well, not often, anyway.

He smiled. It was a nice smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lent a warmth to his otherwise controlled expression. “And yet here you are, alone, about to face two wolf parents and God knows who else.”

“I've coped with worse.” And I had the missing finger to prove it. I glanced up at the house and saw the curtains twitch. I looked back at Kye. “Why are you here? The zombie isn't going to be able to tell you anything about his mistress.”

Presuming he was here, of course. We wouldn't know until we got into the house, but while it seemed an illogical place for the witch to hide her creature, people in deep grief sometimes didn't question miracles—even if that miracle was a son they'd freshly buried appearing on their doorstep.

“You don't know that,” Kye said.

“I do. It's
dead.
The blood of others fuels its body, and the thoughts of whoever raised it provide its direction.”

“So it really
is
the walking dead?”

“I'm afraid so.”

He considered me for a moment, probably judging whether I was telling the truth or not. “The parents might know something, though.”

“They might not, too.”

He nodded in acceptance of the point. “We can't stay
here all day. Short of cuffing me to the car—and I assure you, that will not be an easy task—you can't really stop me from following you inside.”

He had a point. I didn't really want to create a scene—or expend that sort of energy—and that's exactly what would happen if I tried to force the issue.

And to be honest, what would it gain me? Even if I arrested his ass, I had nothing to hold him on. Not that it would stop Jack from detaining him if he became a real problem.

“Besides,” he added, “I have a legit press pass. That means I can be here talking to the parents anytime I wish.”

“With their approval.”

“I'd get it, trust me.”

Meaning one way or another he was going to get his information from them. Meaning it was probably better for him to come inside with me, because at least then I could have some control over what was said or done.

“I guess you'd better come in—as long as you shut your mouth and let me do the talking.”

“That I can do.”

“Let's see, shall we?”

He smiled and opened the small metal gate, then ushered me up the path with a hand to my back. The warmth of his fingers flushed across my skin and the need to step away from his touch warred with the desire to enjoy it.

I knocked on the red-painted door. The sound seemed to echo, as if the house was empty. There was
no response for several seconds, though there were at least two wolves inside. I could smell them, as they could undoubtedly smell us.

Eventually footsteps approached and the door opened, revealing a tall, brown wolf with a pinched face and hawklike nose. “Yes?”

“Mr. Habbsheen? Riley Jenson from the Directorate.” I showed him my ID then slid it back into my pocket. “I need to talk to you and your wife about your son.”

“Our son is dead.”

He tried to close the door on us, but I slapped a hand against it and stopped him. “Mr. Habbsheen, as a guardian I don't need a search warrant, and I
will
force my way into this house if you refuse to cooperate.”

Anger flared deep in his brown eyes and for a moment the threat of it filled the air. It was a threat that drew a deep rumbling growl from behind me. Kye wasn't appreciating the response. And I know who'd I'd be putting money on in any fight that arose.

Not that it would. Habbsheen's gaze went from me to Kye and back again, then he visibly forced himself to relax.

“I guess you'd better come in, then.” He opened the door wider. “First door on the left.”

The house smelled musty, a scent that was both wolf and aged air. And it was cold—icy cold.

Maybe to stop the kid's flesh from rotting too quickly?

My nostrils flared as I drew in the deeper aromas of
the house. Underneath the dust and cooking scents, there was another.

Dead flesh.

He was here all right.

I glanced at Kye.
You smell him?

Yes.

He stopped slightly behind me, the warmth of his strong body flowing across my back, heating me more than was wise given the situation. Maybe it
wasn't
such a great idea to let him accompany me.

“What is this all about, Ms. Jenson?” Habbsheen was propped in the doorway and basically blocked our exit.

“As I said, we're here about your son.”

“Our son is dead. What possible interest can he have to the Directorate?”

“Your son may be dead, but we've reason to believe he has been raised from the grave.”

He didn't blink, didn't react in any normal way. But then, I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. “No one can raise the dead, Ms. Jenson.”

“Certain sorcerers can.”

“Magic doesn't exist.”

“As vampires and werewolves don't exist?” I gave him a polite smile. “Mr. Habbsheen, the body you harbor is not your son. It is simply reanimated flesh that remains in control of the person who raised it.”

“Ms. Jenson, I told you. Our son is not here.”

“Oh, I agree, your son isn't here. However, his reanimated flesh
is.
We can smell him,” I added softly.

“And what if he is?” Tension rolled across his shoulders
and crossed arms, and again the scent of his anger flowed around him. “He's done no harm. We've done no harm.”

Kye didn't respond to the growing threat in Habbsheen's stance, and yet I felt the tension in him rise. Felt his readiness to move.

“That thing you're protecting murdered a teenager last night. It slashed her throat then sucked the blood from her body.”

The blood seemed to flow from his face. “Rob wouldn't do that.”

“Rob probably wouldn't have. But as I've said, that's not Rob down there. Not anymore.”

His mouth tightened. “I don't believe you. Get out.”

“I'm afraid we can't leave without Rob's body.”

“And I can't let you leave
with
it.”

I didn't have the chance to reply, because Kye was suddenly past me, launching himself bodily at the other man. The two of them crashed into the far wall of the hallway, denting the plaster and sending a white puff of debris into the air.

“Go,” Kye said, as he grappled with the other man.

I jumped over them, avoiding Habbsheen's flailing arms and running down the hallway, following the aroma of decay. It led me through a kitchen and on into a laundry. The scent of female sharpened abruptly, seemingly surrounding me even though there was no one but me in the room. I reached for the back door, but at the last moment became aware of air stirring, and of something approaching the back of my head.

Fast.

I dropped hard, jarring my knees on the tiled floor. The axe aimed at my head embedded itself into the wall instead, the force behind the blow enough that the whole metal head buried itself deep into the plaster.

I swung around, sweeping out with a leg, knocking the woman off her feet. She screamed as she went down, but it was a sound filled with fury rather than pain.

I grabbed her legs, pinning them under mine, but her arms were another thing. She screamed and bit and flailed like a mad thing, her blue eyes wide and without any sense.

A wolf protecting her cub, whatever the cost.

“Damn it,” I yelled, as her nails raked my arms. “It's
not
your son down there. You buried him. It's just flesh that resembles him. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She didn't say anything, just kept on fighting.

I avoided another blow, then drew back my fist and hit her hard. Not enough to truly hurt her, but enough to knock her out.

When her body went limp, I blew out a breath and studied the shadows out of which she'd come. A small trapdoor led down into deeper darkness—and it was here that the aroma of decay was coming from.

Just to make sure she couldn't get up to any more mischief while I was investigating, I grabbed a shirt from the nearby washing basket and tore it into thick strips—lots and lots of strips that would be hard to tear as a whole—using those to tie both her hands and feet. Then I stepped over her trussed body and ducked
through the trapdoor, walking cautiously down the short flight of stairs.

It was a small cellar area. Shelving lined one wall, stacked with dusty wine bottles, many of which looked older than me. In the middle of the room sat a small table and several chairs, and on this, wineglasses and a tub of old corks. In the far corner was a bed, and on this lay the zombie.

I walked across. He was dressed, his clothes freshly ironed and smelling a whole lot cleaner than he did. His skin had a waxy, marblelike appearance, and his veins were so close to the surface I could trace them with my fingertips. Not that I actually wanted to.

I stepped closer and studied his hands. There were more obvious signs of his death here. His fingertips were black, and the rot was spreading down his remaining fingers, threads of darkness that suggested to anyone paying attention that things were
not
what they seemed when it came to this wolf.

That and his eyes. There was no life in the filmy blue of his eyes. No understanding, no intelligence. Just a blank emptiness as he stared up at the ceiling.

I hesitated, then carefully reached out telepathically. Nothing but emptiness and the shadows of death.

I shuddered and dug my phone out of my pocket to call the Directorate. “Sal?” I said when her face came online. “I found our zombie. You want to get some of the magi out here? They might be able to trace back the magic used to raise him or something.” And give him a proper ending, rather than the beheading I'd have to do if I took care of him. And I didn't think his
parents would appreciate
that.
“Roughly how long will it be before someone gets here?”