Deadly Desire (17 page)

“Of course. Me and Mandi both were.”

“And is Mandi also human?”

She nodded. “Her room is the next one along.”

“But she wasn't with you when you found the body?”

“No.” A sob broke through. She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears leaked out regardless. “How could someone do that to him?
Why
would someone do that to him?”

“That's what we're trying to find out.” I reached across and took her hand in mine. Her flesh was cool, the tips of her fingers almost blue. It made me want to
ask just how often Shore had been feeding off her. “Were you and Mandi his only lovers?”

She shook her head. “We couldn't be. He had a voracious appetite.”

Most vampires did, I thought with an inner smile. But some of us were more capable of handling the situation than others. “Can you remember seeing anyone new in the last few days? Anyone who you thought acted strangely?”

“No. I mean … He had new lovers all the time, but there was no one I'd consider strange.”

“But how many of those new lovers appeared within the last week?”

She frowned. “Maybe two? There was a Rita, and I think the other one's name was Vicki. Vicki Keely, actually. Marty introduced her to us. She was young.”

I frowned. “How young?”

She shrugged. “Maybe fifteen, sixteen? She looked nervous, too. Like she didn't want to be there.”

Which suggested she wasn't under any sort of vampire “persuasion,” because second thoughts wouldn't have shown. “If we brought in an artist, would you be able to give us an image of them both?”

She nodded. I squeezed her hand, then released it and sat back in the chair. “Do you know where he met the two women?”

She shrugged. “Probably at one of the strip clubs. He used to enjoy going to those.”

Her tone suggested she didn't approve and again a smile twitched my mouth. Humans had such strange ideas when it came to sex. I mean, here she was, barely
legal, knowingly sharing her vampire lover with other women, and yet she turns up her nose at him visiting strip clubs? What was with that? “Do you know which ones?”

“No. I'm not able to get into them for another couple of years.”

She might be under a geas, but it wasn't as complete as her vampire had presumed, because the legal age for getting into strip clubs was eighteen.

“So he never mentioned a favorite?”

She frowned. “There was one. Man Hard, or something like that.”

“Man Hard? Really?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I told you, I never really listened when he was going on about the clubs.”

“So did he ever bring home women from those clubs?”

“The strippers? Yeah, a couple of times. He seemed to like them showing us how to strip. Like we don't know how to take clothes off or something.”

“Compared to a professional stripper, you probably don't.”

Her blue gaze flashed up to mine. “I strip better than any of them bitches did. And I was built better.”

I resisted the urge to tell her there was more to life than boobs and stripping, and said, “So, did either of the last women he brought home strip for you all?”

“No. He just shuffled them into the bedroom, like. One of them was a screamer, though.”

I barely managed to contain my smile. “Which one was she?”

“Vicki. The reluctant one.”

Who obviously wasn't so reluctant in the end. “And she worked at Man Hard?”

“I think that's where he met her, yes.”

Then Vicki from Man Hard would need to be talked to—though whether she or the club was the connection or not was anyone's guess. “And there's nothing else you can tell me?”

“I don't think so.”

I pushed to my feet. “If you do think of anything, contact the Directorate.” And if she didn't, someone from the Directorate would follow up with her regardless.

She nodded and wiped a hand across her nose again. I headed out. Cole was kneeling near the victim's head. “You ever heard of a strip joint called Man Hard?”

“Now why would you think I'd be visiting strip joints?” he said without looking up.

“Uh, because you're a man?”

He snorted softly. “Being a man doesn't automatically mean I have a preference for visiting strip clubs.”

“Well, being a werewolf doesn't automatically mean I'm a whore, but half the world holds that opinion of us.”

“Touché.” He flashed me a grin that was more than nice. “Doesn't change the fact, though. I don't visit clubs. Stripper or wolf.”

“You must live a sad and lonely life, Cole Reece.”

“Only in comparison to some werewolves. By wolf shifter standards, I'm very outgoing.”

Then the wolf shifters had very different standards
from the rest of the supernatural community. “Found anything else of note?”

“Dust.”

“Dust?”

“Yeah. Not the sort of dust that generally accumulates around houses, either. This stuff appears to be herbal.”

I frowned. “There was dust at both Armel's and Bovel's, too.”

Cole nodded. “It's been at all three scenes. I'd hazard a guess it's the same, but we won't know until we get the samples to the lab.”

“So how is this dust important?”

“That I can't say.” He paused to seal the bag. “Shore's safe has been opened, just like the rest of them, though this murder isn't as violent as the second one.”

“Maybe because he has closer neighbors.”

“Could be.”

“You'll let me know if you find anything?”

“You know, you could read reports like a normal person.”

I grinned. “But why would I do that when it's so much more enjoyable hearing your silky voice?”

“I'm not ever sleeping with you, you know that, don't you?”

“Facts have never stopped the fun of trying.”

He snorted softly. “Will you just get out of here and let me work?”

I gave him a break and left. Once back in the car, I did a search on the strip club that Anna had mentioned. There was nothing on record, but that didn't mean the
club didn't exist. It might simply mean that it was one of the underground ones.

And I knew exactly who would know. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, flicked the vid-button, then rang Ben.

“Hey, how's my favorite werewolf doing?” he said, his smile like snow against the utter night of his skin.

“I thought your sister was your favorite werewolf.”

“Well, she is. But I can't sleep with her. You I can.”

His blue eyes shone with amusement and my stomach did flip-flops. Ben and I hadn't gotten any further than just being friends, and while the potential to become lovers was definitely there, it would never be anything more. Ben had found, and lost, his soul mate several years ago, and her death had shattered his heart. He might live, he might be marginally happy, and he might enjoy sex, but there could never be anything more for him. Could never be anything deeper.

“I don't think my vampire would be too happy about me sexing you on a regular basis.”

“How about a nonregular basis?”

“Not even that, I suspect.”

“You have told him I'm harmless, haven't you?”

“Yeah, but he isn't believing it.”

“You really need to sit down and talk to that man. He's spoiling all my fun.”

I laughed softly. “And possibly mine.”

“No possibly about it, my sweet.” His grin flashed again. “What can I do for you?”

“I need some information about a strip club.”

“Well, the cost of supplying information is having a meal with me.”

“You're just trying to get me into bed again.”

“No doubt about it.” The corners of his blue eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. “So, how about it?”

“Yes to a late dinner, no to sex. When are you free?”

He paused and glanced away. “I have a break in forty-five minutes. You want to meet me around at Fuzzball's?”

Fuzzball's was a little café not far away from his work. We'd met there once, for lunch, and while the food or coffee wasn't great, it certainly wasn't the worst place that I've ever eaten.

“I'll be there in forty-five.”

“I'll be waiting.”

I grinned and hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang again, but the number wasn't one I was familiar with. Frowning, I flicked the button and said, “Riley Jenson speaking.”

“Riley, it's Mike. You said to ring if I had anything else.”

It took a moment for the name to click. It was the street kid—the one with the bright blue eyes and quick mind.

“I did. What have you got?”

He didn't ask for cash, as I half expected him to. Instead, he said in a rush, “There was a woman here asking about Joe. It wasn't the same one that talked to Kaz, but I think she's going to kill him.”

he can't find him, right?” I said, a little alarmed by the panic in his voice. Mike was a kid who had seemed totally in control. I wouldn't have expected this sort of reaction out of him.

“But she can. She did something to me. I don't know…” He paused. “She threw this dust at me, and suddenly I couldn't stop blabbing. Anything she asked, I answered. It was unreal.” He blew out a breath. “I thought she was harmless. She was in a damn wheelchair, after all.”

A wheelchair. So Cole was right about the reasons the bird was resting on its belly. While shapeshifting could heal most injuries, there were a few that could never be repaired. Missing limbs didn't grow back, and broken spines were never fixed. I had no idea why, especially when most other broken bones could be repaired
once set. Maybe it had something to do with nerve damage.

“Look, this woman is a sorcerer, so she's obviously used some sort of magic on you. How much head start has she got?”

“Maybe five minutes. She said she'd kill everyone if I moved or tried to warn Joe, but once I got the chance, I rang you.”

“And did you ring Joe?”

“No. I mean, I can't. He doesn't have a phone with him when he's working.”

“I thought you said he didn't work nights.”

“Well, he doesn't normally. But he hasn't had a good run this week and needs the cash.”

I bit down on the instinct to ask what he needed the cash for, simply because it was a stupid question. Even street kids needed cash for some of the necessities in life. Although in Joe's case I didn't think one of those necessities was drugs. Not yet, anyway. “Where is he?”

“He's working the hospitals. I'm not sure which one he's doing tonight, but he did the Freemasons last night, so it'll probably be the Epworth tonight.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, he's working the hospitals?”

“He's a pickpocket. Hospitals are great places to work, because no one expects it.”

That's because most people expected a certain level of respect in hospitals. But then, a street kid living just above the starvation line isn't exactly going to be respectful of anything but his own skin.

“I'll see what I can do, but you'll owe me one.”

“Deal.”

I hung up, then threw the phone down on the passenger seat and started the car. It didn't take that long to get to the hospital, but with the extended visiting hours the hospital had, parking was a bitch. I didn't even bother looking, just stopped in a no-parking zone and slapped the Directorate official vehicle sticker onto the dash. I grabbed my gun from under the seat, then climbed out.

The wind was free of any familiar scents. I jogged toward the hospital, keeping alert and using my psychic senses to feel for anything that seemed remotely out of place.

People milled around the main doors, but neither Joe nor a strange woman wearing a blonde wig were present. I hesitated, wondering if I should move up to the parking lot and investigate there, or stick to the hospital. After a moment, I moved toward the dark glass doors. If I were a thief, I'd rather go to someplace where a lone person hanging around wasn't going to be that noticeable—and that wasn't in a parking lot.

The doors swished open, and the scents of antiseptic, sickness, sorrow, and death washed over me. When combined with the overwhelming odor of humanity, the urge to gag became pressing. I hated hospitals at the best of times, and walking into one willingly had to rate right up there with walking into a cemetery. For a start, both places were filled with far too many ghosts.

I paused just to the left of the entrance, studying the foyer and wondering where the hell was the best place to find a thief.