Hot Demon Nights (4 page)

Chapter Four

W
e arrived at the midtown apartment of Ivana Felding, a beautiful young woman who’d recently been widowed, though not by our latest zombie attack. Her husband had died a month prior of a heart attack brought on by picking his parents unwisely—genetics.

Mrs. Felding had been attacked on the street as she’d climbed out of her limousine to enter her apartment building.

“I’d just returned from visiting a friend.” Her hands shook as she pulled thin black gloves from her fingertips. “He came out of nowhere and tackled me.” Ivana drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trails of mascara running the length of her face, blending with the too-red lipstick, giving her a downright scary, horror-movie appearance. Then her shoulders hunched and she sobbed. She threw herself against me, pressing her wet face against my leather jacket. I patted her back awkwardly, then tried to peel her off my chest. I was almost more frightened of her than of the zombie who’d attacked me. Weepy, make-up-stained women gave me a rash.

I guided her around a throw pillow that had been tossed carelessly to the floor and pushed her none too gently into a lounge chair. Her perfume overpowered me, making my nose itch. I stepped back several feet to put distance between us, but her perfume followed, clinging to me, making my eyes water. I blinked. “Did you recognize the man?”

“Of course not. He was gray and ghoulish and…and…he smelled!” She pressed a lace handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed at the tears, managing only to smear the remainder of her eye makeup even more, staining the lace. “Damn Gordon for leaving me in this position. Damn him!” Clutching the crumpled lace, she pounded her delicate fist on her slim knee.

“What do you mean?” I scrubbed the back of my hand across my eyes.

“If he hadn’t died, none of this would be happening! I wouldn’t be exposed, alone and broke.” She buried her face in her palms and wept.

“Broke?” I queried. “From what I understand, Felding was worth millions.”

“The bastard left everything to his kids from his first marriage.” Ivana practically spat the words. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

I jotted down the information while Blaise skulked around the woman’s apartment. What he was looking for was beyond me. The woman had been attacked outside, not in the apartment. “Mrs. Felding, has this apartment been vandalized?” Blaise asked.

“Why no. No, it hasn’t.” She tore at the lace handkerchief, plucking at the ends. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged in that way I’d begun to suspect was his way of appearing casual. “Is it always such a mess?”

For the first time I glanced around, from the stark white seating and black lacquer end tables to the bookshelves lining one entire wall. Gleaming silver, gold and red in all its antique glory was an ornamental Samurai sword hanging over the leather couch. Amid the opulent furniture, the books and knickknacks lay in disarray, some of them dropped to the floor carelessly.

Ivana wiped her eyes. “I’ve been so drowned in grief, I haven’t had the cleaning service by in over a week. I just wanted to be left alone.”

Blaise seemed to accept that response. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at and didn’t pursue it.

As we left the building, I stopped at the security desk. “Any video footage available of the front of the building?”

The guard sitting there had a glazed expression on his face. “The police who got here first confiscated it.”

I frowned. “We need that footage.”

“Sorry, lady, you’ll have to ask your buddies on the force.” The guard shook his head, staring at his hands. “Hell, they don’t pay me enough for this job.”

Outside, I lifted my face to a cool spring breeze, letting the air clear my head and senses of Mrs. Felding’s cloying perfume, and allowing Blaise to guide me to the curb, where he hailed a taxi.

“Where to?” the taxi driver asked as I slid across the back seat.

I leaned forward. “The Fifth Precinct building.”

“Strike that,” Blaise said as he climbed in and faced me. “You have a computer at your apartment?”

“Yeah. Why?” I was anxious to get to the video and see what it might reveal. And maybe I was a little uneasy about taking Blaise back to my place. I refused to let myself regret what we’d done in Marcus’s apartment, but just because I’d enjoyed it didn’t mean I wanted it to happen again. Even if I was ready for a relationship—which I wasn’t—getting tangled up with my partner could be a disaster.

“It’s closer.” Blaise gave the driver my address. “And I have a hunch.”

Not liking that look in his eye, I had to ask, “One that involves my computer? I have a hunch we might learn something from that video.”

“I need to check some things first.” He sat beside me in silence for the short ride to my tiny apartment.

We arrived and hurried up the stairwell to my third-floor apartment. Once inside, I powered up my computer, entered my password and stepped back, letting him handle the keyboard.

Blaise filled my little living room, not only with his body, but with his overpowering presence.

No matter where I went, I could sense him, see him and feel his energy pinging off the walls like loose electrical arcs.

“Are all demons as…” I fought for the right word to describe how I felt about him.

“Sexy, handsome, lust-inspiring?”

I snorted. “Try annoyingly sure of themselves, overly confident and in-your-face arrogant.”

Using the hunt-and-peck style of typing with his two index fingers, Blaise clicked the keyboard faster than I could using all ten of my fingers, and he chuckled as he brought up a search engine and entered the name of the woman we’d just interviewed. “We tend to be confident for a reason.”

“What reason?” Curious about what he was looking up, I leaned over his shoulder, trying to ignore the fact that he smelled good enough to eat, like brown sugar and cayenne pepper, a hot, sweet combination.

“Most of us are attractive and…well equipped.” He turned, bringing his lips within inches of my cheek. “Comes with the species.” That voice, low and dangerous, sent shivers through me.

Damn the demon. He had a way of making me hot all over with just a look. I straightened and put distance between us. “Why are you looking up Ivana Felding?”

For a moment he stared at me as I backed away, a smile curling the corners of his lips. Then he refocused on his computer search. “Checking on a hunch.”

I paced the floor behind him, still wondering what the hell made demons so special. This one had me tied in knots just teasing me with the image of equipment packages and naked skin. “Are hunches another trick up a demon’s sleeve?”

“Not all demons. You see, most demons have a special trait, skill, trademark—call it what you will.”

“And yours is hunches?”

“No. Mine are strength, speed and apparently a little mind reading.”

“Nice to know.” I crossed my arms over my chest, mentally ordering myself not to wonder if strength translated into
stamina
. “Where do the hunches play in?”

“Same as anyone. I believe intuition is highly underrated. When I have a hunch, it’s usually right.” He glanced across at me. “And it’s a yes on the stamina. What was the name of the woman in your building who was attacked?”

My mind stumbled over his stamina, my core aching to test his comment. “Judy Smith, why?”

He keyed her name into the search engine next to Ivana Felding. In moments, several pages of related sites offered information on the two women.

“Like I thought.” He clicked on one of the links, bringing up an article about the death of Gordon Felding, of Felding and Lebowitz, Inc.

“What’s just as you thought?” I stopped pacing and leaned over Blaise’s shoulder again. “So? Ivana’s husband was co-owner and CEO of a corporation. We know that. Hell, everyone in New York City knows that.”

“Look farther down in the article.”

I squinted, scanning the article until my gaze ran across mention of Judy Smith, the secretary at Felding and Lebowitz who found Gordon Felding’s body. “Coincidence?”

“Two of the most recent attacks were on women who had a connection to Gordon Felding.”

“You think whoever is reanimating these dead people is targeting Gordon’s girls?”

“I don’t know yet, but I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Me either.” I straightened. “What were the circumstances of Gordon’s death?”

Blaise clicked on a few more news articles and read silently for a moment.

I stood back and admired the way his dark hair dipped below his collar, in loose, thick waves, curling up at his shoulders. What would it feel like to run my fingers through his hair?

“Can you focus on this case?” Blaise shook his head. “There will be time for those fantasies of yours later.”

Flames licked at my cheeks, and I fought to keep from popping the back of his head with the palm of my hand.

“Gordon Felding died of a heart attack, making love to his secretary right after negotiating a deal with an investor from the Cayman Islands over a secret chemical compound. It was supposed to make the business a ton of money. But because he died before the papers were signed, the deal fell through. The company stock plummeted. They’re in Chapter Eleven bankruptcy now, and they still haven’t named a CEO to replace Felding.”

“Anyone personally take the hit financially along with the failed corporation?”

Blaise skimmed through all the reports. “Not that I can tell.”

“Keep looking. With both women being connected to Gordon Felding, I’d put my money on the failed deal as motive for revenge.” I stopped pacing long enough to squint toward the monitor. “On the other hand, any jealous lovers mentioned in the articles? Or was the secretary Gordon’s only fling?”

“The news articles don’t mention any other women involved with Mr. Felding.”

“Maybe we need to interview Mrs. Felding again.” I fished my phone out of my pocket. “Whatever happened to Lebowitz? Is he still in the picture?”

“Lebowitz actually started the company thirty years ago and made Felding his successor. Not long after, Lebowitz kicked the bucket, leaving Felding as owner and CEO of the company.”

“Any little Lebowitzes running around angry that they didn’t get a share of Daddy Lebowitz’s pie?”

“The man died a childless widower.”

“No bastard children he didn’t recognize? Greedy cousins?” I tucked my hands in my back pockets as I paced the floor, trying to think of anyone who might want to harm the women in Felding’s circle.

“None mentioned in the reports.” Blaise glanced up, a grin spreading across his face. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re beautiful when you’re intense?”

I ground to a halt. “Don’t go there. The last guy who said that to me ended up with a fractured jaw.”

Blaise’s brows rose, but I couldn’t tell if it was in response to what I’d said or to what I was thinking. “You hit him?” he asked.

“A couple times. Almost got fired over it. My supervisor said I should have handled it without the tire iron.” I shrugged.

Blaise stared harder. “It wasn’t the compliment that got you mad.” He didn’t ask, the words he spoke were a statement plucked from the clear memory in my head. The night Vance Lincoln attacked me in the parking lot outside the freakin’ police station. If I had not been changing the flat on my cruiser, I wouldn’t have had the tire iron on me. I’d have been at Vance Lincoln’s mercy—all of his two-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds to my one-hundred-twenty-seven. I started getting catcalls when I was thirteen, but as long as it was just talk, I could handle it. What I couldn’t handle was any man—especially a police officer—thinking that looking the way I look gave him the right to do anything he wanted to me.

I figured if I couldn’t trust my fellow officers in Chicago, I might just as well fight the criminals and jerkwads of New York City. A new start might do me good.

“And here you are fending off zombie attacks instead of potential rapists among your coworkers.” Blaise grabbed my hand and pulled me close. “You need to know.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “I’m glad that you can protect yourself, Katya, but you’ll never have to with me.”

I should have pulled my hand from his, but his words wrapped around me, warming me in places that had been cold for too long. “Let go.”

He turned my hand over and pressed a kiss to the palm.

By then his hold was little more than a touch. I could have pulled free at any time, but I didn’t. Damn the demon. There was just something about him that coiled around my senses, sucking me into his presence like metal to a magnet until my legs bumped into his thighs and my other hand lifted to touch those long, luscious locks of thick, black hair. And they were coarse but silky and every bit as sexy to feel as they were to see.

With a quick yank, he had me seated in his lap.

Caught off guard, I opened my mouth to protest, but his lips closed over mine before I could get a word out. The man was fast, like he said. But unlike every other man I’d met since Chicago, nothing about his touch made me want to pull away—or find a tire iron. His hold on me was still light. I
could
have gotten off his lap. I just didn’t want to. And once he claimed my lips, my will to resist fell to nothing more than a gentle groan.

By the time he allowed me enough air to breathe, I was weak and trembling. My hand pressed to his chest, the fingers working their way through a few buttons to open his shirt. I had to touch his skin. My fingers found his chest, warm and sprinkled with hair like any human, only not like any human. He seemed larger than life. The hardened ridge beneath my bottom nudged against me, promising proof of his statement that demons have better equipment. I wanted to see and feel for myself. My hands slid down his chest, stopping when another button got in the way of my progress. I ripped at his shirt, the buttons popping off, pinging against the monitor and falling to the floor. But when my hand fell to his fly, he grabbed hold of it and pulled it to rest against his chest.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

Desire burned through my veins, desire and a need so powerful my left brain had disengaged, allowing my right brain to run the show. “Isn’t it obvious?” I replied, my body trembling, my words shaky.