The Darkest Kiss

I hesitated. “She’s one to watch. I think she has great plans for herself and her fledglings, but I don’t think she’s done anything to cross the line just yet.”

“Interesting.”

His voice was dry, and my eyebrows rose again. “Why?”

“Because our inspector gave a glowing report.”

I gri

Jack paused. “Young, yes. Blond, no.”

“She razzle-dazzled him, boss. He wouldn’t have known what side of his pen was up when he was taking notes.”

“Young Clark has strong shields. Even an emo vamp shouldn’t have been able to affect him.”

“I’ve got strong shields, and I felt her pull.”

“Then we’ll keep an eye on her, for sure. Have you written up a report about last night?”

“Nope. I was intending to do it when I got in this morning. Did Sal get anything on Aron Young?”

“We found three. We’re still trying to get a current address on two of them.”

“At least there’s not hundreds to investigate.”

“True.” He paused for a moment. In the background, someone was murmuring. Paper moved, then he added, “Sal mentioned you were investigating some BDSM case?”

Meaning Sal had listened in on my phone call—there was no other way she could have known, because I hadn’t yet written the report. “It’s related to last night’s case—same vampire.”

I wasn’t a hundred percent positive of that, of course, but I wasn’t about to let Jack know that.

“I’ll hunt up the police report on it for you, and hurry the search on Young. If this is the start of a murder run, we’ll need to get onto it straightaway.”

“Could you also get a check done on a Ben Wilson? He’s a black wolf who manages the Nonpareil stripper business. As far as I can see, he’s the only real link between the two men.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, boss.” I hung up, then changed lanes and headed over to South Yarra and the address Jack had given me—which just happened to be in the heart of trendy Chapel Street.

Obviously, whoever was killing off these people had a taste for power and money. And perhaps a need for the high that exhibitionism could give. Which in itself would suggest some sort of were. While the danger of public sexual acts—and the high such risks gave—was not the sole province of weres, we weres were certainly willing to take it further than most races.

It was impossible to find parking near the shoe shop in Chapel Street, so I parked in nearby Garden Street. And made sure an “Official Directorate Vehicle” sign was visible through the front window, just in case the parking inspectors got a little trigger-happy with their ticket machines.

I pocketed my keys and headed back to Chapel Street. The shoe shop was easy enough to spot—it was the one with the cop cars out front and the black plastic sheeting over the windows.

Kade was nowhere to be seen, so I ducked under the tape, showed my badge to the patrol cop, and headed in. And discovered Chapel Street shoe shops weren’t like ordinary shoe shops. For a start, the shoes were well spaced rather than crammed together in soldier-like rows. Then there were spotlights over the display racks, high-back comfy chairs, and plush carpets.

And a dead naked guy in the front window.

His thick thatch of red hair was the first thing I noticed. He was leaning over a waist-high shoe display, his butt facing the window, arms and head flopping down the back of the metal stand, with pretty-colored stilettos and boots scattered all around his feet.

“Puts a new spin on eye-catching window displays, doesn’t it?” Cole said, stripping off bloodied gloves as he stepped out of the window.

I frowned at him. “Whose blood?”

“His. Seems our killer got a little heavy-handed with the scratches this time.” He nodded toward the victim’s torso. “Got scratches on his chest, genitals, and legs.”

“What type of scratches?”

“A cat of some kind. She’s a big one, though.”

“How big is big?”

“Twice the size of a regular cat, at least.”

“So are we looking for something the size of a puma or something more like a tiger?”

“Something the size of a tiger, at least.”

I stepped closer. The metallic tang of blood perfumed the air, as did the scents of sweat and sex. But underneath those were notes of jasmine and orange. The same scents that had been evident in Gerard James’s office.

My gaze ran from the dead man’s neck to his back and down his legs. There were scratches scattered across his pale flesh—big, thick, ugly scratches that had taken more than a little skin with them.

“It can’t be the same cat that scratched James,” I said, glancing around at Cole. “This one has massive paws.”

“I think it is, but I won’t know that until I do some DNA tests.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You found more than the victim’s DNA this time?”

“Found it last time, too. I’m hoping the saliva found on James’s cock will match that found on this man.”

“And that’s the only DNA of our mysterious lady friend that you’ve found?”

“Nope. And it appears our murderess is in heat.”

That raised my eyebrows. “Then why would she be killing her mates? That’s more a spider habit than cat, isn’t it?”

He smiled. It was a nice smile, a smile that lit up his whole face. “Maybe they really disappointed her.”

“Then let’s hope her future dates have brushed up on their technique a bit more.” Or that we caught her before those dates happened. The violence in her attacks seemed to be escalating, and I really didn’t want to imagine what she might do to the next man. “We’ve got a witness this time?”

“Henry Rollins is the gentleman who found him. He’s waiting in the back storeroom, if you’d like to talk to him. There’s also another potential witness, but it might be best to let Kade deal with him.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why?”

“He’s as drunk as a skunk and smells like vomit.” His gaze met mine, blue eyes twinkling. “And we all know what a delicate little nose you have.”

“Thanks. I think.”

I turned and headed for the back of the store, but had gone only three or four steps when Kade finally arrived. I didn’t have to actually see him to know he was there—his sheer, masculine scent overwhelmed just about everyone else in the room.

“About fucking time you turned up,” I said mildly, over my shoulder.

“Hey, I had to stop for coffee.”

“For everyone, I hope,” Cole commented.

“I didn’t think you boys were allowed to drink on the job. In case of spillage, etcetera.”

I pointed an imperious finger and tried to be stern, despite the smile teasing my lips. “If you didn’t bring us coffee, you can just go out on the sidewalk and interview the witness the cops are holding.”

“Geez, is bossiness inbred in wolves or something?”

“Yes,” Cole and I said together, then shared a grin. I have to say, I was liking this relaxed version of Cole a whole lot more than the sourpuss I’d first been introduced to months ago. Although maybe he was opening up more because we had gotten to know each other a bit better through our on-the-job sparring.

I continued on into the back storerooms. There had to be a small kitchen in the back somewhere, because I could smell coffee. And it wasn’t top-shelf stuff, if that smell was anything to go by. Either that, or the percolator needed a good cleaning.

But underneath that almost burned aroma, other scents ran. Leather and man and, softer still, orange and jasmine.

And underneath them all, a scent that made my wolf soul twitch.

Cat.

It was faint, but it was there. Our murderess had definitely come this way, though the scent wasn’t strong enough to suggest she was still here.

I came across the cop first—a tall man with blond hair leaning casually on one of the shelves. He straightened when I approached. “Directorate?”

I nodded, looking past him as I showed him my badge. Rollins was huddled on a kitchen chair, pale hands wrapped around a coffee mug. “Has Mr. Rollins said anything?”