A Girl’s Best Friend (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 3)

by Isobella Crowley

  They’d piled back into the werewolf’s car, having ignored a couple of dog-walkers whose pets became oddly agitated when Conrad passed, and headed to the second most obvious place on Remy’s mental list—Park Avenue. Riley’s usual haunt when she picked up her “dates.”

  The avenue itself was less crowded than usual, presumably due to the cold and the waning of the post-Christmas shopping season. It was still New York City, though, so the level of traffic—both human and vehicular—could hardly be called sparse.

  Remy snapped his fingers. “One advantage we have is that she shouldn’t be too difficult to see. Her fashion sense isn’t exactly restrained. You saw her at the party, so keep an eye out for a five-foot-three, twenty-something platinum blonde who looks like she stepped out of a seventies sci-fi flick or something.”

  “Will do, sir,” Conrad assured him.

  Sadly, no one seemed to meet that description. A few blonde girls and a handful of garishly dressed people were there, but no one with quite the right combination.

  “Okay.” The investigator exhaled. “It’s time to proceed to Plan B. We get out, browse on foot, and poke our heads into any store that seems like it sells the kind of bullshit that lovesick rich guys are happy to buy for hot girls who blatantly use them for materialistic purposes.”

  They parked on a side street and, to work faster, each took a different side of the road and looked into shops that seemed appropriate before they emerged to signal the other.

  In all cases, the answer was no.

  After completing the first street, Remy motioned Conrad to traverse the crosswalk and regroup.

  “This will still take too long,” he explained to the lycanthrope. “She could be half a mile ahead of us and working her way forward as all we do is trail behind her.”

  The other man waited, probably in case his boss was about to suggest something else.

  His head slumped between his shoulders. “She’s obviously okay—of course nothing bad could have happened to her—but this is still discouraging. We might end up having to stake out the damn colony and wait for her there. Which would require bringing a portable space heater and a generator.”

  And that was only for dealing with the park, not the colony itself.

  “And a metric ton of honey, to keep the little dickheads off our backs while we sit around.” He brought the palm of his hand to his eyes and left it there.

  “Sir,” Conrad interjected, “you said she comes here often. We’ve only searched for a short while. If we walk around for a little longer, I might be able to pick her scent up. I remember it.”

  He straightened slowly. “It’s worth a shot. Needing a tracker to track down a tracker… God, that sounds like some terrible movie tagline.”

  The werewolf was already on the task and marched down the sidewalk to the north with Remy following closely. It annoyed him to think that anyone who looked at them might think Conrad was the one in charge.

  Fortunately, though, they were only on the streets for about another five minutes.

  His bodyguard stopped in his tracks and made a readily audible sniffing sound. He noticed it at once and shouldered around a briefcase-toting yuppie to stand directly next to him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  The werewolf nodded directly ahead. “That way. On this side of the street.” He hurried on and his legs worked so fast, his companion almost had to jog to keep up.

  A moment later, he stopped again, this time in front of a clothing store that looked like it mostly sold swimwear. There were a few scantily clad mannequins in the front window, and the picture on the sign even featured a Chibi cartoon woman wearing a microscopic bikini.

  Uh-oh, Remy lamented. I have a feeling I know where this is going.

  Conrad gestured to the shop. “She’s in there. Or, at least, she was very recently. I’m almost positive.”

  “Good,” he said, stepped in front of him, and pushed the door open.

  Within, they immediately noticed a small group of women hanging back near the checkout desk, talking in hushed voices. Despite the low volume, there was an obvious tone of annoyance.

  “I cannot believe them. Not like I should be shocked,” one of the women remarked.

  Remy took a few steps further in. The store stretched deeper inward than he would have guessed, and although its layout was relatively uncluttered, there were still a couple of shelves blocking his view of exactly what was going on in the back.

  It involved a large crowd of people, though. That much was obvious.

  Conrad sidled up. “She’s here, sir. I can hear her voice. Her…uh, big voice, I mean.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t surprise me. Let’s go make like a politician and tour the disaster scene.”

  They walked forth and ignored the sharp, disapproving stares of the women near the counter. He saw that the gaggle of persons at the other end seemed to consist entirely of men and also heard a few clicks that he identified as coming from a pro camera.

  Once they were past the shelves, they found themselves in an open area in the rear where a couple more mannequins stood on a small stage. Various men were clustered around it and at its center, between the two mannequins, stood Riley.

  The breath leaked out of his lungs at the first glimpse of her. She was, as suspected, in human form. It appeared she was auditioning to become a swimwear model—if she didn’t have the job already. She certainly looked good enough to be a shoo-in.

  Her current bikini was an example of the barely-there style, consisting of two pieces of fabric that, on their own, could easily have been mistaken for accessories—backpack straps or hairbands, maybe—rather than clothes.

  The top was basically only a few strings attached to two small, round patches of cloth which cupped her breasts tightly but did nothing to inhibit their size or shape. The bottom, meanwhile, consisted of perhaps even less material, with a back thong that scarcely bothered to widen in front. She wore nothing else.

  One of the men in the surrounding crowd, who wore a long and droopy stocking cap and had horn-rimmed glasses, sighed and shook his head. “Beautiful. Simply beautiful. The proportions and grace…such a well-designed swimsuit.”

  A few others held their phones up to take pictures or videos, probably intending to break them out later when they had more privacy. Still others eschewed mementos in favor of simply crowding around the stage and trying to catch Riley’s individual attention with an endless stream of breathless compliments and supportive hand gestures.

  The fairy did very little but soak up their attention. She moved slowly in circles and adjusted her posture slightly, occasionally striking a more dramatic pose when the professional cameraman off to the side suggested it.

  The pro was an older gentleman wearing a derby hat and armed with a fine and pricey camera mounted on a black polymer tripod. It was difficult to tell if this was a formal event with the man having been specifically hired to take pictures or if the whole event was more of a happy accident.

  Conrad whistled softly. “I must say, to be frank,” he whispered, “her humanoid form is aesthetically pleasing. Knowing her…ah, kind, much of it is glamour—a type of magic, not regular glamor—so it’s debatable if what we see is entirely real, but it certainly…” He hesitated. “Looks nice.”

  “Gosh,” Remy replied and didn’t even try to hide the biting edge to his voice, “that’s way too many words to simply say ‘I’d bang her if I thought I could get away with it.’”

  “Sir!” his bodyguard protested. “That isn’t what I said and it isn’t what I meant. Women are special creatures and must be cherished and respected. We can appreciate their appearances, but we must remember that—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He cut him off. “You probably have a dungeon in your basement, don’t you? Dog collars and so forth. And not for yourself. Don’t try to deny it, Conrad. I know all about you and what you get up to behind closed doors. It’s scandalous and disgraceful. Even thinking about it makes me s
ick.”

  The werewolf’s mouth opened and closed a few times in befuddlement as he wracked his brain for a way to respond to this.

  Remy used the peace and quiet to study Riley. More to the point, to observe her facial expressions, her body language, and the look in her eyes. He had an unpleasant hunch.

  It was immediately clear that she was even more enraptured with the men’s attention than they were with the sight of her lovely face and body. She drank it in with a needy hunger—almost a ravenous desperation—that disturbed him.

  It wasn’t only jealousy, although he had to admit that played a part. It was the fact that something in her whole demeanor was familiar.

  He placed it after a second or two. Her face looked much the same way his own did shortly after he’d gotten high—while he was still cruising but right about the time he began to get scared, deep down, that the fun might end and necessitate another trip out to get more.

  And then even more.

  Once his mind made the connection, he almost jumped and tackled her. After a deep breath, he merely took a few steps forward instead.

  Riley noticed the two of them. Her smile dimmed and her eyes widened, and she glanced around a little frantically, possibly looking for an escape route.

  Remy decided it was time to act. “There you are. What in tarnation are y’all doing with my sister?” he demanded in a fake hick accent. The photographer and a few other men stared at him, slack-jawed.

  “Remy!” the fairy exclaimed. “Why are you—”

  He cut her off. “Now, you stop this nonsense right now, young lady.” He caught her by the wrist and dragged her off the stage. “Ma’s gonna have a few words with you for this one. Hush up and come back to the farm right now, where folks still appreciate what the Lord says about modesty and idle hands. Them cows ain’t gonna milk themselves.”

  Conrad followed, flabbergasted, as he pulled her through the store. A few of the men who’d watched her shouted, “Hey!” and made empty threats or tried to demand an explanation for what was going on. The bodyguard glared at them and gave them enough hesitation for the three to escape the store without things getting ugly.

  As they hurried toward the car, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. None of them spoke. When they arrived, the lycanthrope slid into the driver’s seat but Remy sat in the back and pulled Riley in with him. Conrad did not ask questions and pulled out into traffic as soon as it was safe.

  The investigator stared straight ahead. He inhaled deeply.

  All right, he told himself, we’re having that special talk right now, regardless of Wonder Boy being here.

  “Conrad,” he said, “please stay out of this conversation. This is between Riley and me.”

  The werewolf nodded. “Okay, sir, I understand.”

  Remy looked to the side. The fae had already transformed into her true shape and now, her tiny body sat naked, her legs drawn up to her chest and arms resting on her knees. That she was sulking and pouting was obvious even at her current size.

  “Riley,” he began, “we need to talk.”

  “No,” she replied, “you need to leave me alone.”

  What is she, my rebellious teenage daughter now? he wondered and tried not to get angry.

  “Bullshit,” he responded, although he managed to keep his tone fairly mild. “I’m looking out for you. You obviously have a problem with…uh…”

  He found, to his sudden embarrassment, that he couldn’t find the right words. That, unfortunately, was the result of the fact that he didn’t want to admit his own problems to her, especially not with Conrad around.

  She spoke before he could. “I was only having fun. And I made other people happy, too.”

  Remy shook his head. “You don’t understand. Have you heard of…” He hesitated again, swallowed, and continued. “Addiction? Do you know what it is?”

  Riley looked quickly at him and returned her attention to her own kneecaps. “You mentioned it before, and a couple of other people did, too. It’s what happens when a human poisons himself and decides he likes it.”

  He vaguely recalled having said something like that once and wished he’d been clearer.

  “Is that,” she asked, “why you’re acting like this?”

  “No,” he replied quickly. “Well, not on my own part. Listen, addiction is anything—and I mean anything—that seems like it’s so much fun that you start to feel like you can’t live without it. It gets inside you…like in The Evil Dead where the invisible demonic spirits from the Necronomicon possess everyone and cause their faces to become hideous and corpse-like, and then they start stabbing each other in the ankle with pencils.”

  The fairy stared at him with eyes that almost bugged out of her head. “What? I thought the Necronomicon was only a human myth. That’s awful. Are you okay?”

  “No—shit. Shit! No,” he stammered. “Never mind. Forget I said that. I’m fine.” He raised a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Conrad cleared his throat but Remy resumed speaking before he could contribute.

  “Listen, Riley. You need to stop spending so much time around all these…men, because it…uh, it wastes too much of your time.”

  Well, that sounded lame, he admonished himself. I think I need to spend time meditating on this issue or something. I’ve never really talked about my own addictive problems to anyone much so I should have known I’d fumble the hell out of it while trying to intervene with someone else.

  “Time?” she inquired. “What does that have to do with—”

  “I need you,” he said. “As a fairy, I mean. As a helper and a friend. We still have a job to do, and your powers would definitely come in handy. Plus, you’re still under contract, as per the next few days’ worth of honey-roasted peanuts.”

  She uttered a tiny sigh, wistful and pained. “Fine.”

  And by keeping her close to heel, I’ll be able to watch over her for any further symptoms and make sure she can’t get away to indulge them.

  “So,” she asked, “what are we doing?”

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but as he began to panic in his haste to think of something, an idea popped into his head. A rather good and clever one, in his opinion.

  “Tracking some dwarves.” He adjusted his tie and smoothed his hair. “Two thugs from the cartel attacked my apartment last night. There should be numerous traces of them. If we can find out where they went, we might be able to find the rest of their Snow White and put an end to this little operation before it can cause any more damage.”

  Additionally, although he did not say it aloud, they had to finish the job before tomorrow. Otherwise, the terms of his bargain with Taylor would come due and it was back to boarding school with his new headmistress. He shuddered at the notion.

  “All right.” The fairy’s voice was distant. She was resigned to her duty but her heart was still in that goddamn swimwear store.

  Conrad raised his hand. “Uh…sir, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to plunge into potential combat, especially since we already did that once and they’re likely to expect another incident. We might end up in over our heads.”

  “Fear not,” Remy consoled him. “We won’t launch a commando raid, exactly, merely do a little reconnaissance.” He coughed. “Besides, if it looks like things become too dangerous, we can always call in the big guns. Meaning Taylor.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  West Harbor Motel, West Harbor, New York

  The one disadvantage of Riley’s magical tracking abilities was the simple fact that every trail had to start somewhere. In this case, the most obvious start was at Remy’s apartment.

  The three of them drove back to his home, therefore, so the fairy could pick up the scent of one of the dwarves who’d ambushed him the night before. The blond one who’d bled all over Remy’s kitchen floor was possibly the better target.

  “Eeew,” Riley protested when Conrad graciously followed orders to fish one of t
he blood-soaked paper towels out of the trash can. “His blood doesn’t smell good. Too much meat and alcohol.”

  “Well,” Remy quipped, “when we find him, you can advise him to start consuming vast quantities of pineapple juice instead. I’ve heard it improves the odor and flavor of bodily fluids.”

  The fairy had seemed to consider this as she struggled to tolerate the pungent aroma. “Okay. That’s a good idea.”

  Indeed, it somehow cheered her up enough that she barely complained as they trekked all over New York, retracing the steps of the height-challenged assassin.

  She had been invisible to the concierge as they passed through the lobby, so Nikki only saw Remy and Conrad again. Fortunately, she didn’t press him on who Conrad was. He simply hoped people wouldn’t gossip too hard. Yet.

  Neither man was much surprised when, at first, the trail led them north into the Bronx and toward the Port Morris shoreline. At about the same time, Riley detected a second trail going back the way it had come.

  Remy held a hand up. “Okay, stop. We can tell that the little prick went back to that same shipping container and then left. We don’t need to sniff our way all the way to the edge of the river. Wonder Boy, turn us around. Riley, we’re now following the second trail, the one that goes the other way.”

  His companions had not argued. They then worked their way back into Manhattan and a tedious drive all over the island followed. Their progress slowed as traffic thickened. Rush hour hadn’t been far away.

  Finally, after a couple of minor detours to sandwich shops and liquor stores, missed turns, and places where the scent faded, they arrived at the end of the trail at West Harbor.

  “Man,” Remy complained as Conrad drove them closer to their final destination, “what is it with assholes and hotels? Those two werewolves and the vampire who plotted the coup against Taylor took over a big fancy one, and Alex holed up in a shitty one. Now, we have the dwarven mafia in a mid-grade one. I bet the next horde of pricks to show up in town will use a student hostel as their headquarters.”