She lifted a brow. “Should I ask?”
His hands lightly skimmed up and down the back of her arms. “My apartment is only a few miles away.”
He felt her revealing shiver of pleasure, but she shook her head in warning.
“I thought you genuinely wanted me to help in your investigation.”
He grinned. “I do, but I’m a man.”
“And?”
With a chuckle he stepped back, reaching in his front pocket to remove his cell phone.
As much as he preferred the idea of luring her to his apartment, he understood that their relationship had become physical at supersonic speed. Not that he was complaining. Hell, no. But the lack of traditional wooing meant Callie couldn’t be certain that he valued her as much for her swift intelligence and quiet courage as he did for her beauty.
Something he intended to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“And I’m about to call the station so we can get on with the investigation,” he assured her.
She smirked at his overly innocent smile, but reached out to grab his arm. “Why do you have to call the station? I thought we were going to investigate the designer shops?”
“We are, but I’m hoping to narrow down the search by finding out which salons carry a local designer.” He struggled to remember what Frank had told him. “Sung something or other.”
“Let me.” She pulled out her own phone and scrolled through her contacts.
“Who are you calling?”
“Serra.” She lifted the phone to her ear. “She’s intimately familiar with every store in a hundred-mile radius.”
Duncan had a searing memory of Serra’s skin-tight clothing and kick-ass boots. He didn’t have his coroner’s personal experience with female attire, but he did have a butt-load of sisters. He’d learned to recognize a fashionista.
His da had nearly strangled his youngest sister when he discovered she’d used his credit card to buy a six-hundred-dollar designer purse. He shuddered to think what the psychic had spent on her boots.
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
She pretended she didn’t hear his muttered words as she spoke into the phone. “Serra, do you know a designer named Sung? Great, where can you buy the label?” She listened, nodding her head. “Thanks, you’re a doll.” She paused, a faint smile curling her lips. “Fane? Actually he’s on his way back to Valhalla, although it’s going to be a touch and go landing, so if you want to catch him you need to be prepared. Good pluck.”
She returned her phone to her pocket, then sent him a curious smile as she felt his lingering gaze. “What?”
“I thought you liked your guardian?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why would you leave him at the mercy of that man-eater?”
“Hey.” She punched him in the shoulder, the blow surprisingly strong despite her lack of bulk. Were all high-bloods more powerful than norms? It would explain why his bench press record at the police academy was still unbeaten. And deflate a small piece of his ego. “Serra’s my dearest friend.”
“She’s terrifying,” he countered, giving an exaggerated shudder.
“You think I can’t be terrifying?” she asked, only partially teasing. “You haven’t seen me mad yet.”
Hmm. His gaze briefly flicked to the crimson flames of her hair. He’d already discovered the passionate nature beneath her facade of calm. He didn’t doubt for a second that included a temper that could flay him alive.
“And I don’t intend to,” he warned, brushing his thumb over the lush curve of her lower lip. “I am, after all, completely adorable.”
“What you are is full of shit,” she corrected dryly.
His bark of laughter echoed around the secluded alcove. “Possibly.” Ignoring the gazes from his fellow cops, which ranged from disgust to blatant envy, he steered Callie toward the path leading up the bluff. “Did she give you the name of a store?”
“Two. Victoria’s Boutique at the Plaza and the Paris Gallery in Independence.”
She easily jogged up the steep incline, the sway of her ass encased in the tight jeans sending a sizzling heat through Duncan’s body. Oh, he wanted his hands on the rounded derriere, preferably as she was riding him to oblivion. Or maybe while she was on her hands and knees as he took her from behind.
“Duncan? Is something wrong?”
Callie’s question intruded into his sinful fantasy, forcing him to realize that they’d reached the top of the bluff.
Damn.
He hadn’t responded to a woman with this sort of mindless lust since . . .
Since never, he was forced to concede.
Not even during his crazed, hormonal teen years.
Clearing his throat, he tapped the name of the salons into his phone’s GPS, feeling a heat crawl up the back of his neck. Thank god, Callie was a diviner and not a psychic.
She’d push him back down the bluff.
Head first.
“All set,” he muttered, lifting his gaze to meet her puzzled frown. “Let’s go.”
She followed in silence, allowing him to settle her in the front seat of his car and take off at a speed considerably less reckless than when he’d arrived. She wasn’t obeying his order, merely trying to figure out why he was blushing like an idiot.
Thankfully her lingering scrutiny was distracted as he turned onto Broadway and made his way to the Plaza.
Pressing her nose to the window, she appeared fascinated by the Spanish-inspired buildings and exquisite fountains that were a trademark of the area. At night the neighborhood was bathed in stunning lights and the air was filled with soft jazz, but during the day it was the domain of the upscale shoppers.
With a low laugh, Duncan pulled into an underground parking lot and turned off the motor.
Callie turned to meet his smile with a frown. “What’s so funny?”
He slid out of the car, not surprised that Callie was already standing near the hood by the time he’d shut the door. She might be forced to travel with a guardian, but that didn’t mean she meekly depended on a man.
If anything, she fought for every inch of independence she could claim.
“You look like my five-year-old niece, Tabby, when I take her to the carnival,” he answered her question, placing a gentle hand on her elbow as he strolled toward the nearby stairs.
“And how’s that?”
“All wide-eyed wonder.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t often leave Valhalla and when I do it’s rarely for pleasure.”
A deep, aching regret clutched at his heart. Her words were simple, spoken without bitterness. But to a man who’d grown up surrounded by loving family and a community who’d easily accepted him, it made him want to hit something.
What kind of world forced a little girl to remain hidden behind protective walls or risk being attacked by small-minded vigilantes?
He had an easy answer.
It was the same world that would happily demand her help when her “curse” could help solve a murder.
With an effort, he squashed his surge of anger. He couldn’t change Callie’s past. All he could do was try to show her that there were good and beautiful things to be discovered beyond Valhalla.
They stepped onto the sun-drenched street just a block from their destination.
“You’ve never been to the Plaza?” he asked as they strolled along the sidewalk.
“Not.”
“We have time if you want to look around.” He nodded toward an exclusive jewelry store across the road. “Maybe do a little shopping.”
The sun glinted off her reflective glasses as she turned in his direction. “You assume because I’m a woman I must love to shop?”
He leaned down to steal an all too brief kiss. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”
Chapter Eighteen
Callie did her best to hide her smile as she planted her hands on her hips.
Deep inside she had to admit that she wa
s enchanted by Duncan’s teasing. She’d never spent her days indulging in light flirtations like other young girls. Not because she didn’t want to, but people treated diviners differently, even among high-bloods. It might not always be suspicion, but at the very least . . . wariness. And Callie was by nature more serious than many of her friends.
Now she couldn’t deny a giddy enjoyment at being treated like a pretty woman who’d caught the attention of a virile, drop-dead sexy man.
Of course, she might be naive, but she wasn’t stupid. Duncan was a man who expected to have his way, either with charm or sheer arrogance. If she didn’t keep him in line, he’d trample all over her.
“I think we should find the boutique before I punch you in the nose,” she threatened.
“All right.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender before turning to stroll down the street. Well, stroll wasn’t exactly what he did. Like Fane, he was on constant guard, his eyes searching for potential enemies among the passing pedestrians and his body angled to make sure any approaching danger had to go through him first. A panther on the prowl. She smiled wryly. The Sentinel would be proud of her companion. Even if he’d rather have his tongue cut out than admit it.
And she wasn’t the only one to notice the potent appeal of his dangerous appearance.
A dozen female gazes were laser-focused on the hard muscles beneath his tight tee and faded jeans, while another dozen were lingering on the chiseled perfection of his face, which was kept from being pretty by the golden stubble on his stubborn jaw and the lethal shimmer in his hazel eyes. Even with the pale, satin smooth hair tumbled onto his brow there was no mistaking he was all male.
Ruthless, unattainable.
Perhaps sensing her growing annoyance at the female ogling, Duncan flashed her a wicked smile. “If you don’t shop, what do you like to do?”
She shrugged, forcing away her ridiculous stab of jealousy. Okay. Women liked to stare at Duncan O’Conner. Who could blame them? It certainly wasn’t worth ruining this rare opportunity to enjoy the city.
And, despite her grim duty to locate the dangerous necromancer, she intended to appreciate her time away from Valhalla.
“Different stuff,” she said with a shrug.
The hazel eyes studied her with open curiosity. “You don’t have a hobby?”
“Do you?”
“I work too many hours, but if I did have the time I’ve always wanted to coach Little League,” he answered with an easy frankness that she envied.
She was too used to keeping her thoughts and feelings to herself.
“Little League?” She lifted a surprised brow. “Really?”
“I love kids and I love baseball.” He shrugged. “It seems the perfect choice.”
Suddenly she had an image of him surrounded by rambunctious boys, his expression stern while his eyes twinkled with indulgent merriment.
“Yes,” she abruptly admitted. “It does.”
His gaze narrowed. “Are you mocking me?”
“No, not at all. I think you would make a great coach.”
His expression remained wary, as if not sure whether she was insulting him or not. “Because I still act like I’m five?”
“There’s that,” she teased.
“Thanks,” he muttered. “Anything else?”
A rare chuckle escaped her lips. He even sounded like a petulant five-year-old.
“Yes,” she murmured, deciding to put him out of his misery. “You’re also a natural leader without being overbearing. Your fellow cops obviously respect you. And you have a certain amount of charm when you aren’t being an ass.” She elbowed him in the side. “The kids would adore you.”
He reached to brush his fingers through her short, spiky hair. A silent thank-you for her belief in him.
“What about you, Callie?” he asked in a husky voice. “What makes you happy?”
She paused, truly considering his question. There were a lot of things she enjoyed. Being with her friends. Working in the garden. A quiet night in her apartment reading a good book.
“Spending time in the nursery,” she at last said, for the first time realizing just how much she depended on the pleasure she found surrounded by children.
“Ah.” He grinned in appreciation. “A sucker for the babies, are you?”
“Not just babies,” she corrected. “At Valhalla all children under the age of five spend at least a few hours every day in the nursery.”
He seemed fascinated by the glimpse into a world that was shrouded in mystery for most people. “Is there a particular reason?”
“To make sure they become accustomed to being with kids who aren’t like them. In such a confined space we can’t afford prejudices,” she explained without hesitation. It wasn’t a state secret. And besides, Duncan wasn’t just another norm. “It also helps them to learn to control their powers when they’re in public.”
“That’s what you meant when you said you had a lot of mothers?”
“Yes.” Warmth flowed through her at the memory of being surrounded by love. After seeing the trauma of children brought into Valhalla who’d been neglected and even abused, she understood what a gift her childhood had been. “High-bloods aren’t like most people.”
He ran his fingers down the center of her back, the light caress making her toes curl in her shoes.
“Actually, I pretty much worked that out for myself.”
“I mean that ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t born to high-blood parents,” she said, relieved when her voice was steady. No need feeding his outrageous ego with the fact he could make her melt with one careless touch. “So they’re brought to us as abandoned babies or as children who can no longer live with their biological families. They need the reassurance they’re wanted and valued by their new community.”
He came to an abrupt halt, swinging her until they were face to face. “My ma is going to love you.”
Her heart missed a beat at his unexpected words. “Because I enjoy children?”
“Because she was forever taking in stray chicks despite our constant protests the house was about ready to bust at the seams.” His gaze swept over her upturned face with a piercing intensity. “She’ll be delighted to meet a fellow mother hen.”
His mother . . . The woman who no doubt thought no one was good enough for her baby.
Certainly not a freak from Valhalla.
Aaaaand cue panic.
She pulled away, waving an unsteady hand toward the door on the corner that was shaded by an elegant ivory canopy. “I think that’s the place.”
With a heavy sigh, he reached down to brush her lips in a brief kiss.
“Someday,” he murmured against her lips.
Duncan leashed his impatience. Baby steps, he silently told himself. If I rush her, I might lose her. And he wasn’t prepared to risk that.
Instead he led her into the chichi store, surprised when she pulled away to wander through the racks of clothing that cost more than he made in a year.
Maybe she liked shopping more than she was willing to admit. With a shrug, he turned to watch the silver-haired woman wearing a discreet black dress cross the plush ivory carpet, her thin face pinched as if she’d caught a foul odor.
Duncan hid a wry smile. He wasn’t the sort of cop who got off on busting the balls of perps. He did what had to be done, no extracurricular activity included.
But he couldn’t deny a very human anticipation in pissing off this sour-faced female. There were few things that peeved him as much as someone thinking a few bucks in the bank made them better than others.
“May I help you?” she asked in tones that indicated he needed to return to the gutter he crawled out of ASAP.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his badge to flash it with a feral smile. “KCPD. I’m here to ask you a few questions.”
The woman gave a small gasp, her hard blue eyes shooting around the empty store as if afraid someone might overhear them. “I can
’t imagine what questions you could have for me.”
Duncan replaced the badge with his phone, flipping through the images until he found one of Leah he’d pulled from the Rabbit Hutch’s Web site.
“I need you to tell me if you’ve seen this woman in your shop.”
She glanced at the picture, her lip curling in disdain at Leah’s flashy makeup and revealing outfit. “Certainly not.”
A cold anger sliced through him. The bitch. Whatever Leah’s career choice, she’d been a young woman who deserved a far better fate than she’d been given.
“How many employees do you have?” he growled.
“I have two assistants, but I’m Victoria, the owner of this boutique, and if the store is open, then I’m here.” Her lips thinned until they were nearly invisible. “If the woman was a customer I would recognize her.”
“You know every customer?”
“Naturally.”
Duncan snorted, skimming his thumb over the screen of his phone to bring up Calso’s image.
“What about this man?”
Her pencil thin brows arched in surprise. “Mr. Calso?”
“He’s a customer?”
“Unfortunately no.”
“But you know him?”
“Our paths have crossed at various charity functions,” she said in haughty tones. Translated . . . this woman hung on the fringes of Kansas City society in the hopes of luring them into her shop. “He’s a prominent businessman who has always been very generous in giving to those less fortunate.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he muttered. Nothing like tossing a few dollars at a charity to gain the goodwill of a city.
“I don’t understand,” she snapped. “Why are you here?”
“Duncan.” Callie’s voice floated from the corner of the showroom. “This looks similar.”
Turning his head, he watched as the diviner held up a pair of stretchy pants and tiny top that looked remarkably close to what Leah had been wearing.
“Smart girl,” he breathed in low tones before turning back to carefully monitor the older woman’s expression. He didn’t think she was involved, but he treated everyone as a suspect until they were proved innocent. He was a cop, not a judge. “How many of those have you sold?”
Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Page 19