Shift Work (Carus #4)

by J. C. McKenzie

I smiled and kept exploring. Heat emanated off Tristan. He leaned forward and trailed kisses along my neck. When he started to push forward, I straightened.

  I waggled my forefinger at him before using it to push him back. “My turn.”

  Tristan’s sapphire gaze sparkled as he reclined in the sofa and drew me down on top of him. “Have your way with me, then.”

  “I plan to.” With a gentle tug, I pulled off Tristan’s shirt before he fully relaxed into the cushions. When I yanked on his form-fitting jeans, he quirked an eyebrow at me.

  “Impatient.”

  “Stop talking. Get naked.”

  He laughed and lifted his hips so I could slide his jeans off and get a nice view of his bulging briefs.

  Very nice.

  “You going to stare at it all night?”

  I licked my lips. “Maybe.”

  Tristan grabbed my hand and tugged. I sprawled out on him. His warmth seeped into mine as I found his soft lips. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as he deepened the kiss. Heat radiated from my core. The energy of my mountain lion rose and mingled with Tristan’s leopard, yearning, straining to join. Instead of caving to the call, I embraced it, enjoying the extra dimension of pleasure as it wound around me.

  My fingers ached to touch. Even as I ran them along Tristan’s sides, they wanted more. My head became light, and my heart fluttered in my chest. My skin screamed for his touch.

  Tristan groaned and pushed up.

  I shoved him back. With one swift motion, I pulled my shirt off. Tristan snaked his hands up to quickly remove my bra. His hot mouth claimed a nipple. I lost focus. My breath quickened.

  Pants. Off. Now. As my nerve endings tingled and called for more, I squirmed and wiggled out of my jeans. I grabbed a condom from Tristan’s pocket and tore open the package.

  Tristan ripped off my panties. The cold air hit my body. I reached down and returned the favor, shredding Tristan’s boxer-briefs from his hard body.

  Naked, hot, and ready.

  Tristan purred.

  My pulse raced, beating, thumping, hammering in my chest to the point of pain. I rolled on the condom, and with weak knees, I raised my body above his to guide him in. My mountain lion yowled as I sank down and our bodies joined.

  Tristan groaned and sat up to hold me close.

  Molten heat spread through my body as we moved together in our own dance, making our own time and rhythm. Tristan’s talented mouth played with my senses and nerve endings. The room filled with his delicious scent, musky coconut, and our lovemaking. The heady dose made my mind swim as a rising tide consumed my core, breaking waves over and over again on my senses.

  My canines elongated, and my mountain lion’s energy pushed to complete the bond, to claim Tristan as mine, truly and forever. My heart pounded in my chest, as my last orgasm rocked through my body. I bit down on his shoulder and yowled.

  Aftershocks rippled through me. Pleasuring tingles raced along my nerves as my heart attempted to recuperate.

  Tristan’s canines sank into my collarbone, and he growled his release. I sagged into him, consumed with a satisfied warmth, and a sense of belonging.

  “You bit me,” I mumbled into his neck, after a long quiet moment of pure contentment passed.

  “You bit me,” he whispered into my hair. “Pretty hard to resist.”

  He meant the mate bond. It involved neck biting during orgasm, and I’d come pretty close to claiming him. Heck, a few inches over and I would have. As Tristan pulsed inside me, questions clanked around in my mind. Why did I hold off with the mate bond? Why did I wait?

  The answer slapped my brain. I needed to fix me, first. The Bola incident had brought to light a lot of baggage I needed to confront and conquer. A mate bond couldn’t do that. Nor should it. When the time was right, it would happen.

  “I want to make sure I’m ready,” I said. I wanted to be whole. To be a good mate. To be worthy of Tristan’s love.

  Tristan’s neck twitched under my mouth as he shrugged. “I’m enjoying the practice. Take your time, I’m patient.”

  “Like a cat?”

  “Exactly.”

  I drifted to sleep with the soft sound of his chuckle.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Damn right I’m good in bed. I can stay there all day.”

  ~Unknown

  The chirping beside my head woke my mountain lion before the rest of my brain could gather a cohesive thought.

  Hunt, she whined.

  Sleep slipped from my mind, and my eyes fluttered open. Daylight streamed into the bedroom through the slats of the blinds, reflecting off the stark white of my bed linens. The mussed spot beside me, where Tristan had drifted to sleep holding me, was now empty, and something pinged in my heart. He must’ve been called to work again. I inhaled his lingering sunshine and citrus scent, cloaked with honeysuckles, and fell back against the soft pillows.

  The chirping started again.

  Kill! My mountain lion demanded.

  Relax. It’s my phone, not a bird to eat.

  She huffed and raked her claws against my thoughts before flopping down somewhere. My falcon cackled with glee.

  I ignored them both and reached over for my cell phone. “McNeilly,” I barked.

  “Morning sunshine,” Stan’s voice replied. “Are you still in bed? It’s almost noon.”

  “Don’t you dare judge me! The night shifts are draining.”

  A pause. “We worked a day shift yesterday.”

  My falcon puffed her feathers to sink her head down for more sleep. “Maybe you worked a day shift, but I kept going. Besides, I hate shift work.”

  “Shit work, or shift work?”

  “Both.”

  Stan sighed. “Did you discover anything?”

  “Well, what I told you earlier about Nagato has been confirmed by the Werewolf Alpha previously under Lucien’s control.”

  “That your ex?”

  His words stung, but I doubted he meant them to. “Yes. He said Nagato came to visit Lucien and had a private meeting with him. Allan and Clint were sent away shortly after, and Lucien met his ultimate death soon after that.”

  “And Nagato?”

  “Apparently left the horde house hale and hearty.”

  Stan grunted.

  “So Nagato’s gone in the wind, either going rogue or he became another loose end to tie up, our one known street-level KK dealer is in the morgue, Allan’s unwilling to help in any capacity…” I let my voice trail off.

  “What are you getting at?”

  Not sure, actually. Good question. “I hate this investigation shit.”

  “Clearly.”

  I drummed my fingers along my duvet cover. “Can we put trackers on Nagato’s work phone and bank cards?”

  “Already done. Though I doubt he’d be stupid enough to use either.”

  “So we’ve got nothing?” I sat up and pulled my sheets with me to cover my naked body.

  “Au contraire, mon amie.”

  I cringed. “Stan, your French sucks about as much as my investigation skills.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Friends don’t let friends spout off clichés in bad French.” I stretched my neck by tilting my head side to side. The wounds from Tristan’s canines had already scabbed over and the slight twinge of pain brought a smile to my face. The bone numbing weariness from last night had disappeared, replaced with relaxed contentment.

  Tristan had worked magic on me in more ways than one.

  After the first round, he’d taken control and worked my body until the wee hours of the morning. He’d loved every inch of skin, making me pant, beg and practically sing with delight. The contracting muscles of his toned body had glistened with…

  “I thought friends don’t let friends skip leg day?” Stan interrupted.

  Flustered, I fanned my face and ignored my mountain lion hissing for me to swipe at Stan through the phone. “That too.”

  I waited for Stan to fill me in, but silence consumed the
phone connection instead.

  My phone indicated the call hadn’t been dropped, and I had full bars.

  “Loretta had a storage room,” Stan whispered.

  “What?” I heard him, but I didn’t understand the significance.

  “She had a storage room I didn’t know about.”

  “Where, when, why? How’d you find out?”

  “An employee from Premium Storage called Loretta’s phone to say they hadn’t received payment for the next month. I went through her previous credit card statements already and there was nothing on them for this storage facility, but when I went back to the bank statements, I discovered she made regular monthly withdrawals for almost the same amount as the storage employee mentioned.”

  “Huh.” Crap. Loretta did have a secret, and it would explain the guilt I smelled from her. “What could she possibly hide? She was an administrative assistant for a pharmaceutical company, right?” Did we even need to unearth her secrets? She’d been killed because of Stan’s position with the drug force. Her secrets wouldn’t help our investigation so much as they would hurt Stan.

  “Maybe she was having an affair,” Stan whispered again. His voice caught.

  I gripped my phone and spoke as clearly and factually as possible. “No, Stan. She loved you.”

  “How would you know?” he barked back.

  “I smelled it…and I would’ve detected another man’s scent, either in the house or residual trace amounts from her skin or clothes if she was having an affair. She wasn’t, Stan. She loved you.”

  Silence again, broken by a muffled sob. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Where’s Premium Storage?” I asked. Distraction 101.

  “Kingsway Avenue and Mary Hill Bypass,” he said. “PoCo.”

  I checked my clock. Sure enough it was almost noon and traffic always picked up at this time. I lived in Port Coquitlam, or PoCo, one of the municipalities that made up the TriCities, but Stan didn’t, it would take him at least forty-five minutes to get here. “Meet you there in an hour?”

  “Yeah,” he gruffed before hanging up.

  ****

  When I pulled up to the intersection across from the orange and beige storage buildings, a five minute drive from my place, my mind reeled with possibilities.

  What the heck would we find?

  How badly would it hurt Stan?

  I’d purposely arrived early to get an advanced showing, so I’d discover what to prepare Stan for, or in case I needed to burn down the entire complex to save Stan from more heartache.

  On my way to the storage facility, I called Stan and suggested letting the forensics team go through the contents first. Technically, the location might hold evidence for an ongoing investigation. Protocol dictated we wait for forensics.

  Stan had replied with one word. “No.”

  When I tried to push it, he’d barked into the phone. “I asked for your help so I wouldn’t have to do things by the book. Fuck, Andy!”

  My mouth had clamped shut after that. Guess he was anxious about what the room would reveal as well.

  If Loretta hurt this man…even her position beyond the living realm wouldn’t save her. I’d find a way to make her pay. But somehow that didn’t fit. A feeling kept eating at my brain, much like little fish pecking at the food floating on the surface of water. I didn’t think Loretta was into anything that would hurt Stan, not in the emotional sense. That didn’t sit right in my gut. But why had she kept secrets from Stan. Had she become addicted to drugs? Didn’t smell like it. A life of crime? Again, didn’t feel right.

  Whatever the reason, I hoped we’d discover it soon and Stan would get some closure. He might appear to hold it together, and he definitely succeeded to a certain extent, but his despair leaked from every pore.

  The storage facility sat on the outskirts of PoCo before the bridge to Maple Ridge. Spanning one city block, it held orange-coloured garage doors and a black wrought iron security gate.

  When I pulled passed the gate and into the parking lot, I blew out a bunch of air. Stan had beat me here. Guess I’d have to kiss the advanced viewing goodbye. I manoeuvred the Poo-Lude into the guest parking spot beside Stan’s squad car. He drove like a maniac, so it shouldn’t really surprise me he made good time. But it did.

  As I wrenched open the driver’s side door, and clambered out, Stan appeared by my side with an owly-looking, middle-aged woman with skinny legs and dyed orange hair. Her mane frizzed out in a mullet-esque fro. Did she dye her hair to match the company colours? I tilted my head, but bit back the snarky words.

  “’Bout time!” Stan growled.

  My mountain lion perked up and mentally swatted at him.

  I grimaced and slammed the door shut, trying to ignore the loud shriek of rusted hinges. “If I’d realized you’d break every speed limit and traffic law on your way here, I would’ve left sooner. As it is, I’m fifteen minutes early. Bite me.”

  “Is that what you say to your Vampire friends?”

  The owl lady shuffled her feet.

  I glared at Stan.

  He narrowed his gaze.

  Silence.

  Stan grunted and nodded at the owl lady. “This is Mrs. Smith. She runs the place. She’s going to show us Loretta’s storage room.”

  I jerked my chin as a hello. “Were you present when Loretta opened an account to rent the space?”

  Stan rolled his eyes, and Mrs. Smith cast him a wary glance before shuffling her feet again. Nervous fumes wafted off her skin.

  “Easy there, Ace,” Stan grumbled at me. “I’ve already asked Mrs. Smith questions. Including that one.”

  “Oh,” I said. How much sooner had he arrived? From Mrs. Smith’s shaky limbs, it looked like she’d received a full interrogation. I squinted at Stan, and he puffed his chest out. So he’d intentionally arrived early to ask questions. Ones he wanted to hear the answers to alone. He must’ve been in PoCo when he called me. Rat bastard!

  His mate, my falcon squawked.

  Fair enough. The bird had a point. I’d be a mess if anything… My eyes tingled, and I squeezed them shut. If something happened to Tristan, I’d be a mess. But after I recovered, I’d turn over every rock, burn every bridge, and break any rule necessary to get answers.

  “Have you already checked the room, too?” I sighed. “If I got dressed for no reason, I’m going to be supremely pissed.”

  “No,” Stan barked. “This way.”

  We walked to the pedestrian door beside the security gate for vehicles, and Mrs. Smith keyed in four numbers—0814—before the security pad buzzed and the lock released. Loretta’s storage compartment was located at the far corner of the complex. As a small storage option, it sat beside six identical doors in the room. To access it, Loretta could drive up to the main room’s door, but she had to get out and walk into the main room to access her compartment. She paid $47.50 a month in cash and had never missed a payment during the last eleven months.

  On her insurance form, she claimed the room stored personal items.

  Mrs. Smith talked and talked, with a nervous quiver in her tone, but the truth of her words rolled over me. She might look cagey, but she hadn’t lied the entire time she walked us to Loretta’s storage room.

  When we reached compartment 102, Mrs. Smith turned to us and handed Stan a plain gold key.

  “I’ll leave you to go through your wife’s belongings.” Though she spoke to Stan, she stared at the floor. “My condolences for your loss.”

  Stan grunted and gingerly plucked the key from the woman’s hands. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Smith nodded and ducked around us to scurry away.

  Stan turned toward me. “What if it’s rigged?”

  “Loretta’s storage compartment?”

  Stan nodded.

  I glanced at the orange door. “She was an administrative assistant, not an international spy. What the heck would she booby trap it with?”

  Stan shrugged. “Loretta is…was…fuck!” He cleared his throat
and looked away. His hands bunched into fists at his waist. “Loretta was always resourceful.”

  I hesitated. Maybe I was closer to the truth than I realized. What if Loretta was a spy? I glanced at Stan’s expression as it closed off, but not before the same painful thought flashed across his face.

  “Well, let’s get this done,” Stan grumbled before stepping forward.

  I flung my arm out and stopped him. “Let me.”

  With my nose against the seams of the door, I inhaled long drags of air, followed with short successive ones, to scent the room, its contents and the emotional traces left behind.

  Loretta. Guilt. Fear.

  No one else, and certainly no explosives. I snatched the key from Stan. As I turned the lock, my fera-heightened senses strained to pick up anything extra. Falcons and mountain lions lacked in the smelling department, but they had considerably better hearing. Other than the lock flipping into place, turning the key resulted in nothing suspicious. Clean. No triggers.

  With a glance and a shrug at Stan, I stepped in front of him and pulled the door open.

  Nothing happened.

  Not sure what I expected, but last I checked, human shield wasn’t a Carus ability. I had bullet scars on my arm and ass to prove it.

  A gust of stale air flowed from the room, and an old two-drawer filing cabinet and one storage box greeted us.

  “A box?” Stan choked out behind me. “A box?”

  His pissed off scent flowed around me, and I turned to see his face twist up.

  “Mean anything?” I asked.

  “She went to an awful lot of trouble to hide this box from me. There’s got to be three dozen in the attic, and I never fucking touch those. She knew that.”

  We turned to the small room, and I hesitated to walk in farther. This was Stan’s business.

  “You first,” I said. Despite wanting to discover Loretta’s secret, find her killer, and get to the bottom of the possible KK link, Stan needed to unearth this mystery.

  Stan pulled surgical gloves out of his pocket and tossed a pair at me before putting on his own. I mimicked his actions. Guess he wasn’t completely throwing out “the book.”

  Stan cleared his throat and stalked passed me. His shoulders bumped mine, but the small space made body checking inevitable. He didn’t do it on purpose. I think.