by C. D. Hersh
Kat placed her hand in his, and he fought the urge to caress it.
“Nice to meet you, Olivia. As long as you follow the rules, play honest, and give your best, we’ll get along just fine. Understand?”
“Yep.” He dropped her hand. “What should I do?”
“We’ve got a new body. Let’s see what you can discover. There’s an apron on the hook over there.”
Donning the apron, he followed her to the morgue table and watched her uncover a body. One of his victims, and a recent kill. He fought to keep his expression blank. This one had not gone down easy.
Kat leaned against the nearest stainless steel slab and waved her hand toward the corpse.
“Gloves?” he asked.
She handed him a pair and he snapped them on before examining the body. “Multiple contusions, possibly from a fight. Didn’t win, apparently.” He sneaked a peek at her. She didn’t seem amused at his joke. “The marks on his neck suggest strangulation. From the broken blood vessels around his nose, he’s probably a heavy drinker. And a fighter. Looks like his nose has been broken a couple of times. We’d likely find cirrhosis of the liver if we autopsy him.”
He took another quick survey of the body. Not much else to report, except the mismatched face. He paused a moment, deciding if he should mention that or not. When he glanced at Kat, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
“My expertise is toxicology. I’m sure we’d discover more through testing.”
Kat pointed at the man’s hand, and Owen lifted it with his right hand and examined the fingers.
“There’s an indentation on his left ring finger. He wore a ring. But not a wedding band. Most likely something with a large stone.” Like the Turning Stone ring I wear on my left hand. “He has arthritis. His knuckles are gnarled.”
“Like a ninety-year old man’s,” Kat said. “Kind of strange for someone who appears to be in his twenties, don’t you think?”
Not considering that an old man was this guy’s MO for getting close to his victims. He’d been shifted as a geezer when I jumped him. “Maybe he’s got rheumatoid arthritis.”
“See anything else?” Kat asked.
Owen decided he couldn’t risk not mentioning the facial issues but, he would not draw attention to the puncture marks he knew were there. He scrambled to think of a plausible reason to explain the man’s mismatched features. “He looks like he’s had botched plastic surgery.”
“Not bad, Olivia.”
“Thanks.” He breathed a sigh of relief at the compliment. He’d passed the first round of tests. Now to get in with Kat so she’d trust him. What did women say to each other to get close?
Glancing down, he saw Kat’s sensible running shoes and motioned to her feet. “Wish I’d thought of that. My dogs are killing me.” He removed the latex gloves and then toed off his high heels. Sighing, he wiggled his toes on the cool tile floor.
She laughed. “We don’t dress to impress in the morgue. The clients can’t see us.”
“Wish I’d known before I came. Where did you get those? They look comfy.”
“The mall.”
“Think we could go shopping tonight? I’m new to town, so I don’t know my way around yet.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a date. Maybe later.”
“A boyfriend?”
She nodded.
Boyfriend? She never mentioned a boyfriend. Jealousy stabbed him. “What’s he look like?”
Tipping her head, Kat stared at him. “A bit like you, only handsome instead of pretty. Black curly hair and blue eyes, but more electric blue.”
“Sounds dreamy,” he said, the words nearly choking him. They did not have a date tonight. What was she up to?
“Where you going?”
“Don’t know. He said it’s a secret. A surprise,” she amended quickly.
It was secret, all right. And he wasn’t in on it. What else was she hiding from him?
Chapter 16
Hugh spotted LJ at his favorite corner table and nearly didn’t recognize her. Her brown hair fell in waves to her shoulder instead of pulled tightly at the nape of her neck in her customary pony tail. Earrings glittered in her ears, and she wore a sleek, black cocktail dress.
He stopped, straightened his tie, and took a minute to calm his nerves. She looked hot and beautiful and very feminine. As he moved forward, she spotted him and waved.
“Ready to go?” he asked when he reached the table.
Rising, she pulled a wrap from the back of the chair.
Hugh took the garment from her and eased it over her, resting his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs massaged the curve of her clavicle, and he felt her shudder beneath his touch. “You look nice,” he whispered.
Blushing, she replied, “Thanks. I hope I’m not overdressed. You didn’t say where we might be going.”
“You like to dance?” The smell of her perfume rose into the space between them, and he resisted dipping his head to catch more of the scent.
“Not disco or jumpy stuff. I like slow dancing, or ballroom dancing.” She raised her gaze to his, her lashes batting coquettishly. “Do you foxtrot or waltz?”
“Not since high school. I remember the box step, though.”
“That will work, or the two-step sway. As long as we’re moving to the beat it’ll qualify as dancing.”
The thought of holding her in his arms and swaying against her made his body react. Slow dancing was definitely on the list tonight.
He swept his arm toward the door. “The chariot awaits. You’ll have to navigate. I don’t know Cleveland that well.”
“No problem. But can we eat first? I’m starved.”
“What’s your pleasure?”
“The Warehouse District has some great restaurants. Do you prefer seafood or steak? No, wait. Let me guess. You’re a steak guy, right? A manly, steak and potatoes kinda guy.”
“I am, but the doc says I need to eat more fish. So, since I’ve been chowing down on burgers here, can we do seafood?”
A pleased smile crossed her face. “My favorite. We’ll go to Under the Sea. There’s a dance floor at a club just a couple doors down from the restaurant. We can hit that after dinner. They’re playing big band tonight.”
His appetite-for dinner-suddenly disappeared, replaced with a hunger to hold her in his arms. Tucking his arm around her waist, he guided her from the bar and followed her straight into what he knew was going to be a night of trouble. Trouble keeping his hands off her. Trouble keeping his mouth from kissing hers. Trouble keeping his heart in check.
The strains of “Makin’ Whoopee” drifted from the club as LJ and Hugh approached, and his pulse picked up the beat. Dinner had gone great. The conversation had been personal, intimate, and stimulating. He had discovered there was a lot more to Lynn Jacobs, diner waitress, than he’d originally believed.
“Being an Army brat gave me quite an education,” LJ said. “Dad made sure we moved as often as we could and to the most unusual places they could send him. Making friends every few years helped me learn to read people. It’s come in handy in the diner. I can get a sense about my customers. Know who’s going to tip big. Who’s gonna be a pain in the patooty.”
“I think you’re cut out to be something more than a waitress.”
“That’s why I want to be a P.I. A Sherlock Holmes of the diner world.”
And they were back to the topic of the week. He could feel the romantic mood slipping away. “Let’s not talk shop tonight, okay? I just want to enjoy your company and get to know you better.”
“And dance,” LJ said as she pulled him toward the club door. “Lots of dancing.”
He wouldn’t argue with that.
As soon as they were seated and had ordered drinks, LJ tugged him to the dance floo
r. The throaty sound of the saxophone and reedy tones of a clarinet vibrated through Hugh, and he tucked LJ in close, pressing his body against hers. Her head rested on his shoulder. He moved his feet in the box step pattern to the strains of “It Had to be You.” Her thighs bumped between his as she moved in rhythm with him. The noise of the crowd faded away and he lost himself in the music and the warmth racing along his body.
The band went right from “It Had to be You” to “Cheek to Cheek”, the beat picking up. LJ followed his lead, letting him twirl her under his arm and then dip her. As he righted her, he moved in and kissed her. Without hesitation, she ran her hand up his shoulder onto the nape of his neck and twined her fingers in his hair.
The world stood still. He stood still, kissing her in the middle of the dance floor.
He wasn’t certain how long they remained that way, kissing like it was the last kiss they would ever have. A nudge on his shoulder brought him back to reality.
“The music’s over, bud. You and the lady should get a room.”
LJ untangled her hand from his hair, slipping the palm down his arm until she reached his hand. Lacing her fingers between his, she tugged him toward their table.
“I heard what he said to you,” she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. “Do you wanna?”
A groan emanated from deep inside of him. He wanted to.
She stared at him, waiting for an answer.
“I do, hon, but I can’t right now. I’m in the middle of something really big, and I’ve got to keep my wits about me. You’re muddling my brain up so bad I can’t think. Heck, I didn’t even know the music had stopped.”
A pleased smile curved the corners of LJ’s mouth. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me.” Releasing his hand, she threaded her arm around his waist. “I can wait. For now. So,” she said brightly, “how long do you think this business will take?”
Hugh laughed. “Are you in a hurry?”
“You bet.”
Him, too. And that was as scary as a boatload of rogue shifters.
Chapter 17
Leaning casually against Kat’s apartment building, Owen waited to see where her date planned to take her. When the night sky turned inky purple, Kat slipped out of her apartment dressed completely in black from head to toe, a hood over her blonde hair, and a backpack slung over her shoulder. He followed her, mimic shifted so she wouldn’t recognize him.
For several hours, he tracked her as she slipped in and out of darkened alleys and bars he wouldn’t even frequent in the daylight. She searched for something . . . or someone. But what? Or who?
Each time she entered a bar, he crept in behind her and put out feelers to check for other Turning Stone members. No shifter tingles assaulted him, so he decided she was safe from his kind . . . for the moment.
When she neared the alley entrance to Rogueman’s Bar, he lengthened his stride so he was close enough to catch her with a quick sprint. Was her destination by chance? Or did she know where she was going? She turned into the alley and paused, then made a beeline toward the door to Rogueman’s.
Owen quickened his pace. One step inside and someone would realize she wasn’t a shifter. To protect her he had to pick her up before she entered.
“Hey,” he called.
She stopped and whirled around, taking a protective stance. Her hand reached over her shoulder and a stick came out of her backpack.
“Whoa,” he said, holding his hands out so she could see them. “I don’t want trouble.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Just someone who wants to warn you. That’s not a friendly bar and the men in there will devour a pretty girl like you.”
“Who says I’m a pretty girl?”
“You look like one to me. All curves and legs.”
She snapped the stick out into a five-foot rod which she twirled like some martial arts weapon.
“They won’t take well to that, either.”
She made a menacing move toward him and he crouched down.
“Don’t want no trouble, miss. I’m just trying to warn you.”
At that moment, the door to Rogueman’s swung open and a rush of voices poured out. Kat whirled toward the noise. When she saw the burly man exiting, she vaulted over Owen like an Olympic hurdler and sprinted out of the alley.
“Whoa,” the shifter yelled as he staggered backward. “Did you see that? Who was that?”
The overpowering smell of alcohol wafted across the alley as shifter tingles crawled over Owen. A drunken shifter. Ripe for the taking. Ducking his head so the man couldn’t see him, Owen morphed into his natural persona, reached into his coat pocket, and hid his custom syringe in his palm. “Beats me, but I’m glad you’re here. Can you give me a hand?”
“Sure, buddy.” Lurching toward Owen like a man trying to keep his balance on a rolling ship, he stood in front of him after a couple of attempts. When he reached down, Owen grabbed him. Stabbing him in the side of the neck with the syringe, he depressed the plungers. The drunk howled, and then fell on the ground convulsing.
Tiny drops of blood seeped from the two punctures in the man’s neck when Owen removed the dual needles.
“Why’d you do that?” the man asked through the saliva bubbling from his mouth. “I ain’t done nothing to you.”
“And you won’t get the chance. Your kind, and Falhman’s kind, will not rule my world.”
The man’s body wracked with a final convulsion, and his head rolled to the side. Owen dragged him behind the alley dumpster then pulled a flattened cardboard box out of the trash and covered the body.
“Rest in peace, buddy,” he said as he went into the bar. One more shifter down. A whole bar full more to go.
A howl sounded as Kat ran down the street, and she jerked to a halt. Pausing only a minute, she reversed her direction and sprinted toward the sound. When she reached the alley, it was empty. Certain the scream had come from the area, she searched and discovered the burly man, who startled her earlier, lying behind the dumpster.
She grabbed his wrist. No pulse. Retrieving a flashlight from her backpack, she ran the light over his body. Two puncture marks, identical to the ones she found on the corpse in the morgue, marred the man’s muscle-knotted neck. Digging in her backpack again, she removed a couple of vials and scraped blood into one and spittle from his mouth into the other.
Vampires didn’t make their victims foam at the mouth. Something else was at work here. But what? A serial killer? She capped the vials and dropped them into a plastic bag and sealed it. One death with unexplained puncture marks could be nothing. Two could not be ignored. Vampire or serial killer. Both explanations sucked. No pun intended. She had to tell Captain Temple.
Kat stood, deciding to let someone else find the body. Explaining her activities in a dark alley in the wee hours of the morning wasn’t something she wanted to do. As she turned to leave, the door to the bar opened. Squeezing behind the dumpster, she flipped off her flashlight. A woman’s voice floated on the night air, muffled by the extraneous noise from the bar. Then it cleared as the bar noise disappeared.
“I don’t know why he had to send you in,” the woman said. “I’ve got my own snitches in Cleveland law enforcement.”
A snitch in the department? Who? And for whom?
“Then you should have mentioned him when he gave me this assignment,” said a male voice.
Spies in the police department? As she leaned forward, straining to hear them better, a piece of trash tumbled out of the dumpster.
“What’s that?” the woman said.
Footsteps approached, and Kat shrunk back. Another set of steps neared, and then both footsteps stopped.
“Probably a rat,” the male voice said.
“We should check,” said the woman. �
�If you’re afraid to kill it, I’ll do it. It’s not like I haven’t killed a rat or two in my life.”
“Two legged or four legged?” The woman laughed and he continued, “I’m not afraid, Mom. I just don’t feel like killing anything tonight.”
Tonight? Did he kill things on other nights? She caught a hint of fear in his voice. She didn’t know why, but something told her the fear wasn’t related to rats. Did he know what lay behind the dumpster? Maybe he killed the man lying at her feet.
“You don’t get anywhere in the world by being soft, son.”
“I’m not the pushover you believe me to be. I can take care of myself.”
Kat inched forward, determined to see who stood on the other side of the dumpster. More bar noise filled the air, and she shrunk back as what sounded like a crowd of people exited.
So much for spying. Leaning back against the wall, she waited for the alley to clear. When the last voice disappeared, she crept from her hiding place and headed home. A hot shower to wash off the stench of the dumpster and a cup of cocoa to warm her chilled bones were in order. Then she’d have to plan her next moves.
Chapter 18
“So,” Rhys asked Alexi as she spooned oatmeal into her mouth, “did you pee on the stick yet?”
“Mmph,” she replied. She swallowed the oatmeal and frowned at him. “It changed colors. I’m going to get a doctor’s appointment to confirm.”
“We’re going to have a baby.” Awe filled Rhys’ voice.