The Darkest Kiss (18 page)

Given this room, it certainly seemed possible.

But given the fortifications, how had Young escaped? And why now, if he’d spent a good thirty or so years in captivity?

And where the hell was his mom?

I backed away from the silver room and swung around. There were glass sliding doors at the far end of the small dining area, and these led out into a little patio area.

I walked across, unlatched the door, and walked out. To the right, in a little lean-to at the back of the garage, was the laundry area. To the left were steps, and these led out past the clothesline. The various shirts and undies on the line were a mix of women’s and men’s, but they looked as if they’d been there for some time. Bird shit decorated the backs of some of the shirts, and fade lines had begun to appear.

I walked down the steps and followed the path, ducking under the clothes and walking toward a little vegetable patch. There were big, fat pumpkins looking ready for the picking, and potatoes and carrots gone wild.

Obviously, this garden had been abandoned long before Mr. Young had died.

The path continued on, and so did I. Trees lined either side, most bearing fruit in various degrees of ripeness. Unfortunately, the birds had gotten to most of it, leaving it half-eaten and rotten.

The path ended in a little sitting area. A large liquid amber tree provided shade, and under this sat a little table and two chairs. To one side, a rose bed that was a riot of color, filling the air with sweet summery scents.

To the other side, a grave.

I’d finally found Mrs. Young.

Chapter 7

I
squatted down at the foot of the grave and studied the sturdy little cross that bore her name. It was roughly made, but the painted letters were clear and strong, and the date underneath said she’d been dead for only a couple of weeks.

But the flowers that lay on top of it were fresh. Someone was coming here to look after her grave—and to feed the dog—because he would have been dead by now if not.

I rose and pressed the com-link in my ear, though given the distance from Melbourne, I wasn’t entirely sure they’d pick up my signal. The tracker part of the device could pick me up anywhere in Victoria, but the coms section wasn’t that strong.

“Hello, anyone listening?”

As expected, no answer came. I blew out a frustrated breath and walked back down the path, this time heading around the other side of the house. The chickens scattered, running for safety the minute I appeared, but the old dog remained indifferent.

I squatted down beside him and scratched his head. He was little more than skin and bone, his dark, curly coat matted and unkempt. Someone might have been coming back to tend to him, but they weren’t doing a particularly good job.

I rose and continued on to the car. After scrabbling through my purse, I found my cell and dialed the Directorate. Joy of joys, Sal answered.

“What can I do for you, wolf girl?”

“You want to get a team out to my current location? I found a grave, and need an ID on the body within.”

“Is this case related and urgent? Because we’re stretched.”

“Yes to both. Sorry, Sal, but we’ve a psycho on the loose and we need to stop him. Knowing who that body is will put us one step closer to that aim.” Simply because knowing whether it was Mrs. Young or not would give us some idea where
not
to look next.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Which was her way of saying she’d do it. “Could you also get the RSPCA out? There’s a dog here that doesn’t look as if he’s seen a feed for a while, and a few chickens that need to be rounded up.”

“Someone abandoned their dog? Bastards. I’ll get right onto it.”

I raised my eyebrows at the anger in her voice. Sal was a dog lover? Who’d have thought? “Thanks, Sal.”

I hung up then headed back to the dog, filling up the bowl so he at least had fresh water. Then I grabbed a long bit of wood and went back inside the house.

My skin began to burn the minute I neared that room. I broke off a bit of the wood and jammed it under the door, just to ensure no one could rush up and slam it shut behind me. Then, using the rest of the stake, I pushed the netting aside far enough to step inside. Even though the silver never touched my skin, the room still felt like hell. I was just too sensitive to the metal to be able to stay here too long.

I walked over to the desk and opened the laptop. It wasn’t connected to power and the batteries were flat. I reached underneath and shoved the cord into the socket, so the cleanup team could have a look at it when they got here. Then I shuffled through the magazines and books, but they were all computer and mechanical in style, and didn’t tell me much about the man who had been reading them. Under the bed I could see glimpses of nudes, so obviously his parents hadn’t been recalcitrant in catering to his needs—but again, it begged the question, why lock him up? If he hadn’t been crazy beforehand, he sure as hell would have been after thirty years of being locked up in a room filled with silver.

There were several newspapers near the bed, so I walked over and picked them up. Three of them had an article that had been circled in red ink.

The first was about a mugging in Brighton, and I couldn’t see any connection to the murders until I read halfway and saw the mention of the eyewitness.

Ivan.

The second—and oldest of them—was about a charity fund-raiser, and came with a photo of several men and women. One of those women was circled—Cherry Barnes.

The third article was tiny, little more than a rave about the hot new chef working at Hot Rabbit. Underneath was a picture of the owner—a big, balding man named Ron Cowden. A big, red-ink cross had been scrawled across his heart.

It wasn’t one of the men who had already died. It was someone new.

Shit
.

Papers in hand, I carefully edged back through the netting, then dropped the wood and ran to the car and the phone.

“What now?” Sal said, in a long-suffering voice.

“I need an urgent trace on a man named Ron Cowden. He apparently owns a restaurant called Hot Rabbit.”

“Why?”

Sometimes, this woman could be a real pain in the ass. Which is why she did it—she knew it bugged me. She could be as big a bitch as me when she wanted to be. “If he’s not dead already, he could be the next victim of our invisible vampire.”

“Vampires aren’t—”

“This one is,” I cut in. I glanced at my watch. I’d better get moving, otherwise I was going to be late for my party. “Let me know if you find him. And we might have to bring him in if you track him down.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard, but I’ll let Jack know extra accommodation might be needed.”

“While you’re talking to Jack, let him know that Cherry Barnes is probably a victim of the invisible vampire.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up again, then got back into the car and headed home. Rhoan wasn’t there, and neither were the school photos from Liander. I grabbed the phone and gave Liander a call.

“Hey,” he said, “you missed a great lunch.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Can I ask you a question about the photo?”

“Yep. Fire away.”

“Was there a Ron Cowden in it?”

He paused, and paper rustled in the background. “Nope. There’s a Jake Cowden, though.”

“Could he have been a brother?”

“Maybe. I didn’t really have much to do with him.”

“Did he have much to do with that bad crowd you mentioned?”

“Not that I’m aware of. He was a fairly quiet kid. Kept mostly to himself.”

Well, there goes
that
possible connection. “What about Ivan Lang, Cherry Barnes, or a Denny someone?”

“Denny someone?” Amusement ran through his tones.

“Sorry, I actually don’t know his last name.” And I hadn’t yet even checked out the police report.

“There’s a Denny Spalding in the photo, if that helps. And the other two, as well. Though, of course, there’s no guarantee that these three are the ones you’re looking for.”

“You know anything about them?”

“Cherry and Denny, no, but Ivan was fixated on vampires. Said he wanted to take the ceremony and become one, one day.”

“He did take the ceremony, but unfortunately, someone cut off his head and let him burn in sunlight.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of them.” He paused, and must have taken a drink, because I heard him swallow. “He wasn’t a member of the gang, either. But he was one of the few friends Jake Cowden had.”

“So what the fuck is the connection between all these people?”

Liander snorted. “Like I’m supposed to know?”

I grinned. “Sorry, just thinking out loud.”

“Seems to be a family trait.” He paused again, then added, “While we’re talking families, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Question away.”

“How would you feel about me moving in with you and Rhoan?”

I blinked. Talk about being caught totally off guard! “I think that would be great, but I’d have to ask why you’d want to move in to our dumpy little apartment when you have a totally beautiful house of your own?” Not to mention a nifty little apartment above his studio.

“Because I want to ask Rhoan to live with me, and he’s just not going to leave you any time soon.”

“That’s not—”

“That is, even if neither of you have ever talked about it. You’re each the only pack member the other has, and I think it’s going to be difficult for
anyone
to ever separate the two of you.”

“But it’s not like we need to live in each other’s pockets.”

“No, but can you honestly say that if you met your soul mate tomorrow, you could walk away from your apartment and Rhoan to go live with him?”

I opened my mouth to say “of course,” then actually stopped to think about it. Rhoan and I might not live in each other’s pockets, we might be able to go days—weeks—without seeing each other, but his scent was always around me, completing that part of me that needed pack, needed family. And as Liander had said, he was all I had, all I would ever have when it came to pack.

Even when I had decided to commit to Kellen, the thought of moving totally out of my apartment and away from Rhoan had never really crossed my mind. Yes, I’d contemplated staying with Kellen, but I’d never taken it that one step further. Had never thought that I wouldn’t maintain my place here as well as share space with Kellen.

Maybe Kellen had realized that, too. And maybe his problem hadn’t solely been with the job and my inability to give it up.

“For a man who plays with makeup, you’re surprisingly insightful.”

He laughed. “So you’ve really got no problems with it?”

“As long as you have no problems with the mess.”

“I can deal with the mess. I just don’t want to deal with spending nights alone anymore.”

I smiled. Liander really
was
a catch and a half—not only sweet and loving, but possessing the patience of a saint. I doubt anyone else would have stuck around after all the shit Rhoan had thrown his way, soul mate or not.

I just had to hope my daft brother realized that. Yeah, he loved Liander and yeah, he’d been more committed to him recently than ever before, but he still seemed to want his own space, as well.

“You have my blessing, Liander. When are you going to ask him?”

“Tonight. He’s coming back to dinner. I’ll hit him with the proposal as soon as he’s well fed and happy.”

“Fingers and toes crossed for you, then.”

“Thanks, I’ll probably need it.”

“You certainly will.” I hesitated, then added, “Just be a little extra vigilant with security for the next couple of days, okay? Until I figure out the connection between all these murders, there is a remote possibility that you could also be on his list.”

“You’d have to say
very
remote. I didn’t associate with Young or the people who most likely killed him.”

“Yeah, but we’re not talking about a rational mind here. Promise me you’ll play safe.”

“Okay, I promise. Now let me go and get ready for my big night.”

“Good luck with it,” I said and hung up. I stripped off then headed into the shower. Time to start making myself presentable for my big night, as well.

D
usk was crawling in across the sky by the time I pulled in to the small parking lot beside Sparkies. The restaurant was all soaring arches, smoky glass, and chrome, and sat on the banks of the Yarra River like some rare jewel.

Melbourne’s finest stepped out from chauffeur-driven limos and Mercedes—the men uniformly elegant and the women adorned by pearls and diamonds that gleamed and sparkled under the bright entrance lights.

A thief would have had a field day—if he could have gotten past the three security guards standing discreetly in the shadows.

I climbed out of my car, then smoothed down my dress, glad I’d opted for something that wasn’t black. Most of the other women arriving were in autumn tones, which probably meant they were the “in” shades at the moment. My dress followed the simple lines of a modest, V-necked sheath—at least until I turned, revealing the plunging back that stopped tantalizingly short of my butt. And there was nothing autumn-hued or modest about its color—it was a lusciously rich emerald that would stand out amongst the autumn tones as fiercely as the brightest of yellows.

The only jewelry I had was my watch, but I didn’t need diamonds or pearls to liven the outfit. The red-gold of my hair was enough.

I walked over to the door and waited in line for my turn with the man ticking off guest names.

His gaze met mine, expression polite and blue eyes showing little interest in the proceedings. “Name, miss?”

“Riley Jenson.”

He scanned the list, flicked over the page, then nodded. “If you’ll just head through that second door to your left, your ticket will be waiting for you.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded, his gaze already moving on to the next person. A black-suited shifter opened the door with a polite nod as I approached. Inside, the air was warm and perfumed, heavy with the scents of human and nonhuman. I walked down a small hallway until I reached a booth.

A woman with bleached-blond hair and a fake tan gave me a warm smile. “Here for a ticket?”

“Yes. The name is Jenson.”

She shuffled through a pile of tickets, then drew one out. “Riley?”