The Darkest Kiss (21 page)

As I got closer to the kitchen, another scent grew in dominance. Seared flesh.

Enna was lying on the no-longer pristine tiles, which was at least something different from the others. She’d been caught in the midst of frying something, by the look of it, and the deep-frying pot must have tipped over as she’d gone down, splashing across her face and leaving behind huge, watery blisters. Not that she would have had much time to worry about the pain of those—not if the half-eaten mess of her body was anything to go by.

I blew out a breath, and tried to ignore the blood and gore scattered everywhere as I walked past the kitchen counter and into the small dining area. I found the bottom half of her missing left leg there. Her missing arm was in the bathroom. That window was open—and probably provided an entry and exit point for the bakeneko.

I shut it, then walked back into the other room and stood there, waiting. There was nothing but coldness and the smell of death in the room. The part of me that could feel the dead wasn’t picking up anything here at all. Like all the other murder scenes, Enna’s soul was suspiciously absent.

Which, when combined with what the drunken witness had seen, certainly seemed to confirm that the bakeneko was consuming the souls.

Either that, or my talent had decided to go AWOL for some damn reason.

Ignoring the shiver that traipsed down my spine, I turned around and walked out. Cole bent to pick up the black bag at his feet, then said, “All clear?”

I nodded. “The bathroom window was open, so that was obviously her entry point. I shut it for safety, so you’ll find my prints there.” I hesitated, then added, “Just be aware that she’s on the loose and keep your weapons handy.”

“I think one of us will smell her before she gets within biting range.”

“Maybe, but be careful anyway.” I gave him a grin. “After all, I’d hate to see that pretty face of yours all disfigured.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, right.”

He walked past me into the house. I turned and headed back to my car. It only took ten minutes to get to the weirdly named Hot Rabbit restaurant, but it took another ten to find parking. This end of Lygon, with its close proximity to two of the most popular wolf clubs and the resulting accumulation of restaurants and coffee shops, was pretty much on the go twenty-four hours a day—and that made finding somewhere to park difficult no matter what the time.

I climbed out of the car and sucked in a deep breath. A riot of aromas assaulted my senses—cooked meats, fresh breads, and coffee mingled with the scents of men and women. Over it all ran the lushness of sex and desire.

While there were still a lot of humans who came to dine in and visit this area, the closeness of the wolf clubs made it a prime gathering area for nonhumans.

And I loved it. Loved the smells, loved the clubs, even though I’d only been here during the moon heat of late. I missed it, too. Missed the freedom and the fun.

But I missed the caress of someone who cared more. And
that
was turning out to be a bigger problem than I’d ever imagined it would be.

I turned away from the clubs and headed for the Hot Rabbit.

As it turned out, you couldn’t miss the place. The neon pink sign—complete with pink rabbits that leapt across the board at regular intervals—caught the eye even against all the other competing signs, and the babble of voices and music that flowed out of the place literally assaulted the ears.

The article in the paper had obviously done its work well, because there were a whole lot of people inside. It’d be interesting to see if they kept coming back, or if interest died off in a month or so. Lygon Street tended to have a high turnover of human-accepting dance establishments.

I pushed my way inside. The many scents bludgeoned my senses—perfume, aftershave, and humanity mingling with the heady scent of alcohol and the more luscious aroma of coffee. Either one would do me just fine right now.

The place was done out like an old rock-and-roll bar, and actually reminded me a whole lot of the Rocker, which was only the next block over. Like the Rocker, this place had booth seats that lined one wall, and tables and chairs scattered elsewhere. A dance floor dominated the rear of the room, and it was currently packed—though a lot of people seemed to be chatting more than dancing. But unlike the Rocker, this place had no stairs that led up to a more intimate area.

I made my way through the tables, then pushed through the rows of people waiting at the bar to be served. Ignoring the insults flung my way, I flashed my badge at the nearest bartender.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, barely taking his eyes off the concoction he was mixing.

“Need to talk to your boss, Ron Cowden. He around?”

“Table behind the dance floor,” he said, and shoved two glasses of shiny green froth across the bar. “Ten bucks,” he added to the woman beside me.

I retreated and made my way around the dance floor. The music appeared louder this close to the jukebox, the heavy bass beat pounding through my body and making me want to dance. If this had been a wolf club, I might have. But it would have been only regular-type dancing, not wolf-style.

My hormones might be starved for affection, but my heart still wanted more. And right now, my heart had more will than my hormones.

There were only three tables sitting behind the dance floor, and only one of them occupied. Ron Cowden was even bigger in person than he’d appeared in the photo—a bear of a man with a full bushy beard that was probably meant to make up for the lack of hair up top.

“Ron Cowden?” I said, stopping in front of him and showing him my badge.

He looked me up and down, his gaze barely even lingering on my thigh. Obviously not a leg man.

“Yeah,” he said, grinding out a cigarette and almost instantly lighting up again. The foul smoke drifted upward, tickling my nose and making my eyes water.

“That’s illegal,” I pointed out, taking a step backward.

“It’s my fucking restaurant, and I’ll do what I please.” He sucked on the cigarette for a second, then blew the smoke upward and away from me. At least he wasn’t totally inconsiderate. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to know if you had a brother called Jake who went to Beechworth Secondary College.”

“Interesting,” he said. “You’re the second person who’s asked me that tonight.”

Alarm ran through me. “This other person—was he a man, in his late thirties or early forties, about yea high”—I raised a hand several inches above my own head—“with greasy, stringy hair?”

“Got him in one.” He studied me, blue eyes shrewd. “Why is everyone suddenly interested in my brother?”

“The why doesn’t immediately matter. Where’s your brother, Mr. Cowden? I need to contact him, because he could be in great danger.”

“I doubt it. He’s dead.”

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “When did this happen?”

“More than five years ago now. Drug overdose, apparently.” He paused, and shook his head. “Bit of a waste of air, my brother was. Got into drugs when he was a teen, and never came out of it.”

“Was there any particular reason he started taking drugs?” Like witnessing something he shouldn’t have? Okay, it was probably a long stretch, but it just seemed odd that Cherry Barnes, Ivan Lang, and Denny Spalding were now all dead, and the one thing they all had in common was being around when Aron Young had disappeared.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“The man who was here before—how did he react when you told him Jake was dead?”

“Well, he wasn’t very happy. Thought he was going to slug me, actually.”

He was probably lucky that he
hadn’t
been attacked. Young didn’t seem to be holding on to a whole lot of sense at the moment, and it was actually surprising he was restrained enough
not
to attack the brother of the man he was after.

“He left after that?”

“Yep.” Cowden puffed on his smoke for a moment, then added, “Security got the plate number of his van, if you’re interested.”

“He
drove
here?” Why on earth would a vampire who could fly want to drive anywhere?

And then I remembered that tiny room and the silver mesh that encased it. He might have been able to shift shape, but maybe he never had much of a chance to practice flying. Most shifters didn’t gain the skill to change until puberty, so if Young had been a late bloomer, his flight skills would probably be poor—especially if he was a slow learner like me. Maybe that was why he’d fallen to the ground after he’d jumped out of Ivan’s window—after being locked up in a small room for so long, he didn’t trust his flight skills to get him out of my way in time.

“I’d appreciate the number.”

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A burly-looking brown wolf appeared. “Yes, sir?”

“Could you get our guardian friend here a copy of the plate number?”

“Straightaway.” He took a notebook out of his pocket, wrote down a number, then tore off the sheet and handed it to me.

“Anything else?” Cowden asked.

“No, you’ve been very helpful.” I hesitated, then added, “I’d keep security close, just in case that man returns. He’s responsible for several deaths already, and we’re not sure what his motives are.”

He nodded. I turned to go, then hesitated again. “Tell me, when Jake was in tenth grade at Beechworth, did he ever mention anything unusual happening there?”

Cowden frowned. “Unusual how?”

“Well, did he say anything about disappearances or murders or anything like that?”

“No. I know the cops interviewed him, but they interviewed everyone in that grade after the disappearance of some kid. It shook him up—he was jumping at shadows for weeks.”

“But he never said anything about it to you?”

“Nope.”

“How soon after that did he start taking drugs?”

He puffed on the cigarette for several seconds. “I’m not really sure. I found him drunk a couple of times after the interview, but I couldn’t give you a definitive time as to when he started on the drugs.”

“Did he drink before then?”

“He was a teenager. We all drank. Part of the culture, isn’t it?”

Well no, but that was beside the point. If Jake wasn’t seriously drinking or taking drugs before Young’s disappearance, then something
must
have happened for him to start afterward.

But what? That was the million-dollar question, and one probably only the investigator at the time would be able to answer. I glanced at my watch. But not now. Though it was barely ten-thirty, a retired police officer might get a little pissed off at being rung at this hour of the evening.

“Well, thanks again for your help, Mr. Cowden. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said, and got back to his smoke.

I headed back out to my car. Now what? The charity event wouldn’t be finished yet, but I doubted the bakeneko would appear back there. She wasn’t that stupid. And I certainly didn’t want to go back looking like a mess.

But I didn’t want to go home alone, either.

Decision time, I thought, but knew the reality was that there
was
no real decision to be made. Because there was only ever one thing I
could
do. Only one thing I
wanted
to do.

I grabbed the phone and dialed Quinn’s number. It rang for several seconds, then his warm voice said rather formally, “O’Conor speaking.”

“Quinn? Riley.”

“This
is
a pleasant surprise,” he said, the lilt in his voice returning twofold and his tone dropping an octave. “I wasn’t actually expecting to see or hear from you at all tonight.”

“I need to talk to you.”
Need to kiss you, caress you, make love to you.
God, I was making myself hot just thinking about it.

“Right away?”

“As soon as you can get away.”

“That can be done immediately. These functions are a duty, not a pleasant pastime.” He hesitated. “Would you like to meet for coffee, or shall we just go back to my hotel room?”

I hesitated. I actually
hesitated
. God, Kellen leaving me had done my heart more harm than I’d even imagined. “Hotel room. I need information on the Trollops.”

“I hope that’s not all you need,” he said, low voice sending shivers of delight down my spine.

“Probably not.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting at the Langham’s main entrance in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up, flung the phone into my bag, and started up the car. For the first time in ages, excitement buzzed through my veins and I couldn’t help the silly grin that stretched my lips.

Yeah, Quinn and I had problems. Yep, we could be bad for each other—but we could also be damn good together. And I needed that right now. I really did.

I made it to the Langham in record time and parked in the underground lot nearby. The rates were a killer, but I didn’t care.