The Darkest Kiss (6 page)

“Beautiful bikes always get admirers. It’s par for the course.” He shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You will.” I half-waved a good-bye, briefly watching—and enjoying—the sight of him sauntering toward the two men, then climbed into my car and drove off.

As I headed back into the traffic, I grabbed my phone and rang Kade.

“Hey, horse man,” I said, when he answered. “What’s happening out your way?”

“Nothing of interest at Gerard’s place. I’m going back to the Directorate to hassle Cole for his initial report. There might be something helpful in there.”

Hassling Cole didn’t work. I’d tried it. “So no sign of a cat, real or shifter, at Gerard’s?”

“Not a hair.” He paused, and in the background, the music changed from dance to rock. “What are you doing?”

“The secretary told me who he was dating last night. I’m heading over to talk to her now.”

“You want me along?”

“No, I’ll be all right. I’ll meet you back at the Directorate. Have a coffee ready for me. The real stuff, not that black muck we have in the machine.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, voice deepening and oh so sexy.

I snorted. “Not going to work, my friend.”

He laughed. “I can but try. See you soon.”

I hung up and headed on. The traffic was so bad it took me another twenty minutes to get back to Alana Burns’s apartment. Pressing the buzzer once again had little effect and there was no security guard handily sitting inside the small foyer to harass.

I stepped back and studied the balconies. There was a small concrete wall that separated the front stairs from the drive that led into the underground parking lot, but even if I stood on that, it was still a hell of a jump to the first balcony.

But maybe it wasn’t so far for an inexperienced seagull to fly.

Excitement and doubt fluttered through me. Flying from a drop was a whole lot different than flying upward, but I had nothing to lose by trying. Nothing except more bruises.

I grabbed my cell and my badge out of my purse, shoved them into my pocket, then dropped the bag behind a potted bush, well out of sight. Then I clambered onto the wall and called to the magic in my soul. It swept through me, changing muscles and bone and body, until I was once again that dreaded seagull. I paddled along the wall a little bit, then looked up at the balcony.

It looked like a long, long way.

I could do this
. It was just a matter of concentration. I adjusted my tail feathers and raised my wings, beating them as fast as I could to get the lift I needed.
Down, back, up, down, back, up.
And suddenly, I was going up, cutting through the air. Flying.

I felt like cheering. I concentrated on not falling instead.

I fluttered up and over the railing, then spread my tail feathers to act as a brake. But the change was too sudden, and I dropped too quickly, splattering chest-first against the concrete.

“Ow,” I muttered, even though it came out little more than a harsh squawk. I rolled onto my back and shifted to human form. My chest still hurt. More bruises, no doubt.

Even so, I couldn’t help a silly grin. I’d flown. Even if my landings needed more work, I’d actually
flown
rather than simply making a guided fall. Maybe this whole flying gig wasn’t as bad as previously thought.

I climbed to my feet. As usual, my jeans had made it through the shift just fine, but my shirt had been shredded. They were usually pretty useless after a shift to wolf, but the destruction here was even worse.

Maybe it had something to do with trying to squash everything into a smaller form. I didn’t know, but maybe Jack or Henry would.

I pulled off the now-useless remnants of my bra and shoved it into my back pocket, then tied the torn edges of my shirt together. I wasn’t going anywhere except back to the Directorate once I finished here, so the state of my clothing didn’t really matter. Now I just had to get into the apartment.

I walked toward the glass sliding door, and that’s when it hit.

The smell of death.

A death that was old and as rotten as hell.

Chapter 3

I
f the smell was
this
bad out here, I’d hate to think what it was like in the apartment.

Unfortunately, it was my job to find out.

I peered through the glass and tried not to breathe too deeply. The only thing I could see in the small living area was dusty furniture and yellowing newspapers sitting on the coffee table—both indicators that someone hadn’t been living in this apartment for quite a while.

So either Alana was no longer living here—and if she wasn’t, why had she answered Rosy’s phone call yesterday?—or she
was
here, and in a very bad way.

Which I guess went with what the smell was suggesting.

It also suggested that maybe it wasn’t Alana who’d dated our dead politician.

I blew out a breath, then gripped the handle of the sliding door and pulled back with all my might. I had the strength of both a werewolf and a vampire behind me, and the little metal clip holding the sliding door closed didn’t stand a chance. The door crashed back with enough noise to wake the dead, and the force of it sent a shudder recoiling up my arm.

But it was nothing compared to the smell that assaulted my senses. My stomach rose in a rush and I gagged. The stench was
vile
.

Whoever—whatever—was dead in this apartment had been that way for some time. Although the air rushing out of the apartment was hot—the heating had obviously been left on high, so maybe that had helped accelerate the decomposition of whatever it was lying inside.

I stepped back until I was breathing fresh air again, then took a deep breath and dashed inside. It was only ever going to be a quick look. I couldn’t hold my breath longer than a minute or so.

I ran into the first room off the living room. It turned out to be a spotless kitchen. No junk in the fridge, no unwashed dishes, no trash in the basket. Nothing that would account for the smell. The next room was a bathroom, and once again it was spotless.

The third room…

That’s where I found her, lying half-dressed on the bed with one arm still in the sleeve of a sweater—as if whoever had killed her had caught her in the middle of either taking it off or putting it on. She only wore panties on the bottom half, and her body was heavy and bloated and…horrible.

Bile burned up my throat, and I raced outside, gulping in fresh air and trying not to vomit. God, unpleasant didn’t even begin to describe
that
experience.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t smelled death before. I had. Hell, I was a wolf, and the wild part of me actually enjoyed rolling in stuff that would make my human half scream in revulsion. But I’d never smelled a death that old before. Or that deep into decay.

I shuddered, then got out my phone and rang Jack.

“Parnell here,” he said, voice neutral. The tone he reserved for official speaking moments like press conferences. Given who our dead man was, it was an even-money bet
that
was exactly where he was. “What can I do for you?”

“Jack, it’s Riley. I’m over at the apartment of Alana Burns, the woman Gerard James supposedly went out with last night. Only she’s dead, and has been that way for at least a week, if the putrefaction is anything to go by.”

“Hang on a sec.” A muffled conversation came down the phone line, then footsteps. “Okay, we’ll have to make this fast. I’ve got a room full of reporters waiting for an update. What’s this about a dead woman?”

“Her name is Alana Burns—if it
is
her body inside the apartment. According to the secretary, Gerard James went out with her last night.”

“Or someone pretending to be her.”

Exactly. “James’s secretary rang Alana to confirm the afternoon of the date. She mentioned Alana being in a snit, so she definitely talked to someone. And it very definitely wasn’t the woman dead in the apartment.”

“Interesting.” He paused, and I heard voices in the background. “Has Cole requested the security tapes?”

“Yes. He was still at Gerard’s office when I left, though. I think he’s going to be there awhile.”

“Get another cleanup team out to the apartment, then go talk to the people at Marrberry House. They were running the charity function that Gerard attended last night. And keep me updated. I have the press and the politicians hounding my ass over this one.”

“Will do.”

I hung up, then dialed the Directorate. A less-than-cheery Sal answered. “What?”

Her voice was flat, and didn’t even hold the usual spark of annoyance when she knew it was me calling. Something had obviously gone wrong since the last time I’d talked to her. “If I didn’t know you were a vampire, I’d seriously suspect you were PMSing.”

“That’s because I have to deal with assholes all day. What do you want?”

Okay, that jibe I could fully understand—and hey, I
could
be a pain in the ass when I wanted to be. Just as every other guardian on the books could be. “I need a cleanup team at my current location. I’ve found a ripe one.”

“Charming.” In the background came the sound of typing. “Okay, I’ve dispatched Mel and her team. Should be there in fifteen. Anything else?”

“Can you send me the address of Marrberry House? It hosts charity functions, apparently.”

“I know that, moron.” She paused. “Sending their details through to your car’s onboard now.”

I blinked. Sal was usually super-efficient, but this was brilliant service, even by her standards. And the bitch in me couldn’t resist commenting. “You’re horribly professional this evening. Maybe you need to get premenstrual more often.”

“I haven’t eaten,” she said and hung up.

I stared at my phone for a moment, eyebrow raised. Why hadn’t Sal eaten? The Directorate kept a supply of synth blood for the vampires in their employ, so there was no reason for her to go hungry. Although maybe she was one of those vamps who preferred their blood fresh, straight from the vein. She definitely seemed the fussy type. I was tempted to ring her back and see what was going on, but it wasn’t like we were friends or anything. Talking to me was the last thing she’d probably want.

I shrugged and put the phone away, then leaned on the balustrade again and waited for the cleanup team to arrive. Mel turned out to be a tall, dark-haired woman with a fabulous figure and who wore red stiletto boots underneath her more sensible jeans. A woman after my own heart, obviously.

She strode up the pathway, saw me waiting, and stopped. “Riley Jenson?”

I nodded. “I’m afraid I’ve a rather ripe one for you. The victim seems to have been dead for at least a week, but the heating has been on full, so that guess could be way off.”

“Any obvious signs of death?”

“I didn’t get close enough to find out.”

She smiled. “A guardian with a weak stomach. Nice to know there is such a beast.”

“Now
that
sounded like something Cole would say.”

Her smile grew. “He and I went to school together, and I’m best friends with his sister.” She looked around as her team—a potbellied man and a woman who was rake thin and almost insectlike—arrived, then added, “You want me to send you a copy of the report as soon as it’s done?”

“That would be great. Oh, and the building’s front doors are locked. I’ll unlock the apartment doors before I leave.”

“Marshall will get these doors easy enough. Anything else I need to know?”

“We need the ID ASAP. She may be linked to another case we’re investigating.”

“We’ll make it a priority.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded and disappeared from my view. I took a deep breath, then dashed inside and unlocked the front door. Then I ran back out, did a one-handed leap over the balcony, and dropped back down to the concrete.

Mel and her team had already gotten inside. Maybe Marshall had been a thief or a locksmith in his pre-Directorate days.

I collected my purse, then headed back to the car. The information on Marrberry House had arrived, so I scanned it quickly, gleaning as much information as I could without reading the full thing. It seemed they ran a number of functions over the year, with their major beneficiaries being the Royal Children’s Hospital and the Peter MacCallum Cancer Foundation. Last year they raised nearly half a million for the two organizations.

I really couldn’t see how they could help our investigations, but being the good little guardian that I sometimes was, I drove over and had a chat with the organizer of last night’s events.

Turns out I was right—he couldn’t help me much. But he did give me a photo they’d been planning to use for publicity purposes—one of Gerard with a striking blonde at his side.

It was hard to say whether she was the woman I’d discovered dead on the bed, because the body had been in such a state of decay, but the height looked the same, as did the blond hair.

So if it was Alana Burns I’d discovered in the apartment, then who was this? And why would she go to so much trouble to date—and then kill—Gerard James?

Unless Cole picked up something in his investigations, they just might be unanswered questions. Which wouldn’t make Jack a happy little vampire at
all
.

I tossed the photo on the seat, then rang Kade to tell him I’d changed my mind and was heading home. I might have promised Ben I’d check what the police files had to say about his friend’s murder, but I really wasn’t up to doing any more this evening.

I found a parking spot not too far up the street from our apartment building, and hoped like hell the local vandals had gotten tired of their spray-painting binge. Last time I’d brought a Directorate car home, it had ended up green and red. Jack had not been happy.

The night air was cool and surprisingly fresh, free of the usual tint of fumes from the nearby freeway. Maybe the wind had been blowing the other way before it had died earlier this evening, because right now, all I could smell was the faintest hint of humanity, mixed with the sharpness of paint coming from the new pizza parlor they were building a few doors down from our place. If they did a good meat-lovers’ pizza, they’d have me and Rhoan practically living on their doorstep.

I pushed open our building’s old glass and wood front door, and rattled up the stairs. We lived on the sixth floor, in one of the bigger apartments the old converted warehouse had, and on clear summer days had a view right out over the western suburbs. It would have been nicer if it had been views of parks or even the bay, but we wouldn’t have been able to afford the place if it had. Anything remotely resembling a decent view cost big bucks these days—even if the building was as run-down as this one.

I grabbed my door key from my purse and opened the apartment’s front door. Then stopped.

There were dark mutterings coming from the direction of my bedroom, and there were clothes strewn
everywhere
. Over the floor, across the old leather couches, patterning the rugs scattered over the wooden flooring, even hanging off the old red-plastic light features.

Neither my brother nor I were the tidiest of people, but the house had definitely been in a better state when I’d left this morning.

I raised my voice and said, “What the hell have you been doing, Rhoan?”

He came stalking out of my bedroom, his face almost as red as his hair and his gray eyes flashing fire. “I’m looking for a shirt.”

I looked pointedly at all the shirts strewn across the floor and furniture. “What shirt in particular?”

“The pink one.”

“The one you hate?”

“Yes.”

“The one you swore you were going to trash only a couple of weeks ago?”

“That would be the one.” He stalked across the room and upended a basket of clean laundry onto the coffee table.

“Can I ask why you’re looking for this shirt, and only this shirt?”

“Because Liander gave it to me to celebrate our anniversary and I need to wear it tonight.”

I frowned. “I thought he gave you a watch for your anniversary?”

“He did. He also gave me an outfit. He wants me to wear it tonight.”

“Why?” I stepped inside and closed the door, then dumped my purse and keys on the nearby lamp table.

He gave me an exasperated look. “It’s the premiere of the movie, remember?”

Understanding dawned. Rhoan didn’t usually attend the premieres of any of the movies Liander had been involved in, simply because he preferred to remain out of the limelight. But this one was important. This one was the first movie in which Liander’s company had been totally responsible for
all
the movie’s effects. Which meant Liander had been on tenterhooks for the last week, hoping and praying that the movie—and his effects—were well received. Which had made dealing with both him
and
my brother a party.

As the scattered clothes would attest.

I shook my head and walked into Rhoan’s bedroom. Like the living room, it looked as if a cyclone had hit it. No doubt my bedroom would be the same—though why he’d think I’d be stealing pink shirts was anyone’s guess. Pink and I were not compatible.