“A hard task, but I think I’m man enough for it.” A smile teased his lips, making his craggy face and pale eyes suddenly seem warm and inviting.
“I think you’re man enough for lots of things.” I suddenly remembered the mobile recording unit, and resisted the urge to add more. Like,
but are you man enough for me?
The reality was, Cole was a wolf-shifter. He’d smell my interest. If it wasn’t reciprocated, then I wasn’t going to push. “You got any objections to me taking this?”
“No.” He hesitated. “I’ll send the transcription from the ring as soon as we get it.”
“And the woman’s full ID, if you could.”
He nodded. I turned and headed out the door. His gaze was a heated weight that centered not on my back, but on my butt. I resisted the urge to work it, and just got out of there before I got myself into trouble.
Ms. Radcliffe confirmed that the child did belong to Dunleavy’s girlfriend. “When did you last see her?” I asked, wrinkling my nose at the overwhelming odor of cooking cabbage coming from the unit’s interior.
“Yesterday, when that woman was taking her to kindergarten.” She sniffed. “Her dad must have picked her up after. He shares custody, and just as well, too.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know his name, would you?”
“Robert Worthington. Lives over in Prahan, or someplace fancy like that. The kid’s name is Ellana.”
“And the girlfriend’s name? Don’t suppose you remember that?”
She sneered. “Trudi Stone. She’s a part-time waitress, and a stripper at one of them men’s clubs.”
“Did you see anyone else come or go from the apartment?”
“No.” She sniffed. “But he was burning something behind the town house after all the racket had died down. Horrible smell, it was.”
I remembered the burned patch outside the back door. The baby vamp, perhaps? Timing-wise, it’d probably fit, even if it made no logical sense. Why would Gautier not share whatever protection he had from the sun with his own creation? Or was it simply a case of the baby vamp having done what he was taken there for, and Gautier having no further use for him? Letting him fry in the sun was one sure way of getting rid of any evidence the Directorate might be able to use.
“Ms. Radcliffe, you’ve been extremely helpful. Thanks for your time.”
“It’s always my pleasure to help you officers.”
I resisted the urge to smile but couldn’t help feeling sorry for the local cops. They were going to be seriously bombarded by the old girl’s “helpful” reports over the next few days.
I retreated to my car, barely getting there before the skies opened up and the rain came down. As water pounded the windshield, I threw the photo on the seat then got out my phone and called the Directorate.
The caramel cow answered.
“Sal, Riley Jenson again. I need you to trace an ID for me.”
“I’m not your personal servant,” she replied coolly. “There are proper channels to follow.”
“I don’t like proper channels, and I need this information quickly.”
“Such requests have to be approved—”
“I haven’t got the time for this shit, Sal. Just do it without arguing or I’ll start whispering nasty things in Jack’s ear about his hot-to-trot personal assistant.” I quickly gave her Trudi’s name and Dunleavy’s address. “She apparently works as a waitress and part-time stripper. I need to know where.”
“You are such an ass.” Despite the annoyance in her tone, the soft tap of a keyboard was evident over the phone.
“But I’m an ass Jack listens to.” Sometimes. I waited a few seconds, then said, “Anything?”
“Yeah. I’m sending you her profile.”
“Including a working address?”
Salliane paused. “She works as a cocktail waitress at the Cattle Club. There’s no strip joint listed.”
Meaning it was probably a cash-in-hand job at one of the underground strip joints. “Where’s the Cattle Club? I’ve never heard of it.”
“So much for you being a party animal,” she said, somewhat cattily. “It’s the latest hot spot.”
“For weres, or for vamps who have the hots for their boss?”
“Humans, asshole. Anything else?”
“Nope. Such a pleasure talking to you again, Sal.”
“Bite my ass, wolf girl.”
She hung up and I grinned. I was going to get into trouble if I continued riling her, I knew that, but damn, it was fun. She was wound so tight her face would surely crack if she smiled. But at least she was efficient. I’d barely hung up, when the information about Trudi Stone came through. I studied her file for several seconds, noting there was no criminal history and seemingly nothing out of the ordinary about her.
The daughter got a mention, as did the ex. I typed in a note asking that the dad be notified about the death of his little girl, then put the Cattle Club’s name into the nav-computer and got the address and driving directions.
The club sat in the middle of the city’s famed King Street dance club district, an area that was basically the human equivalent of werewolf clubs—but without the free sex. Though apparently it
was
available if you had ready cash and didn’t mind a quickie in the alley or a nearby car. Part of me wondered if Trudi had been a part of that scene. I wouldn’t entirely have been surprised if she was. In the file photo, her eyes had held that world-weary, bleak sort of look that hookers who’d been in the game for a while got.
Had the information she’d been killed for come from a client, or from somewhere else? Was the Cattle Club the connection at all, or was it the strip joint we knew nothing about?
The only way to know was to go there and snoop. While it was now early afternoon, I had no doubt the club would be open. Most of the King Street venues now had twenty-four-hour licenses, and served food, alcohol, and the promise of a good time to any who entered. It wasn’t unusual to have lunchtime lines almost as long as the nighttime ones, as those on midday breaks tried to get inside for a little action. Trouble was, I wouldn’t get in dressed as casually as I was, not without flashing my ID—and I had a feeling that was something I’d better avoid until I scoped out the place.
Clairvoyance, I thought, as I started up the car, truly sucked. I mean, if it was going to feed me little warnings, it could at least add
why
.
I headed home and changed into something a little more upmarket and sexy, then grabbed my thickest coat and drove on to the club.
There was a line out the front, but not a huge one. The rain was still coming down intermittently and the wind that whipped down King Street was icy, blasting away at the flyaway ends of my long woolen coat. By the time I got to the door, my bare legs had an almost blue tinge. Considering the red hair, it wasn’t a good look.
“You’re looking a little cold,” the bright spark manning the door said as he opened it.
“You’d better have coffee inside, or things could get ugly,” I said, through chattering teeth. God, the things I did for my job.
The bouncer chuckled, white teeth positively glowing compared to his dark skin. “Fresh made on the hour and thick enough to stand a spoon in.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“It’ll warm the cockles of your heart right quick.”
“Well, my cockles definitely need warming.”
He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering just a little on the plunging neckline of my dark green cashmere sweater. “Hard for me to judge
that
with the coat you’ve got on.” He grinned, brown eyes twinkling. “There’s a cloakroom inside, if you want to ditch it.”
“I do. Thanks.”
He nodded and closed the door behind me. I stopped, waiting until my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness before checking my coat and heading down the steps into the club proper.
The main room had a retro feel and was bigger than I’d expected. A primary-colored, well-lit bar curved around a good part of the room and was lined with old-fashioned silver stools. Funky disco balls sprayed rainbow colors across the large dance floor, and in the semidarkness that lined the remaining walls were sunken couches and old-fashioned diner tables, complete with booth seating. The music itself was a loud mix of dance and techno. Not my taste, but at least ignorable. Maybe they turned down the volume during the day.
I scanned the shadows. There were lots of people inside—the line outside was testament to that—but the sheer size of the room lent a feeling of space that few clubs could boast. Me, I liked my clubs crowded. All that flesh to flesh was a pleasure my wolf soul adored.
I walked over to the bar and propped on one of the stools. The bartender walked up from the other end, a polite smile touching his Asian features. “What can I do for you, pretty lady?”
“The man at the door promised me coffee strong enough to warm the cockles.” I raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing my lips. “I’m here to see if the coffee lives up to that promise.”
Amusement touched his lush lips and dark eyes, and my hormones sat up and took notice. “Cold outside, huh?”
“Goddamn freezing.” I let my gaze slip down his back as he walked across to the coffee machine and grabbed a mug. Good shoulders. Nice ass. Shame this wasn’t a wolf club—I caught the thought and shoved it away. I was here to work, not amuse giddy hormones.
“Milk? Sugar?”
Awareness shone in the deep brown depths of his eyes. He knew full well I’d been checking him out and wasn’t in the least bit fazed. Maybe even appreciated it. “White and one, thanks.”
He nodded, filled the cup, then walked back. I have to say, the packaging looked just as good from the front, too. He slid the coffee across the red-lit countertop, but waved away my money. “If you’re going to be here a few hours, we’ll run a tab and you can pay when you leave.”
“Thanks.” I lifted the mug, wrapping my hands around it to warm them up. One sip proved the security guy hadn’t been kidding. The coffee was like sludge—thick and strong but surprisingly tasty.
“So, it lives up to its rep?” the bartender asked, watching my expression with increasing amusement.
“I think it’s safe to say I’ve never tasted anything like it. But it certainly warms the cockles.” I grinned and held out a hand. “I’m Riley.”
“Jin.”
His fingers were warm against mine, his palms calloused and grip strong. Not the hands of someone who did bartending for a living. “You tend bar here often?”
He shrugged as he grabbed a tea towel and began polishing glasses. “Couple of times a week. It’s good money for casuals.”
“Ah.” I took a sip of the coffee. “That’s probably why I haven’t seen you before.”
“You come here often, then?”
Something flashed on his left hand as he picked up another glass. A ring of some kind. Luckily, it was on his index finger rather than his ring finger. I hated flirting with someone who was married. Just a waste of everyone’s time.
“Sometimes.” I grinned. “I got personal attention from a yummy bartender then, too.”
“We’re the friendly type here.” He studied me for a moment, interest still very evident. “That why you’re here today?”
“Actually, no. I’m here to catch up with an old friend who works here part-time.”
“What’s his name?”
“
Her
name. Trudi Stone.” I studied him but caught no reaction to her name. Though why I was expecting one, I couldn’t say.
“Hang on a sec, and I’ll go check when she’s next on.” He walked down to the middle of the bar, served a man who was giving me a more than casual look-over, then disappeared inside a small office. He came back out a few seconds later. “According to the roster, she isn’t back on until tomorrow night.”
“Damn, I swear she said she was on today.” I put the coffee down and crossed my arms on the counter, leaning forward a little to give him a better view of my breasts. Hey, he was sexy, and I might as well enjoy myself while scavenging around for information. I certainly couldn’t risk trying to read his mind here—not when there were security cameras everywhere. My telepathy might be strong, but anyone could be watching, and it would only take one person to notice the momentary stillness of the bartender as I searched his mind for things to go ass up. Better to do that sort of thing when I had him alone. “So, when are you back on?”
His gaze went from my face to my boobs and back again. Amusement curved his very kissable lips. “When do you want me on?”
“How about tonight?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It had better be mine, too.”
He chuckled softly. “Oh, I guarantee it. But I do need a contact number.”
“If you’ve got the pen, I’ve got the number.”
He produced a pen and a bit of paper from under the desk and slid both across the counter with his left hand. For the first time, the ring on his finger was fully visible.
On the flat silver surface was a three-headed dragon with wicked claws and bloodred eyes.
Just like the ring I’d found in the dust at Dunleavy’s place.
Chapter 5
N
ice ring,” I murmured after a momentary pause, then casually picked up the pen and wrote down my cell phone number.