"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.
"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me?"
My smile widened. "Why don't I show you instead?"
I leaned over, caught his face in my hands, and pressed my lips to his.
Not the sweetest or most romantic of kisses, but I enjoyed the sensation of the detective's lips on mine, even if he didn't. He tasted of the Scotch he'd just downed-hot, spicy, sweet, and salty all at the same time. His aroma filled my nose. Clean, like soap. It clung to him, as though embedded in his skin. Mmm.
I flicked my tongue against his lips. Caine stiffened. He didn't pull away, but he kept his mouth closed and his tongue inside. A shame, really.
"Come on, detective," I murmured against his tight lips. "Everybody else here is doing it. Why shouldn't we?" "Do I really have to list the reasons?" he growled.
"No," I replied. "But I have just as many why we should. This is one of them." I slid over onto his lap. Even though I'd given him no warning and very little to turn him on, Donovan's erection pressed into my ass, solid and straining. I kissed him again, lightly pressing my lips to his, then shifted my legs so I was straddling him. I rocked forward, then retreated, rubbing against his body, pressing my breasts to his chest, exploring this attraction that simmered between us. Mmm.
Donovan's hands clenched into fists on either side of me. All he could do to keep from touching me.
"Come on, detective," I murmured. "You want me, too. I'm sitting on ample proof of that. After this is over, we'll go our separate ways. I've almost been killed too many times to count this week. So have you. Why shouldn't we work off some of that stress and have a little fun in the meantime?"
Donovan stared at me. Desire warmed his eyes, making them shine like twin suns.
Still, he hesitated. I shifted my hips again, urging him on. The slight friction pushed him over the edge. The detective let out a low growl, wound his hand in my hair, and pulled my lips down to his.
There were no closed mouths this time. No light touches or hesitation. Our tongues thrashed against each other, driving deeper and deeper into each other's mouth. I splayed my hands on his chest, kneading his lean muscles, marveling at his coiled strength. He pulled me closer. His hands moved up to my breasts. I scraped my nails down his stomach. We both rocked, teasing the other with what we each had to offer.
After ten seconds, I was wet. After thirty, I ached for him. By the minute mark, I was ready to rip his jeans off and pull him down under the bar with me. But I wanted to be alone with Donovan Caine, wanted to forget about everything but him and how he made me feel.
"They have rooms upstairs," I whispered against his mouth.
More emotions flashed in his eyes. Desire. Guilt. Hesitation. Need. Slowly, he nodded.
I grinned and leaned forward to kiss him again when I felt an odd, pulsing buzz on my leg. It took me a few My cell phone vibrating.
Chapter Twenty
Finn was calling, which meant our prey for the evening had arrived. Damn and double damn Charles Carlyle. Because no matter how much I wanted Donovan Caine, no matter how much he wanted me, tracking the vampire came first. Finding out who his Air elemental boss was came first.
Avenging Fletcher came first.
I sighed. "Sorry, detective. Duty calls."
"I know," Donovan said in a husky voice. "I can feel your phone vibrating against my thigh."
Our gazes locked. Desire still brightened the detective's eyes, along with something else-relief. I wondered at the emotion. Relief about what? That he wouldn't betray his dead partner by fucking me? That his morals would remain intact for another night? Or that he wouldn't discover how good it would be between us and hunger for more?
My phone kept vibrating. I slid off the detective's lap, pulled the cell out of my jeans pocket, and flipped it open. "What is it, Finn?"
"Carlyle just walked in the front door, in case you were wondering," Finn said in a wry voice. "Or would you rather keep dry humping the good detective?" My gaze cut to the front of the club. It took me a few seconds to pick out Charles Carlyle, aka Chuckie C., from the rest of the crowd. But once I did, it was easy enough to track him. The short, stocky vampire sported a black suit with wide, white pinstripes and white wingtips. The black lights spread throughout the club made the stripes and shoes glow a bright fluorescent. Better than GPS. A black fedora covered Carlyle's bald spot. He also had two other accessories-a girl on either arm. The women sported the heart-and-arrow rune necklace of the club's workers. Chuckie C. was starting his tab off early.
Carlyle headed straight for the giant manning the entrance to the private VIP rooms.
Carlyle said something to the giant. After a moment, the taller man stepped aside, and Carlyle and the girls entered the hallway.
"Where are you?" I asked Finn.
"Back past the VIP entrance in a booth with Roslyn."
I spotted the two of them, as close together as Donovan Caine and I had been a minute ago. "Stay there. We'll come to you."
I snapped the phone shut and turned to the detective. "Carlyle's here. Let's go."
We left the bar and slithered through the crowd until we reached Roslyn and Finn.
One of the vampire's hands was out of sight under the table. Judging from the smile on Finn's face, Roslyn had been stroking more than his ego. At the sight of the detective and me, the vampire got to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. Roslyn stared at the sequined fruit glittering on my black T-shirt.
"Cherries. Cute," she said.
I grinned.
"Follow me." Roslyn headed toward a door in the very back wall of the club. Donovan Caine fell in step behind her.
"Stay out here and keep an eye on things," I told Finn. "Carlyle might have friends coming to join him."
"Not a problem. I'm feeling a bit thirsty anyway." Finn winked, got to his feet, and wandered off toward the bar.
I caught up with Roslyn just as the vampire opened a door set into the red velvet that covered the walls. The opening led to a small hallway that stretched out in either direction before branching off at both ends. Roslyn closed the door behind us, lessening the rocking beat of the music.
"This way," she said and turned left.
We followed her down the passageway. A variety of rooms lay on either side of the hall. Offices with computers and printers, private bathrooms for the staff, a break room with vending machines and rows of metal lockers. The business side of the nightclub. The walls back here were covered with black velvet instead of red. It matched the carpet underfoot.
Roslyn made several more turns, leading us deeper into this rabbit's warren. Each hallway was slightly narrower than the one before, until the final one we came to was just wide enough for one person to comfortably walk through. This passageway was constructed of dark paneling instead of velvet. A variety of narrow slits lined either side at eye level. Each one had a knob on the side so you could open and close it.
Reminded me of something you'd find on the door of an old-fashioned speakeasy.
Roslyn stopped at the entrance to the hallway and fixed us with a flat stare. "Carlyle's in the third room on the right. You've got thirty minutes before I send one of the bouncers to check on the girls. Be gone by then."
I gave her a curt nod. The vampire stared at me a second before she turned on her boot heel and stalked back the way she'd come.
"C'mon," I said in a low voice. "Let's see what our friend Chuckie C. is up to." Donovan counted the doors, and we stopped in front of the appropriate slit. The detective looked at me. I nodded, and he grabbed the knob and slowly, quietly, slid the panel to one side. The opening stretched out horizontally about two feet, but it was barely taller than an eye. There was enough room for both of us to stare inside.
Donovan Caine and I put our eyes close to the opening. The slit revealed a small room with a plush couch off to one side, along with a round table and a few chairs.
The tops of several liquor bottles sat on a shelf just below us. A bar set against this wall hid the peephole. A mirror ball spun around overhead, splashing silver light everywhere.
Charles Carlyle hadn't wasted any time. One of the girls already had her head buried in the vampire's crotch. He had his hand up the other one's skirt, and his tongue down her throat. Smacking and sucking noises drifted out to us, along with a few moans from the ladies. The girls were pros. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought they were really enjoying themselves.
Donovan Caine shifted beside me, no doubt thinking about what had happened between us at the bar. A shame, really, that we'd been interrupted.
The scene went on for maybe three more minutes before Carlyle got his rocks off. The hooker who'd been on her knees wiped off her mouth, crawled up, and joined the other one on the couch beside Chuckie C. Both of them murmured nonsense about what a big, big man he was and how they only pretended with other guys, but with him, their pleasure was real. My lips twitched. Funniest damn thing I'd heard all night.
Carlyle fondled the two girls for a moment longer, then spanked them both on the ass-hard-and zipped his pants up. "Scram, girls," he said. "I've got company coming."
Company? That sounded promising.
Carlyle threw a couple of C-notes at the girls, which they tucked into their push-up bras, before blowing him kisses and leaving the room. Chuckie C. let out the sigh of a satisfied man, then got to his feet and hitched his pants back up into their proper position. I hoped the bastard had enjoyed that blow job. It was going to be the last one he ever got.
The vampire headed toward the wall where Donovan Caine and I stood peering at him. For a moment, I thought perhaps the stocky vampire had spied us spying on him. But he reached for a bottle and splashed some whiskey into a square glass.
Getting himself a drink. He was so close to us I could have stuck one of my knives through the peephole and given him a shave. That moment would come soon enough.
Carlyle had just knocked back his first slug of whiskey, when the door on the far side of the room opened, and a man stepped inside. Carlyle blocked my view, but I could still see the other guy was a giant, with salt-and-pepper hair and a bulky frame that was slowly going to fat.
"About time you got here," Carlyle said.
"Sorry," the giant replied. "Some of us have been busy."
Donovan Caine stiffened beside me. Because the deep baritone of the second man belonged to his boss-police captain Wayne Stephenson.
"Whaddya want to drink?" Carlyle asked. "Whiskey, and a lot of it." Carlyle made a couple more drinks. Stephenson took a seat at the table, and Carlyle handed him one of the glasses and set the bottle on the table. Stephenson knocked back the amber liquid like it was water and poured himself another. Took a lot to get a giant drunk. Dwarves too. Humans and vamps were the only ones who couldn't hold their liquor.
"I told you on the phone, meeting was a bad idea," Stephenson muttered and downed his second drink. "Everybody's crawling all over my ass about the Giles murder. Did you know the bastard was a personal friend of the mayor? His college roommate or some such shit. Pompous moron's called me twice today." Carlyle took a seat opposite the giant "And I told you she wanted an update. In person."
Stephenson's pale eyes flicked toward the door. "She's not coming here, is she? Bad enough I risk being seen with you. If she walks in the door-"
"Don't worry," Carlyle said. "This place is totally anonymous. Nobody cares what you do or who you do it with, as long as you don't skip out on your bill. As for the elemental, she had other fish to flay tonight and sent me instead. So your skin will stay right where it is-for now."
Stephenson drew a white handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his suit and mopped his forehead with it. I could smell the stench of his relief all the way across the room. "I wish I'd never gotten involved in this mess."
"You wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't fucked all those ten-year-old girls on your daughter's soccer team," Carlyle's tone was light, conversational, like he was talking about whether it might rain tomorrow.
Donovan Caine let out a low, guttural growl. The sound a wolf might make before it ripped out your throat. His hands clenched into fists, and I heard his teeth grind together through his clenched jaw. So Stephenson was a pedophile. Would have been easy for the Air elemental to get her hooks into him. All she'd need would be a picture, just one, and the police captain would have been hers.
"What about the assassin?" Carlyle asked. "Anything on her?"
Stephenson snorted and poured himself a third drink. "Bitch is a fucking ghost. None of my snitches know who she is or what she looks like. And none of the tips we've gotten have been worth a damn, I'm starting to think that sketch Caine gave us was total bullshit. I think she's gone. Out of town and out of the picture." Carlyle digested the information. "What about the old man's son? The banker?" Stephenson shrugged. "Finnegan Lane told his bank he was taking a vacation because he was so heartsick over his father's murder. I imagine he's on an island somewhere by now."
"What about Caine? Has the detective surfaced yet?"
Stephenson mopped more sweat from his forehead. "No, I can't find the fucker anywhere. He wasn't stupid enough to go back to his house. He hasn't reported in for work, and none of his buddies have seen him. He's gotta still be in Ashland, though.
He doesn't have the resources to disappear like Lane does."
Carlyle leaned forward and speared the giant with a hard, flat stare. "You need to find the detective. Caine is a loose end that needs to be clipped off before he starts unraveling things. The elemental wants you to find him-ten minutes ago. I showed you the picture of the old man at the barbecue restaurant. You know what happens when she doesn't get her way."
