A shiver shimmied up her spine. “Absolutely.”
Silence hung between them as she closed her eyes, imagining the fire in his gaze as he trailed his fingers down her cheek, his thumb brushing across her lips before he…
He cleared his throat. “But about finding Jackson. Here’s what I need you to do.”
Chapter Seven
Trace stood between two buildings on Burgundy Street, a boutique hotel with a slate gray façade and white wrought iron gallery, and a brown, three-story structure that housed the witch’s perfume and secret potion shop on the bottom floor. The gate leading to the alley between stood unlocked, so it was a perfect spot to wait in case the force-shift came on. But every time the goddamn door opened, the overpowering scents of fifty different oils and potions wafted out, singeing his nostrils and making him want to puke.
His heightened canine sense of smell made entering the shop area of the building nearly impossible for a werewolf. The store wasn’t enchanted, as far as he knew. The witches relied on the overwhelming aroma to keep other supes from nosing around in their business. Aside from being able to detect magical signatures with their noses, a witch’s sense of smell was no better than a human’s.
That’s where Sophie would come in. It had been years since the red wolves had swiped a copy of the witches’ registration manifest, and it was time they updated their records. Sophie would make a perfect distraction while he sneaked in and stole the information.
Truth be told, he’d racked his brain all evening to figure out a way she could help him search for Jackson, not because he actually needed her help, but because he couldn’t wait until Saturday to see her again.
He spotted her strutting toward him on the sidewalk, and he tensed, a strange urge to run to her, sweep her into his arms, and carry her away from all this mess making his weight shift to his toes. If his friend hadn’t been missing for the past week, he might have done just that.
“Hey.” Her smile warmed his soul, and as she stopped two feet in front of him, he fought another urge to lean in and find out if her lips tasted as good as they did in his dreams. She glanced at the perfume shop, her brow furrowing. “I was thinking last night…”
“So was I.” He swept his gaze down her body, and a pink flush spread across her cheeks. “You were incredible, too.”
She grinned. “It’s awfully forward of you to say things like that when we haven’t even been on a date yet.”
“I can smell your desire, remember?”
He glimpsed a flash of tongue as she moistened her lips, and his knees nearly buckled. She let her gaze meander over him, one brow arching as she seemed to approve of the view. “Can you now?”
“You want me as much as I want you.” Okay, maybe he was being too forward, but it was the truth. Every time he flirted with her, her scent warmed like spiced cider. He couldn’t help himself.
She laughed and shook her head. “Are you sure you aren’t getting my desire mixed up with that awful smell coming from the perfume shop?” She wrinkled her nose. “Someone must have ordered a horrific combination of scents. I walk by this place every day, and I’ve never been able to smell it from the sidewalk.”
Interesting. She shouldn’t have been able to smell it at all. His gaze drifted to her arm, where his teeth marks still marred her skin, and hope bloomed in his chest. It shouldn’t have. She never asked to be turned into a werewolf, and if she wanted to press charges against him, he’d be so deep in shit, he’d drown. But if she did complete the transformation, and she felt even half of the feelings he felt for her…
“Anyway, I’ve got another group of dogs to walk in half an hour, so let’s get this mission started. All I have to do is distract the women behind the counter?”
“Right. I’ll slip in the back and find the manifest, photograph it, and then I’ll text you when I’m out.”
She crossed her arms. “How do you know it’s even in there? Wouldn’t they keep something like that in their coven headquarters? Or, more likely, on a computer?”
“You’d be surprised how backward supes can be, and they don’t keep it at the coven house because that would be the first place people would look for it.” He stepped toward her, resting his hand on the small of her back, his touch making her scent flare again. Delicious. “Being a cop in the NOPD pays the bills, but I’m also the head of security for the pack. If a supe orgasms within a ten-mile radius of New Orleans, my men know.”
She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile. “I love it when you talk dirty. Tell me more.”
A shudder ran through his body, and he dropped his arm. As much as he enjoyed the flirtatious banter with this incredible woman, they had a job to do. “The manifest contains the names of every registered witch in Orleans Parish. When my men sniffed you out, the coven already knew about you. They said you were unregistered and that you were a dud. We assumed you were the only one, but now I’m thinking there may be more people like you. People who possess magic but don’t know it or can’t access it.”
“I know I have magic.” She lifted her chin.
“But you didn’t until yesterday. If magic has to be unlocked, there’s a chance someone on that list figured out how to unbind her powers, under the coven’s radar, and she’s the one responsible for the curse on my pack.”
“How do you even know I’m on the list? There could be dozens of people like me roaming the city. The only difference with me is that I went looking for it.”
He shook his head. “We aren’t the only ones with informants. Supes of every variety work for a common goal: to identify everyone in the city who possesses magic. I promise you the first day you were here, probably within the first few hours, you’d been identified and added to the manifest. Your scent but lack of signature in your aura suggested you were trying to hide your magic, but the witches must have known your powers were bound…something the werewolves never would have figured out.”
“So if I could unbind my powers and hide my aura, the coven would never know I had magic?”
“And you’d be a threat to us all. Our truces keep everything in balance, which is why the curse on my pack could be detrimental to the entire city.”
“Isn’t sneaking in and photographing their private documents against the truce?”
He grinned. “Only if we get caught.”
Holy fur and fangs, Sophie was working with a supe, doing sneaky supe things, dangerous things. What would happen to them if they got caught? Would the war start between the werewolves and the witches? If it did, which side would she be on?
She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out hard. These were questions she should have thought to ask before Trace bounded down the alley toward the back entrance, but her rational mind went into hiding every time she was near the man.
Suck it up, buttercup. You’re in this now. She’d offered to help, and he was depending on her. Maybe he’d reward her later…
Focus, Soph. She gripped the cool metal door handle and tugged it open, pausing as a blast of fragrances assaulted her senses like a forcefield over the entrance. How did these women work in here all day?
She swallowed the sour sensation creeping up her throat and forced her way through the stench and into the shop. Two witches stood behind the counter, a petite one with dark eyes and jet-black hair styled in an asymmetrical pixie cut, and one about the same height as Sophie, with striking blue eyes and long brown hair. Of course, the only reason Sophie knew they were witches was because Trace told her they were, but they must have sensed her witchy scent.
Both their heads snapped up at the same time, and the brunette narrowed her eyes at Sophie briefly before plastering on a smile. “Hey there. How can we help you?”
“Umm.” Sophie glanced around at the shop. Rows of wooden shelves containing small glass bottles with cork stoppers covered two of the walls, and an archway the width of two normal doors led into a back room. Trace peeked from behind the wall and gave her a thumbs-up before disappearing aga
in.
She cleared her throat and faced the witches. “I’m looking for a special perfume to make a man want me.”
“Oh, honey, you’ve come to the right place.” The pixie cut sashayed around the counter and offered Sophie a postcard and pen. “I’m Jade, and this is Audrey. Why don’t you fill out this card so we can mix something up for you?”
“Sure.” Sophie took the pen and wrote her real name on the top of the page. As she got to the “S” in “Burroughs,” she froze, pressing the tip into the paper harder and harder until blue ink pooled around it. What kind of supernatural spy gave the enemy her real name?
Shit. She tightened her grip on the pen, finishing the S and forcing herself to breathe. It wasn’t like she could scratch it out and write Pussy Galore instead.
“Is everything okay?” Jade linked her fingers, staring at Sophie intently.
“Yeah. Just a little headache.” She finished the form with a fake address and phone number. “I don’t know how you ladies make it through the day with all these wonderful scents.”
“You get used to it.” Jade took the card and strode toward the archway. Toward Trace.
Crap. “Why are you taking that to the back room?” She nearly shouted to warn him. Hopefully the witches didn’t notice the panic in her voice.
Jade paused, turning to face her. “I’m just going to enter this in our customer database. Audrey will take care of you.”
Sophie glimpsed Trace darting from one side of the arch to the other. Damn, he was fast. Not as fast as a vampire, but the man could move.
“Tell me a little about your tastes, Sophie.” Audrey smiled, her gaze flicking to Jade before she focused on Sophie again. “Do you like floral scents or something warmer?”
Sophie glanced to the backroom as Jade pulled out an ancient-looking binder and flipped through the pages, running her finger from top to bottom as if reading a list. It must have been the manifest Trace was looking for. “Floral. No, I think the man I’m after prefers warmer scents.”
Audrey nodded. “If men only knew what we go through to impress them.”
“She’s fine.” Jade strutted into the shop area, mouthing something to the other witch that Sophie couldn’t decipher.
If Sophie was going to be a spy, she’d need to work on her lipreading skills. Judging by the softening of both their demeanors, Jade had found Sophie’s name already on the list, and they knew she was harmless. Correction: they thought she was harmless. She stifled a giggle. This spy stuff was fun.
“Let’s mix you up something magical,” Jade said. “What’s this guy like?”
Sophie turned, angling herself so she faced the archway straight on and forcing Jade and Audrey to put their backs toward Trace, who pulled out his phone to snap pictures of the manifest Jade had left on the desk. These witches were so confident, they were careless.
“Oh, he’s tall and built, with auburn hair and a full beard. The man oozes masculinity. He’s a cop too. Sexy as hell. My panties want to drop to the floor on their own every time I’m near him, if you know what I mean.” She grinned as Trace stifled his chuckle, and she forced herself to hold eye contact with the women.
“Sounds scrumptious,” Jade said.
“You have no idea.”
“You said you wanted something to make the man want you.” Audrey ran her fingers along a row of bottles, stopping on a brown one with a white label. “What kind of want are we talking about? Is this purely sexual, or are you looking for more?”
Trace stopped, standing in the door with a brow arched as if he were seriously interested in the answer to her question.
Sophie locked eyes with him for half a second before casting her gaze to the row of bottles, lest she give him away. “I’m not sure how he feels, but I think I want more. I mean, the initial attraction was pure lust, but now that I’m getting to know him…”
Audrey’s smile urged her to continue, though she didn’t dare look to see if Trace still stood exposed. “I feel a connection with him. Like maybe he could be…” She almost said the one, but she bit her tongue to stop the words from escaping. That would be a sure-fire way to send him running with his tail between his legs. “He could be someone I’d like to date more than once, you know?”
“Girl, I know.” Audrey took another bottle from the shelf as Sophie’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
She checked the screen and found a text from Trace: All done, gorgeous. You were amazing. Her stomach fluttered.
“Oh, crap. I have to go.” She shoved the phone into her pocket. “Just, umm…hold off on the perfume. I’ll be back. Maybe.” She scurried out the door, adrenaline making it feel as though her feet didn’t touch the floor.
Glancing at her watch, she cursed under her breath and powerwalked toward her first client’s home. She had three minutes to pick the dog up if she was going to be on time for this walk.
Her phone buzzed again with a text from Trace: Where did you go?
She replied: I have to work. Talk later.
Her heart beating like a racehorse’s hooves, she made it to her destination right on time. Her excited energy rubbed off on the dogs, and she nearly had to jog to keep up with them as they made their afternoon round. Even with the extra boost of adrenaline, the male dogs kept their private parts to themselves, and Sophie’s legs remained safe from their wanton advances.
Her smile didn’t fade all day. The entire mission—how exciting was it to call what they’d done a mission?—had lasted no more than twenty minutes, but Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d had that much fun. Catching glimpses of Trace as he gathered evidence for his pack had been a major turn-on too. The man was lucky she had to work, or she might have torn his clothes off right there on the sidewalk when it was done.
Then again, depending on how much of her conversation with the witches he heard, maybe she was the lucky one. What if Saturday night’s date was nothing more than his attempt to get into her pants? Or worse, what if everything…the flirting, the heated gazes…what if it was all part of his spy persona, and he still thought she was to blame? What if the Trace she was starting to fall for wasn’t the real Trace at all?
Oh, get over yourself. He’d already scoured her apartment and found nothing. At the very least, she could get a good lay out of the situation, and at best… Who knew? She might as well enjoy the rush while it lasted.
She finished her evening round and picked up some Chinese takeout with an extra serving of chicken fried rice for the cat. He meowed his appreciation and ate at the table next to her—so weird—before she took a quick shower and collapsed into bed. The cat crawled onto her stomach, curling up and rubbing the top of its head against the bottom of her boob.
She laughed and stroked its fur. “That’s the most action I’ve gotten in months, but things might be changing soon. If Crimson isn’t back by Saturday night, you’ll need to make yourself scarce. Understand?”
The cat blinked at her, and her phone rang from the nightstand, Trace’s name lighting up the screen. She pushed the cat aside to answer. “Hey there, hot stuff.”
“Hello, beautiful. How was your day?” How could his voice be deep and rumbly, yet smooth as satin at the same time?
“Adventurous, actually. I had my first foray into the supernatural spy world, and it was quite thrilling.”
He chuckled. “You were amazing in there. I could use you on my team.”
Her lips parted on a quick inhale, excitement buzzing through her veins. “Really?”
“Yeah. If you become a werewolf, I’ll hire you at the next full moon.”
“Oh.” Her chest deflated with her sigh. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Nor did she want it to. Becoming a full-fledged witch was her number one priority. She could imagine the looks on Jade’s and Audrey’s faces when she strolled into the perfume shop, magic sparkling in her aura. See if they underestimate me again.
“Well, either way, I appreciate your help. I found three new names added to
the roster since we last swiped a copy: you plus two others. I checked out one of them this afternoon, but I didn’t find a trace of Jackson. I plan to drop in on the other one tomorrow.”
Her chest tightened as she pictured the way he’d dropped in on her. Was that jealousy stirring in her belly? Surely not. “I hope you’re not crawling into their beds naked like you did mine.” Her teeth clicked as she clamped her mouth shut. They weren’t a couple. It was none of her business how he conducted his.
A deep belly laugh resonated through the receiver. “Would it bother you if I did?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it would. You’re starting to grow on me, wolfman.”
He inhaled deeply, the sound tickling her ear. “I grow every time I’m near you, cher.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “Do you now?”
“Yes, ma’am. You tend to have that effect on me.”
“I’d like to see for myself.” She fisted her hand and bit her finger to contain her excitement.
“I can show you Saturday night.”
“Is that a promise?” She dropped her head back on the pillow, grinning at the ceiling.
“It most certainly is.”
Chapter Eight
Trace jogged up the steps to Sophie’s apartment and blew against his palm, attempting to check his breath for the third time since he’d gotten out of his truck. Like the first two times, he couldn’t smell a damn thing, but he popped a mint into his mouth just in case.
He’d been a bundle of nerves all day, the anticipation of seeing Sophie in a nonwork, non-accusing capacity winding him up tighter than a gator’s ass in a hurricane. Inhaling deeply, he straightened his spine, composing himself. He was the Alpha’s right-hand man and First Lieutenant in his pack. He didn’t show his nerves to anyone, especially not the woman he was trying to claim…err…seduce. The woman he was trying to seduce.
He shook his head and lifted a hand to knock, but before his knuckles met wood, the door swung open. Sophie beamed a smile, and his gaze swept the length of her feminine form, taking in the short red dress and matching heels that made her legs look ten miles long. She rested her hand against the door jamb, and he glimpsed polished red nails that matched her outfit perfectly.
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