“And you borrowed money from him?”
Starke shook his head. “Not me. A friend. He was hassling her and told her she could work off her debt another way, if you know what I mean. I offered to pay the guy a visit to set him straight. But I didn’t kill him.”
A friend or a girlfriend? She found that the thought of him with another woman left a sour taste in her mouth, which was ridiculous! She’d just met him, and he was her number one suspect. Maybe it was time for a vacation. A white sandy beach, the blue water of the ocean, hot men bringing her drinks with little umbrellas in them. She definitely needed to work off some sexual frustration. Maybe she’d swing by Alejandro’s place. While she preferred humans and elves, there wasn’t anything wrong with getting it on with a panther shifter every now and then – an especially hot panther shifter. Besides, she liked sinking her fingers into all that black hair.
Her eyes, never missing a detail, took in Starke’s unkempt shoulder-length brown locks, definitely enough to hang on to during a round or two in bed. Something told her that he’d never settle for just once. No, he’d be the type to go all night long. She studied the strands and saw hints of gold and red. She wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked and fought the urge to reach out and touch him.
Settling her gaze on his eyes once more, she found him watching her, a half smile on his face. Busted! She cursed her fair skin as she felt her cheeks warm. There was no way he was going to miss her embarrassment. The question was what would he do with that knowledge?
“Since your investigation has hit a dead end, where do you go from here?” he asked.
She quirked a brow. “Dead end? Just because you tell me you didn’t kill that man doesn’t mean this is over. Do you have an alibi for the half hour after you left the alley?”
He frowned. “No, I rode my bike around town a bit. I was restless and didn’t want to go straight to work.”
“Where do you work?”
“The Blue Moon.”
Her brow furrowed. “That paranormal club over on Westend Avenue?”
“That’s the one.”
She scanned him from head to toe, taking in his tight white tee and jeans that seemed to be caressing every muscle they touched. She’d be willing to bet he had a great ass too. Devlin knew without a doubt that if she touched that soft white cotton she’d feel nothing but hard muscle underneath.
“You don’t exactly look like the club type.”
His gaze raked over her. “Looks can be deceiving. You don’t look like an operative.”
Her lips tightened. “And just what do I look like?”
She felt his gaze on her breasts and hips. “In that get-up? Either a stripper or a high-dollar hooker.”
Oh, now she was pissed. Her nails dug into her skin as she curled her fingers into her palm. She knew there would be half-moons marking her skin when she finally relaxed. Teeth grinding together, she counted to ten in her head. Then twenty. When she was still livid and ready to remove his head from his body, she rose very slowly and walked toward the back of the bar and the ladies restroom.
“Devlin,” Sean O’Leary’s voice held a warning tone. “So help me if you destroy my restroom I’ll hand you to your boss on a platter.”
She ignored him and marched across the bar and into the darkened hallway. Pushing her way into the restroom, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her red hair, really closer to auburn it was so dark, hung in a mass of curls just past the middle of her back. Her skin was clear and pale with a slight dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Green eyes stared back her with fire and brimstone in their depths. She watched as her body shook from the sheer force of her anger.
A hooker? He thought she looked like a prostitute?
Before she had time to think about what she was doing, she drew her fist back and smashed it into the mirror, shattering the glass into a hundred pieces. Blood seeped from her knuckles, but she didn’t feel the pain. Rage was pouring through her veins like lava, searing her from the inside out. She was surprised there wasn’t steam rising from her skin.
The door slammed open, and O’Leary stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed, his lips thinned.
“What did I tell you, Devlin?”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
His eyes lowered to her hand. Blood was running down her fingers and dripping on the floor. The mirror must’ve cut her pretty bad, but she didn’t have time for little things like bandages. She had a killer to catch, one she was pretty sure was sitting in the bar at that very moment.
As O’Leary gripped her arm and led her out of the restroom and back to the bar, she went willingly. He parked her on a stool at the end. She was still furious, but there wasn’t anything else she could destroy, not anything she could afford to replace, anyway. Smashing some tables and chairs sounded like fun right then.
O’Leary put a clean towel on the bar, and she placed her hand on top. After dabbing the blood from her skin, he studied it closely. He pulled a first aid kit out from under the bar, a rather large kit, she noticed. When he pulled out a bottle of peroxide and some tweezers she wasn’t sure she liked where this was heading.
“You still have glass in your skin,” he told her. “This is probably going to hurt like a bitch, but I need to get it out or you’ll heal with it under your skin.”
“Fine. Do whatever you have to.”
He sighed. “Do you always have to be a tough girl, Devlin? It’s okay to let people see a softer side every now and then.”
She snorted. “What softer side? What you see is what you get.”
“Any one of the shifters you’ve taken to your bed, however few that might be, would be happy to make an honest woman of you. You know that, right?”
“If I wanted marriage, I’d be married, Sean. I prefer the no-strings approach. It’s worked well for me so far.”
O’Leary shook his head. With a sigh, he gripped her hand tight and began digging out the shards of glass, some of them microscopic, but she knew he could see them well enough with his half-feline eyes. Sean’s mother was human, but his father was a mountain lion. She found herself biting her tongue to hold back the curses springing to her lips.
Out of the corner of her eye, Devlin saw Starke watching them, a slight frown on his face. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence though. If he felt bad for her current predicament, good. And if he didn’t, then he was even more of an ass than she’d thought. It was his fault she was bleeding all over the place.
“There,” O’Leary said, cleaning more blood from her hand. “That should do it.”
Devlin started to pull her hand back, but he grabbed her wrist. Shooting her a chastising look, he flipped open the top on the peroxide and poured a generous amount across her knuckles. She hissed in a breath and tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight.
“We should bandage this.”
“It’ll be fine,” she told him.
O’Leary shook his head and pulled another towel out from under the bar. Wrapping it around her hand, he released her.
“At least keep that around it until the bleeding stops. I know how much you love that car of yours. If you get blood in it, you’ll just ignite all over again. I can’t afford another of your tantrums.”
“I don’t throw tantrums,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Then what do you call what happened in the bathroom?”
“Releasing some tension before I committed murder.”
O’Leary actually smiled at that one. “Take yourself back to work, Devlin. You aren’t going to accomplish anything else around here tonight.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’m technically off the clock now. How about a drink?”
“I’m not going to have to call Littlefinger again, am I?”
“You keep the dumbasses with the grabby hands and insulting remarks away, and I promise your cherished bar will be safe from me.”
O’Leary laughed. “Now yo
u’re asking for the impossible. Men see a woman like you and they just can’t keep their hands to themselves. You need one of those screen printed tees that says Too Hot to Handle.”
Her lips lifted in a smile.
O’Leary pulled a shot glass from under the counter and filled it with whiskey, Devlin’s prefer drink. She never went for those girly drinks like Sex on the Beach shots or Appletinis. Whiskey, straight up. An occasional beer. She’d even done tequila shots. Okay, so they were body shots done with tequila and off some seriously hot guys. But nothing, as she called it, froufrou.
She felt his eyes on her and looked up. “What?”
“You don’t realize it, do you? You’re completely oblivious.”
Her brow furrowed. “O’Leary, did you hit your head? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your sex appeal. Men see a woman who can take care of herself, a strong woman, someone who sees what they want and goes after it. They can’t help but want to own a piece of you, whatever crumb you’re willing to give them. You’re a bewitching woman who casts a spell over every man she meets. I bet your boss even feels it to some extent; otherwise, I would imagine you’d have been fired by now.”
Devlin wasn’t sure she liked that idea too much. She liked her fuck buddies, and yeah, she knew she wasn’t butt ugly, but the thought that men desired her, that she could have any man she wanted, well, that was just ridiculous. Parker was the one they fell over themselves to get to, the one who had them eating out of her palm with one smile.
“I think you’ve been sampling your stock, O’Leary.”
He studied her intently a moment and then shook his head.
She felt someone’s gaze on her and a covert look proved it was Jameson Starke. She could tell by his posture that he wanted to get up and approach her, but she could also tell he wasn’t too sure about his welcome, and he had a right to be worried. The last person she wanted to talk to right then was Starke. Yes, she’d have to continue her interview at some point because she wasn’t sure she believed him, but it wasn’t going to be tonight.
Devlin tossed back a few more shots of whiskey and then slapped some money on the bar. With a salute to Sean, she headed out, passing the empty barstool where Starke had been roosting. She hadn’t even noticed he’d left. Some operative she was! She dug her key out of her pocket and pushed the button on the key fob, unlocking her door. Sliding into the seat, she pulled the door shut and started her baby up. After drumming her fingers on the steering wheel for a few minutes, she realized that she really did need to return to the office, even if she was the only one there. It would be best to get all of her notes typed up on the Jameson Starke interview and have everything in a nice, neat manila file folder for Needles come morning. That would be a shocker for him. Maybe Parker was starting to rub off on her.
Devlin put the car into gear and headed back to the P.I.T.S. office. When she arrived, there was one other car at the curb. She recognized it instantly, Ben Remington’s black Expedition. At least she wouldn’t be completely alone. Not that she was afraid to be alone. She just didn’t want to be the only one from her shift working after five.
She set the alarm on her car and entered the office. It was fairly dark, except for the lamp on Ben’s desk. Devlin wondered why he didn’t just turn on the overhead lights. It’s not like he was one of those conservationists, always trying to save the planet by conserving energy. The man didn’t even recycle cans, which had driven the fairies at work a bit nuts.
“Hey, Ben,” she called as she stepped farther into the room.
He looked up slowly and flashed her a smile. “Hey, Devlin. Working late too?”
“Yeah. I figured I’d type up some notes from my interview tonight and leave them, along with my other interview notes, for Needles to find in the morning.”
Ben snickered. “You’re going to call him that to his face one day, and he’ll explode. All I can say is buy me a courtside ticket.”
“Ha ha. You’re just sooo funny. What are you working on?”
“Domestic dispute that got a little rough.”
Devlin frowned. “And they didn’t call the police because why?”
“Boyfriend is a shifter, jaguar to be precise. He got a little handsy with her, except his hands had sprouted claws. She went to the ER for stitches, and we were called. It’s pretty much an open and shut case, except… I don’t know. Something just feels off about the whole thing.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Devlin smiled and flicked on her lamp.
“I heard the boss gave you the Were case. You doing okay with that?”
Devlin shrugged a shoulder. “Everyone knows how I feel about Weres, but I’m managing. I have a suspect, which is where I was tonight.”
“So he didn’t do it?”
“No. I mean, he says he didn’t, but I’m not so sure. He was the last person to see the deceased, and he was seen manhandling him and arguing with him. There’s no alibi either.”
Ben narrowed his eyes in thought. “So, you have a suspect with no alibi. I’m assuming witnesses put him at the scene, and he’s not in handcuffs?”
“I want more evidence.”
The were-tiger’s expression cleared. “Ah. So he’s hot.”
Devlin snorted. “Since when have looks ever been an issue with me? I’ve brought in some lookers over the years, but this one feels different.”
“Uh-huh.”
Devlin wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at him. “Shut it, Remington.”
Ben just chuckled and went back to his files. Pulling up her program, Devlin began filling out the interview template, leaving out the part where Starke had called her a hooker. If word of that got out, she’d be teased and tormented for weeks by the guys in the office.
Chapter Four
A little after three in the morning, Devlin’s phone began buzzing on the nightstand. With a groan, she hit the green button and held it up to her ear.
“I’ve only been asleep for two hours. Someone had better be dead,” she grumbled.
“Does the name Marcus Bender sound familiar?” a gruff voice asked.
Devlin frowned. “He’s one of my witnesses. Why?”
“Because he’s a dead witness as of two hours ago. Littlefinger told me you were on the case.”
Now that the cobwebs were starting to clear, the guy’s voice sounded familiar. Then it hit her. Casey Mitchell, the detective she’d had a brief affair with a little over a year ago. She tried to stay away from local law enforcement, but for whatever reason, she’d caved when he’d asked her out. Why did it have to be him of all people to call her?
“Send me the address and give me ten to get ready, and I’ll be on my way.”
She disconnected the call and rolled out of bed. Stumbling into the bathroom, she turned the shower on, hoping the icy water would finish waking her up and get the stench of The Lucky Seven off her skin. She’d convinced Jolee to give her another shot and had whiled away the hours at the bar. Having fallen into bed nude, she didn’t have anything to strip off before stepping under the spray. The water hit her skin like a thousand needles, and she hissed in a breath. She soaped her hair and body quickly, wanting to get rid of the smell of cigarettes and alcohol before heading to a crime scene. While she might not be the most professional of people, even she had her limits. Not to mention Needles had chewed her ass the last time she’d showed up smelling like a bar.
Devlin shut off the water and grabbed a towel off the rack. After wringing the water from her hair, she dried herself briskly and tossed the towel in the hamper. She strolled into the bedroom nude and pulled out a black lace thong. Jerking a pair of low-rise jeans out of the closet, along with her off-the-shoulder black tee, she got dressed in record time. With a minute to spare, she shoved her feet in a pair of black boots with a three-inch heel. After grabbing her purse and keys, she set the alarm and locked up before climbing in her baby and cranking the engine. As the garage door rolled up, she glan
ced in the rearview mirror. She looked a little tired, but not bad considering the time. Not that she really cared how she looked.
All right. She cared a little. While she might have been the one to dump Casey, she also knew he hadn’t wasted time replacing her. She wanted to rub it in his face that she looked good no matter what time it was. Not that she wanted him back, not even if he came crawling. She never took them back. A few rolls in the hay and she was done. Casey was probably her longest relationship at three weeks. Well, steady relationship. There were guys, like Alejandro, that she visited off and on over the years.
She’d never really thought about it before, but she wasn’t much better than a man, at least from what she’d gathered from Parker and one or two of the women at the office, those who didn’t mind a steady relationship. She’d heard complaints that men never stuck around for long, always wanting something newer, younger, flashier. It kind of described her, now that she thought about it. That should probably disturb her, but honestly, she was okay with who she was. She wasn’t Suzy Homemaker, wasn’t looking for her happily-ever-after, but that didn’t make her any less a woman. Yes, she could out drink any man, got into more fights than most people, and didn’t take shit from anyone. She might not have a soft side, but she was still all woman, and God help any man who dare think otherwise.
She backed out of the garage and let the door roll shut before heading for the crime scene. It was on the other side of town, but at this time of night, or rather morning, she knew there wouldn’t be any traffic. Gunning the engine, she zipped down side streets until she was able to enter the interstate. Pushing her baby to the limit, she reached the crime scene within ten minutes.
An ambulance and two cop cars were parked out front of the law office with their lights washing the street in reds and blues. A cop stood guard on the sidewalk. Devlin flashed him her ID on the way into the building. When she reached the second floor, Casey met her in the doorway. She had to admit he looked pretty good for someone with mussed hair, a five o’clock shadow, and dark circles under his eyes.
Not My Shifter/ Sinfully Cursed (Shifter Paradise) (Volume 1) Page 3
