Three different murders. All different methods. Two shifters and a vamp. What did they have in common?
But having a body meant the possibility of answers. Glytr was wrapped up in this somehow but I couldn’t see it.
The office door banged open. Fang entered, carrying Triana’s corpse. So much for keeping his emotional distance.
I stood up, feeling more like myself. “Put her here. Find a tablecloth, or something to cover her with.”
Fang laid her down gently on the couch. He knelt beside her, smoothing her ripped dress.
For fuck’s sake, he might just as well have sex with her and make sure all his DNA was spread over the corpse. Goddess, I missed my fellow death examiners in that instant.
He carefully brushed Triana’s long blonde hair, matted with blood, away from her face. He leaned forward as if to kiss her. He sucked in his breath.
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I heard the blood pounding in my ears.
Fang dropped his hand from Triana’s hair and stood. “Maybe it’s not her.”
Her face was so battered it was unrecognizable, but still her torso looked Triana-like from what I could remember with similar build and height. I sniffed. She smelled . . . decayed but rolled in garbage instead of a personal scent. We needed dental records and fingerprints to make any positive identification.
“It’s her. That’s her favorite dress.” Leon ran his fingers through his hair, making him look more like a lion with his mane. “That’s her wedding ring.”
“Check her pockets,” I said.
The note was in her right pocket. A slip of paper folded once.
“Fang, I killed them. I’m sorry for Glytr. Love, Triana”
That was tidy. Too tidy for me. Everything about this investigation was a cluster fuck and now we had a confession from a corpse.
“That’s her handwriting,” Leon said.
“We need to get her to the morgue,” I said. I was done with guessing games. It was time for science. And real answers.
One of Leon’s henchmen showed up with a clean tarp. Fang carefully wrapped the body. Behind us, Leon paced. If he hadn’t been having the biggest moment of his professional life, I didn’t doubt he would have changed into a wolf and attacked Fang just on general principles.
As it was, Leon was using all his energy to contain his rage. Shifters were such emotional creatures. It was tiring to be around them. Being one must be even worse.
Fang, Ben and I went back downstairs through the main casino rooms on route to the valet lot.
Fang left to pull his truck around to the front, sparing me the cold walk. Then we’d swing around back where we would be picking up not one but two corpses.
“I’m glad we didn’t bring your car after all,” Ben whispered to me while we headed through the casino again. I wanted to assess the guests for anything overly suspicious.
The thought of us plus the corpses piled into my sleek little car, let’s just say it provided a pleasant diverting image from the problems at hand.
However, the atmosphere was completely changed. Now a half dozen female trolls performed burlesque accompanied by quartet jazz. There’s not much in this world that’s new to me but watching trolls burlesque was a first. They were surprisingly graceful and kept great time with the music. Their biggest challenges were the costume strings catching on their body hair when they tried to disrobe.
Between the drinking and catcalls, the majority of the patrons were acting like nothing happened. I could tell the wolf shifters had cleared out—presumably they knew whatever happened it wasn’t for show.
It was curious to me that paranormals flocked to casinos. The artificial setting, with its lack of natural light and personal space was at odds with most paranormals’ desire to be either with their own kind (shifters and witches) or alone (vampires, ghouls, and psychics).
Paranormal mixing was a tricky business with long histories of dispute. Yet here these supernaturals were willing to set aside all the differences that usually bothered them for some time with the slot machine or a glance at troll tits.
It seemed very strange to me although I suppose a vampire who preferred working in the morgue was rather difficult for others to understand.
I wandered through the slot machines gallery on my way to the exit. The patrons sweet-talked or cursed the machines but they didn’t notice anything else around them.
Fang was waiting for us out front in the truck. I could see him through the large glass door.
I admired Leon’s planning for the casino to have only one public entrance/exit to cut down on theft and crowd controls. The security demons patted me down, but I wasn’t their object of interest. They hadn’t agreed on how the night’s tips would be shared beforehand and now things were getting heated. Leon might need a security team to handle his security team.
Fang was blasting the heat when me, Ben and Mr. Figgles climbed in but with this cold, any warmth from this old heater would be more of a gesture.
“You ok?” I asked quietly.
Nowhere was racking up a body count since I arrived. He wasn’t saying much but I knew he must be suffering.
“Fine.”
So much for the heart to heart.
We drove around back to the service entrance. It was utilitarian with a back stoop for kitchen staff to smoke on break and a set of dumpsters placed farther back.
We got out of the vehicle but left it running. Ben and Mr. Figgles got out. I folded the back seats down. Fang carried out Triana’s corpse. Backlit by the service doorway, Ben and Leon watched as Fang loaded the corpse carefully. Leon’s shoulders were tense whereas Ben looked pleased to be standing that close to Leon.
Loading Junior took a bit more strategy.
Eventually, an enormous cardboard box that housed a commercial refrigerator was wheeled through the back door.
We transferred Junior from the box to the truck away from the kitchen lights.
Since we’d be heading straight to the morgue with the corpse, there’d be no room for Ben and Mr. Figgles. Not surprisingly, Ben lobbied to stay behind but I was only grudgingly comfortable allowing that since Leon vouched for his safety. Leon would have promised me the moon if he thought I’d get those corpses out of his casino quicker.
I reasoned Ben would be safer in Leon’s care for the next twelve hours. He was as good as silver chains, maybe better with a strong pack around him.
We pulled away from the casino.
The dark night stretched before us. I was never so glad to say goodbye to artificial light.
“Something bothers me.” Fang stared at the road ahead. “Triana never called me Fang. It was always Caleb.”
“Obviously, she was distraught.”
He nodded.
But still. Anything out of character was a clue.
There wasn’t enough time to start an autopsy tonight. I’d wait until tomorrow night. As we approached the town, I rubbed my hands together in anticipation at the thought of figuring out what the hell happened to her.
“Still cold?” Fang asked, glancing at me. He’d taken my excitement for evidence as proof of my poor thermoregulation.
I was spared having to answer by Dr. Wendy flagging us down by the road. I swallowed my dislike. She’d given me no reason to hate her other than mooning over Fang.
It was more likely my dislike was inbred. Witches had a history of treating humans and other paranormals before it even occurred to vamps we could be doing some good. Vampires didn’t like to remember that.
Unfortunately for the witches, when the vampires decided to enter medicine they did so with precision. The witches were however less organized. Prejudice still existed within the paranormal medical community against them. Whereas a vampire physician was universally greeted with respect, a wiccan physician’s welcome was less secured.
I wasn’t a fan of “witch doctors” as the vamp MDs referred to them. Our chief complaint was that we often found them flakey.
Taking now for example. Dr. Wendy was flagging us down wearing a billowing nightgown that I’d last seen in the 19th century. How did I know this was a nightgown? Because she wore it outside to meet us at the car. She’d slid worn cowboy boots on and pulled a woolen shawl around her shoulders. Her dark curls billowed around her head like a halo.
Fang put the truck in park. “Wait here.”
I was more than happy to sit in the vehicle with meager heat rather than make small talk with Wendy. A little of the good doctor went a long way. I held my hands over the heater vent and tried to ignore the odors from the back seat.
Now that I wasn’t in crisis about Fang, I evaluated Wendy more objectively. She was probably in her mid-thirties, though hard to tell with witches. Generally they didn’t show their age. Her skin had the healthy sheen of those who get exposed to the sun. Her coloring suggested her ancestry was Latina or Native American.
She smoothed her tangled hair back in the biting wind with one hand, clutching the shawl closed with the other.
Fang shifted his stance to block her from the elements.
He deserved someone relatively uncomplicated like this woman who shared his passion for helping others. Instead he was dragged down with Triana.
And to a certain extent, me.
I couldn’t give him anything.
With her, he could have a family. A real life.
This witch liked him. I could tell.
Fang gestured toward the car. She nodded and fell in step beside him.
Fuck no. He was bringing her to the vehicle. Why would he do that? We already had a full load. There was no reason for us to chat.
I composed my face muscles to something approximating a smile. Or a grimace. Sometimes I have trouble keeping those two straight.
Fang opened his door.
He leaned down enough to meet my eyes. His nonverbal message was loud and clear, “play nice.” I looked away first. “Silverthorne, scoot over.”
15
“Evening, Silverthorne.” Wendy opened the passenger door while I slid over to the middle of the bench seat.
“Hi, Wendy, want in on some autopsies?” I asked with forced cheerfulness.
I willed her to say no. This was for Fang’s benefit that I asked.
If she said yes, I’d have to claw her eyes out.
She smiled, revealing a normal set of teeth minus fangs. “No thanks. I’m busy enough dealing with the living. I’ve got another delivery and my car won’t start.”
Her magic didn’t work on inanimate objects? Bummer.
“We’re giving Wendy a ride to the clinic. There’s a vehicle she can use there,” Fang said.
“You guys should certainly tap Leon for some of that casino money to update your transportation,” I said, pulling at my short skirt.
Wendy’s eyes had widened at my outfit. They hadn’t returned to normal size yet.
“It was a costume party,” I offered.
“I see,” she said.
Thankfully Fang turned on the radio at this point. It was all static, but I never heard such a beautiful sound.
Eventually we pulled up in front of the clinic.
Wendy exited on my side.
“Thanks Fang. You’re the best.” Wendy flashed him a dimpled smile. “Good to see you, Dr. Silverthorne.”
She waved us off then trudged back up the clinic steps with the wind whipping her nightgown around her shapely legs.
We drove round back but not before Fang checked the rearview mirror to make sure Wendy was safely back inside.
“She seems nice.”
What was I saying? Maybe I was possessed.
Fang brightened. “Isn’t she? I know you aren’t generally a fan of non-vampire physicians but I thought you’d like Wendy.”
I didn’t reply as I’d already said too much plus I was itching to get to my morgue. “I’ll bring a gurney to the back door,” I said.
There. Much better to focus on the tasks at hand.
Inside we loaded the corpses into the refrigeration unit without any drama.
As we left the morgue I glanced back wistfully at the dark and damned my condition, which didn’t allow me to work during the daylight.
Back in the vehicle on the way to the motel, I wondered at the eventful night. We still had a little more than an hour before dawn. “Thanks for the ride. I can’t wait to get out of this costume.”
“I don’t know,” Fang said, giving me a tired smile as he pulled into the parking lot. “It’s growing on me.”
“Too bad, because you’ll never see it again. I’m going to burn it so no one is ever subjected to it again.” I left the vehicle.
Stepping inside the motel apartment without Ben or Mr. Figgles to greet me felt oddly empty. We crossed through the empty office to the back rooms. Fang closed the private apartment door, pausing to crank up the radiator.
“I’m going to get a shower. Will you make sure Ben gets home ok?”
“Can we talk for a minute first?” Fang stood waiting by the radiator.
Shifters.
Always with the talking.
For a species that spent a fair amount of time on four legs they were really chatty.
But after tonight I owed him a bit of listening time. After all, we’d most likely found his dead wife hanging from the ceiling.
“I’m getting this contraption off first,” I said.
“Go head.” Fang removed his hat, holding it his hands. His fingers worried the brim.
I headed into the bedroom. There it dawned on me that Ben had dressed me. I had no fucking idea how to get his thing off. I unzipped my boot, but it got stuck in my stocking above my knee.
“Can you come here and give me a hand with my boots?”
Fang appeared in the doorway.
I pulled at it but bending over with the bustier top on was not easy.
“Sit.” Fang knelt before me on the bed. “Let me do it.” He slid his fingers inside the boot where it was stuck.
I gasped.
“Sorry.” Fang glanced up at me. “Cold hands.”
I nodded, afraid to speak.
Holy fuck. His fingers in contact with my thigh felt freaking amazing. Heat radiated into the rest of my body.
I leaned back against my hands on the bed. My fingers dug into the polyester bedspread to distract me. “I’m going to kill Ben for this.”
Fang worked on my zipper, finally getting it free. He unzipped it. “That stocking is ruined.” One hand operated the zipper, the other ran along the outside of my boot.
My eyelids fluttered, trying not to pass out from the pleasure.
“I can do the other one.” I opened my eyes.
“Let me.”
Fang was studying my face as he removed the boot and stocking. He ran both his hands up my bare leg. “You’re cold.”
His pupils dilated, leaving just a slight ring of green.
“I’ll do the other. You just lie back,” he said.
Staying upright on this bed was much more difficult than I imagined. I reclined on my elbows then gave up as Fang’s fingers found the top of the zipper on my other boot.
This one wasn’t stuck but he took his time removing it.
How I could be having this reaction after all this time? Sure we had a scorching fling a decade ago. And yes, I had more feelings for Fang than a vamp had a right to have. But how could it be possible that the passion between us was as strong or even stronger than before?
That would be too cruel.
I sank my back on the bed, boneless. A golden heat flushed up my spine.
The mattress depressed when he joined me on the bed.
I opened an eye.
Fang rested on his propped elbow. “Hattie, can we talk now?”
I nodded. I was such a sucker when he called me Hattie. If he wanted to talk, fine, but that was the last thing on my mind. I doubted I could form a coherent verbal sentence.
“Here,” he said, rolling me over on my side. “You
’re still cold. Let me keep you warm.”
That felt delicious. I could spend a lifetime lying here like this. If only that damned sun wasn’t rising soon to end my life.
If I had the energy to sigh, I would have but I didn’t want to distract from his touch.
Not only did this shifter want to talk, he wanted to spoon too.
I know vampires have a reputation for being shallow but what was wrong with a good old-fashioned fuck?
And then there was that whole prohibition against relationships between vampires and other paranormals.
Fang smoothed my braids. I wished he’d give up the talking part, but it did feel good to have his warm body pressed against mine.
I wiggled back closer to him.
His cock stirred to attention.
Fang stilled me with a hand on my waist. “Stop,” His hand landed on my bare skin because thanks to this costume there was hardly more leather on this thing than the width of his hand.
He settled on a strip of leather across my lower abdomen.
We lay there quietly, listening to the wind rattle the windows.
Fang smelled my hair but didn’t speak.
I moved his hand down between my legs.
He started to roll away from me. “I can’t.”
“You don’t want to?”
“You know that’s not true.” He spoke softly.
“Would you rather I ask Ben? Or maybe Leon?”
Fang growled. His arms tightened around me. “Don’t tease.”
My lack of feeding and my lack of sex was all catching up to me. I wanted it all.
“Forget it.” I started to move. I didn’t beg people to fuck me—I was a vampire.
Fang eased me back on the bed. He stood up, unbuckling his belt. He pulled it so fast out of the belt loops that it snapped.
I smirked.
Finally! He was getting the idea.
He leaned over me. His heat was once again tantalizingly close. I wanted more.
“Tell me if this is too tight.” Fang bound my hands with his belt and then secured them to the headboard.
I raised my eyebrows, pulling at the bond. “You want me to rip the bed apart?”
Fang’s smile was rueful. “Try to get in the spirit of things without going that far. Ben will charge you for damages.”
The Undead Detective Bites Page 14
