Nick gave him a disappointed look. “Soren…”
“Things have just been a little cold in the bedroom lately. I needed a little something on the side.”
Nick groaned, his respect for his coworker flatlining.
“Hey, the guy who doesn’t believe in relationships doesn’t get to judge me on mine.”
Never mind that people like Soren were exactly the reason Nick feared exclusivity. Poor Rhonda. “So where have you seen this logo before? I can tell if you’re lying, so don’t even try.”
“I went to this club with a girl a few moons ago. It was one of those app hookups. Hot as lightning. Hot as lightning, Nick.”
“Okay. So you went to a club with a hot girl…”
“The girl had that same tattoo.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she tell you what it meant?”
His eyes shifted from side to side. “Uh, no. We drank, we hooked up, and she took off.”
“Well, get her on the line. Ask her now.”
“I, uh, I don’t exactly have her number, okay? We connected the one time and afterward, well, her account is, um, gone. We went to a hotel, so, uh…”
“Jesus, Soren. Are you telling me you have no idea who this girl is or how to get in contact with her?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Fuck.”
“We could try the club again. See if she shows up there.”
Nick brightened. “Yeah. Good idea.”
“Only, it’s hard to get in. Very exclusive. This girl was the only reason they let me through the door. They love beautiful women there.”
Nick straightened. “I can clean up.”
Soren chuckled. “Can you become a woman?”
That was potentially problematic. “Maybe one of the female detectives can do us a solid.”
That idea didn’t seem to excite Soren, but then, he wouldn’t be crazy about explaining how they connected the body to the club. Nobody liked a cheater.
Nick glanced up the stairs. “Hey, I want to ask some questions here, check if anyone saw anything. See if there’s a window overlooking the alley.”
“You want backup?”
“No. I got it.”
With a nod of his head, Soren returned to the crime scene.
Nick had to be losing it. It was a smell. Just a scent. It probably wasn’t even her. But he couldn’t help himself. If it was her and not someone with the same perfume, he couldn’t resist the excuse to speak with her again.
He followed the scent up the stairs and was surprised as hell at what he saw once he got there. At the top, there was a wall of glass with Sunrise House etched into the door. It didn’t take him long to put two and two together. This was some sort of community center, and he’d come in through the back entrance.
Beyond the glass, his eyes caught on dark hair and red lips. Rowan. His heart skipped. She was surrounded by children painting, drawing, and working with clay. This must be some kind of art studio. She was helping them, her smile as brilliant as the sun. He watched her, entranced as she leaned over one girl’s shoulder and pointed at the canvas, then helped another child pour red paint into her tray. Her hands were covered in paint. A particularly vivid red splotch brightened her cheek.
He could have watched her forever. She was like an angel, and the way the kids looked at her… Kids knew a good person when they saw one. There was nothing but love in those kids’ eyes. Everything about the scene brought him back to when he was a kid, when places like this were the only thing keeping him going, when life was dark and seemed otherwise hopeless. A lump formed in his throat.
As if she could hear his thoughts, her gaze flicked up to his and connected through the glass. She knew he was there, watching her. No chickening out now. He opened the door.
“Detective?” The smile faded from her face.
He approached her with as much swagger as he could muster considering the sight of her made his insides turn to Jell-O. “Can I talk to you for a minute? It’s about an investigation.” He pointed his thumb toward the back entrance.
“I haven’t seen a blond man here either,” she said, annoyance crinkling her eyes.
He shook his head. “This is a different case.”
“Two investigations in as many days. It seems I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It will only take a minute.”
She pushed her hair back from her face and smeared the red on her cheek. He reached out but stopped before touching her when she pulled her head away from his hand.
“You have something there. Paint.”
“Oh.” She smiled, and he thought the light from it might burn him. She grabbed a clean rag from a pile on the counter and started dabbing at her cheek. “My office is this way.”
He followed her into a tiny room with a desk that was way smaller than it should be for an adult. She leaned a hip against the front of it and crossed her arms over her chest.
“What can I do for you, detective?”
“Do you work here?”
“I own Sunrise House and act as its director.”
Owned it. Beautiful, smart, and compassionate. He thanked the good Lord for his rib cage or his heart might jump into her arms.
“What time did you come to work today?”
“Around seven. I don’t usually come in that early, but I was helping out with the before-school program. We’re understaffed.”
“When you came into the building, did you come in through the back or the front?”
“My driver dropped me off in the front. What’s this about?”
“Your driver. Did you take an Uber or taxi?”
“Neither. I have a private driver.”
Holy shit. Was she some sort of celebrity? A trust fund baby? He cleared his throat. “And you didn’t go out the back exit between then and now?”
“No.”
“Did any kids mention seeing anything strange out back?”
“No. But they usually come in the front. I unlocked the back door this morning, but I didn’t see anything.”
He nodded. She wasn’t lying, and he doubted she could have seen anything from inside the building anyway. It was the wrong angle, and a construction dumpster was in the way. “Is it okay if I look around the building, ask a few questions?”
She scoffed. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
He gave her his best disarming smile. “Were you here last night?”
“No.”
“Where were you last night?”
“I had a showing at my gallery.” She crossed her arms over her chest. He was on thin ice here. He’d obviously annoyed her.
“You work at a gallery too?”
“I own Zelda’s Folly in Chelsea.” She sighed heavily.
His chin dropped. Jesus, who was this woman? Everything about her intrigued him. She was like a puzzle he needed to solve, and he found his mind dwelling on ways to get closer to her. “I don’t know much about art. I mean, I like art. It’s okay, you know. It’s nice on the walls. You don’t really notice it, you know, in the doctor’s office or whatever. But it’s nice. Better than bare walls.” God, he was the world’s biggest loser right now. Bare walls? He internally groaned. “Thank you for your time, Miss… Rowan. What was your last name? I can’t remember.”
“I didn’t tell you.” She stopped talking, and the silence stretched between them. Silence soaked in orange peels and smoke.
She wasn’t going to tell him her last name, and he didn’t have a reason to require her to. Great. He turned to leave, but an idea, a long shot, made him stop abruptly and pull out his phone.
“One more thing. Since you’re the artsy type, maybe you can tell me if you’ve ever seen this symbol.” He brought up the picture of the dead woman’s wrist. He wouldn’t normally share evidence from a crime scene, but he’d cropped the photo to only expose the logo. On the woman’s pale skin, there was no way to even tell the context of the symbol. He turned the screen in her d
irection.
Then watched all the blood drain from her face.
Chapter Seven
Rowan stared down at the picture on the detective’s phone and tried not to react. The symbol was none other than the logo Adrienne had shown her yesterday for NAVAK. In fact, it was still on her desk, on a sheet of paper halfway under her ass. Her heart beat faster and she forced herself not to glance at the paper that was no doubt sticking out from under her hip. Nick was a detective, and if he was asking her about the symbol, there was likely a good reason, a reason she didn’t care to be associated with.
“Have you seen it before?” he asked again, obviously trying to read her reaction.
“Valor. My name is Rowan Valor.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I have a class to teach. I’ll show you out.”
She stood up and casually flipped the paper over on her desk. She attempted to escort him from her office by taking his arm and gesturing toward the door. Nick didn’t budge. The only thing she managed to do was place her body unreasonably close to him, a result that caused her inner dragon to raise her head.
Only a few inches taller than her, he was nevertheless larger, a man whose arms a woman could get lost in. For a moment she stared at his mouth and the thin white scar that marred his upper lip. It was in the corner. She wondered if the same thing that had chipped his molar had made that scar.
Her dragon shifted under her skin, hot and slick inside her, and she felt her temperature rise. She wanted to kiss that scar. She wanted to close the sliver of space between them and see if he tasted like the spicy sandalwood scent that seemed to follow him everywhere. But Harriet’s warning blared in her head. He was human. This was dangerous. For her own protection, she needed to get him out of here, fast.
As if fate were toying with her, he stepped closer, his suit jacket brushing the tips of her breasts. By the Mountain, did he mean to kiss her? He leaned in, his mouth a luscious temptation within reach. But he tilted at the last second, his hand closing around the paper with the logo on her desk and pulling it out from under her hip. She closed her eyes and swallowed. When she opened them again, his expression had morphed from good-humored flirtation to something far more serious. All the muscles around his mouth tightened, pressing his lips into a flat line.
He stared at the logo with an intensity that wrinkled his forehead.
“That’s confidential!” She grabbed for the paper and ended up wrapping her hand around his.
Rowan was a dragon. She was strong enough to physically force this human man to his knees. But the buzz that coursed through her when their fingers connected almost brought her to hers. The problem was his presence, his overwhelming masculinity. Her dragon wanted to roll over and expose her belly every time she saw him. Her stomach dropped as their eyes met, her hands went cold, and her breath came out in a shaky exhale. She released his hand.
“Okay.” She smoothed the front of her dress and glanced at the toes of her shoes. “I’ve seen the symbol before—only yesterday actually—but I don’t know anything about it.” Even to her own ears, she sounded guilty as hell.
“Explain.” His voice was low and all grit.
“As I told you, I own Sunrise House. I love these kids. This is my passion. I own this building, but the land underneath it is a land lease.”
Nick inhaled through his teeth.
“Yes, I know. Not the smartest investment, but we needed this location. A local church used to own the lease, but they recently sold it to a real estate developer. Based on the guy’s MO, we fully expect he’s trying to have the place rezoned for commercial purposes.”
“Who’s the developer?”
“Gerald Stevenson.”
Nick frowned.
“You know him?”
“Of him. What does he have to do with this symbol?”
“That’s the corporate logo for the corporation who financed the purchase of the land out from under us. Gerald Stevenson was the front man, but my lawyer discovered these guys were behind it. Gerald sent us a letter of eviction. We still have three months until the lease expires, so we have some time, but my lawyer brought this to me because we’re trying to buy the land back and this is all the information we have on the company who owns it.”
He snapped a picture of the page Adrienne had given her, then stared down his nose at her. “Lying to a detective is a very serious infraction.”
He moved closer to her, and she backed up until her ass slapped the desk. She sat on the edge and tipped her head back to maintain eye contact. And oh, her dragon twisted inside her, coiling excitedly at his nearness. What was this? Her entire body tingled.
“I’m sorry I lied to you, but the information on that page is confidential. I wasn’t at liberty to share it with you.”
“Even if it could help an investigation?”
She placed her hands on her hips. “How would I know that? You still haven’t shared a single detail about any crime. Am I a suspect? Are you interrogating me? Did you come in here with a warrant to search my office?”
“No.” His eyes narrowed.
“Then I don’t think I did anything wrong. And I never lied to you. I simply answered your question by saying I couldn’t help you. I can’t. Frankly, it’s a dead end. My lawyer has tried in vain to connect with a director or administrator, anyone he could make an offer for the land. NAVAK is completely anonymous, and Stevenson is intentionally unhelpful. The closest we can get is the bank they funnel their earnings through. That’s the address listed there. He couldn’t find anything else.”
He quirked an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I understand your reservations about sharing this with me. However, I’ve seen this information now. It was in plain sight after all, and you invited me in here.” He gestured toward the desk with a hand that was roughly the size of a bear paw. She wondered if it would feel rough against her skin.
“True,” she said in a soft voice.
“Well, Rowan Valor, I’m afraid there’s only one way I can think of to resolve this situation.”
She inhaled deeply, filling herself with his heady, masculine scent. Her head swam and the tips of her breasts tingled. What was he saying?
Leaning in, she concentrated on his lips. “What’s that?”
“You help me find out who is behind this symbol. I have a lead. Someone has linked this logo to a local establishment. I’d like to check it out, but it would help my cover if I had a date. And maybe, if you’re with me, you’ll get some answers as well.”
For a second she took him in, her eyes exploring the highlights and contours of his face. Was this really happening? Was he offering to help her find these people? “Are you allowed to do that? Bring a civilian in on an investigation like this?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Oh.”
“But I’m allowed to ask you on a date to a very exclusive club where I might or might not be investigating this symbol and you might or might not find out a few things you need to know.”
“Oh.”
“Would you like to go?”
Trap set and sprung. She’d walked right into it. She couldn’t say no now. Despite Harriet’s warnings to stay away from the detective, if she didn’t help him with this after evading him, she’d look even guiltier. She had no idea what he was investigating, but the last thing she needed was for him to turn the spyglass on her or Firebrand. “When?”
“Friday. It’s fancy. I’ve been told I need to clean up.”
She stifled a laugh. She’d like to see that. “I have a dress.”
In fact, she had a closet full of appropriate attire and an oread—a mountain nymph who fed off her magic and in return served her in a domestic capacity—who could make her something new in a matter of hours if she needed it.
“Pick you up at nine?”
“At Zelda’s Folly in Chelsea.” It was safer. She’d be crazy to give a total stranger her home address, even if it was one of many.
She didn’t breathe again until he was out the door.
Chapter Eight
New Orleans, Louisiana
* * *
Tobias stood outside the gates of his brother’s Garden District home, feeling dejected. Everything he and Sabrina had worked for, their entire home and existence, had been deconstructed at vampire speed. All his clothes and things had been packed into boxes and hidden in a secret room behind the men’s bathroom mirror at the Chicago Theatre, a room that hadn’t been used since the days of Al Capone.
For all intents and purposes, everything he had in the world now fit inside the rolling suitcase that had traveled with him from the airport. As instructed, he’d had his taxi drop him off two blocks from the Prytania Street address Gabriel had given him and he’d walked the rest of the way. But when he reached the Garden District home, he checked the address twice and was sure there had been a mistake. This couldn’t be the right place.
The gate was locked. Worse, although he’d texted his brother Gabriel to say he’d arrived, the house beyond loomed dark and abandoned. The yard was overgrown, the screens on the windows covered in a thick layer of grime and rust that stained the peeling paint of the siding with orange streaks. Not only did the house look uncared for, it looked unwelcoming, with no lights on inside any of the windows. The New Orleans humidity settled over him like a hot, wet blanket, and everything in him told him to leave, to seek the welcoming air-conditioning of the nearest restaurant or bar.
“I’m going to touch your hand.”
Tobias jumped at the sound of his sister-in-law’s voice. Although it had seemed as if she’d been whispering in his ear, he couldn’t see her. But then her hand landed on his and everything changed. The yard tidied itself, the grass retracting into the earth until it appeared freshly mowed, the bushes’ gangly branches becoming perfectly sculpted, and the house’s exterior smoothed to a freshly painted, welcoming butter yellow. The gate clicked open.
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