by Elle James
“This is not going to be the norm.” I didn’t want him to get used to touching me. Since Chicago, I’d become wary of letting anyone lay so much as a finger on me. I tended to lash out instinctively whenever a man got within arm’s length, as the guy from the station with the imprint of the concrete floor on his face could attest. So why wasn’t I pulling away? How could it be that I was actually relaxing under the skillful pressure of his hands?
“Understood.” His fingers kneaded up my neck to the base of my skull and downward to the middle of my waist and lower.
God, it felt good. Too damned good. “What did Detective Thomas mean by you being a member of the paranorm community?”
Blaise’s thumbs dug into the base of my spine, just above the swell of my ass, dispelling the ache that had grown there since I’d pulled myself from beneath my earlier attacker.
“I’m currently the only member of the PIT crew—that’s the acronym for the Paranormal Investigative Team—who is a living, breathing paranorm. However, I am actively recruiting others to join.”
The warmth that he generated with just a touch suddenly froze and an ominous chill slid up my spine, spreading fingers of ice to my extremities. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a demon.”
Chapter Two
What do you say to something like that? I had no idea. So for the first time—in my life, maybe—I just kept my mouth shut and listened…while standing way the hell on the other side of the room from Blaise.
For the rest of the dark morning hours, I stayed mostly silent while Blaise more or less performed a core dump of information on me. My mind spun with images of what he swore was out on the streets of New York City and everywhere else in the world.
Werewolves, werecats, vampires, demons, witches, zombies and more. Seriously? And the token demon of our PIT crew expected me to sleep like a baby? I wanted to lock my doors and wear garlic by the time he finally left me alone. I could see why the mayor went on the assumption that ignorance was bliss. Every man, woman and child would be terrified of their shadow if they only knew what walked the streets. I considered myself as tough and level-headed as anyone I knew, and yet when I fell into bed after Blaise left, I had the totally irrational hope that I’d go to sleep and wake up to find that it had all been a bad dream.
No such luck.
After a three-hour failed attempt at sleep, I gave up, threw on a pair of jeans, my leather boots and a Rolling Stones T-shirt and headed to the Fifth Precinct station. Transferred or not, it was the only place I knew to go—and if I could put in a request for a new partner while I was there, then that would just be a bonus, wouldn’t it?
As soon as I stepped out of my building onto the sidewalk a gust of wind lifted the scarf around my neck. I zipped my leather jacket and turned in the direction of the station, running into the solid, muscular chest of Blaise Michaels.
“There you are, Katya. I wondered how long it would take for you to come out to play.”
The deep, blood-stirring tone made my blood tingle, warming me instantly. “What are you, a stalker demon or something?” I stepped down off the curb and raced across the street, dodging traffic.
The demon had no problem matching my pace. Damn.
“Just doing my job and sticking close, partner.” I don’t know how he did it, but he made that last word sound completely obscene. It distracted me so much that my foot caught on the curb and I pitched forward.
Blaise’s hand snaked out to capture me, hauling me against his chest, safely out of the way of one of NYC’s kamikaze yellow cabs. The driver honked and shook his fist as if I’d attempted to commit suicide by taxi just to annoy him.
The moment my chest slammed into Blaise’s solid wall of muscles, my breath left my lungs and a cloud of confusing emotions fogged my normally clear thinking. “What the hell are you doing?” I cursed my voice for sounding so breathless.
“Saving your life.”
The rumble of his chest vibrated through me, sending tingles throughout my body. What was wrong with me?
“Unlike demons,” he continued, “you humans are not immortal. Taxis tend to make hamburger out of you.”
I turned until my gaze caught his. “And not demons?”
He grinned. “We’re immortal.”
I wanted to resist asking him questions just to avoid seeing him look so unbearably smug about my curiosity, but I had so much to learn. As I walked toward the station, I found myself staring at every individual passing by. Could that woman with the pink beret be a fashion-reject werecat? Or was the man with the Armani suit another demon like my soon-to-be-ex-partner?
“No, the woman is a human, and the man is a human corporate executive, not a demon.” Blaise chuckled. “And I’m not going to be an ex-partner until this case is closed.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. A man behind me slammed into my back, cursing before he moved around me. “Now, I know I didn’t say anything out loud about that woman or that man. How did you know what I was thinking?” My eyes narrowed. “Oh, please, don’t tell me you that you can read my mind?”
He shrugged in that way that was becoming exceedingly annoying. “Then I won’t tell you.” Blaise held out his arm for me to take. “Shall we?”
I ignored it and him, and continued toward the precinct, trying everything in my power to block my thoughts, or clear my mind of all the nasty, sexy feelings I’d had toward Blaise since we’d met.
The demon leaned close and spoke into my head without a word passing through his lips. By the way, I find myself strangely attracted to you, as well, even though humans usually bore me.
I thought about telling him off, but one look was enough to make it clear it wouldn’t do any good. Attempting to ignore him instead, I marched off, hoping to leave the demon in my dust.
He hung on like stink on dung all the way to the station.
Twenty minutes later I was back out on the street, sporting a new badge and a weapon, loaded with silver bullets, resting against my ribs in a shoulder holster. My blood pressure had hit the sky and my hands shook with anger. No manner of arguing would change the game. I was stuck with the demon.
“Yes, my dear, you are stuck with me. Now, can we get down to the business of finding the man behind the reanimation?”
After counting to three, then ten, then twenty, I realized I’d have to solve this case to get a new partner. Maybe by then the workload of the PIT crew would have slackened and I could be switched to someone new.
“Fine,” I said. “Where do you suggest we start?”
Blaise hooked my arm and led me to the curb where he hailed a taxi. “I’ve already gathered the information about the other two zombies that were found over the past week. All three were human men recently deceased.”
“Where did they come from?” The wind chose that moment to kick up and send a cool blast down the back of my neck. Or at least that’s what I told myself as a shiver rippled across my skin.
“Three separate morgues.” A taxi slid up to the curb and Blaise opened the door for me.
I climbed in and slid across, making room for my…partner. “Go on.”
“Each body was supposedly taken to a local crematorium for disposal.”
I bit down on my bottom lip and stared out at the buildings as we slid by at the stop-and-go pace of a NYC cab. “Let me guess, they weren’t cremated?”
“You tell me. The guy who attacked you was on record as being cremated two days ago.”
“Anyone talk to the people running the crematorium?” I darted a glance at Blaise.
He nodded. “I called. The man who signed for the bodies hasn’t shown up for work in two days.”
“Did you get a name?” I frowned. “How about an address?”
“That’s my girl.” Blaise smiled, but the words sent a cold chill through me—and not the good kind. Guys flirting with me was pretty common. Annoying, but common. When they got possessive, though…bad things happened. He seemed to pick up on my change i
n mood, and his tone was all business when he spoke again. “That’s where we’re headed. The owner wouldn’t give me any information over the telephone.”
“Let’s get something straight,” I blurted out. “I’m not your girl. I’m a cop…or an investigator, now. You’ll respect that, or I’ll have you brought up on charges of sexual harassment, and…and Thomas will fire your ass.”
He gave me a long, considering look, and I thought as loudly as I could about the weird music the cab driver was listening to. If Blaise didn’t know what had happened to me in Chicago, I certainly wasn’t going to let him find out by eavesdropping in my head.
“Hardly,” he said at last. “I don’t work for him.”
I frowned. “I thought you were a member of the PIT crew.”
“On my own terms. I assist with investigations when I feel it’s necessary. As one of the paranorms—as the good detective likes to call us—I’m concerned when our existence is threatened.”
“And these zombies are threatening your existence?”
“Most of us just want to blend in, live in peace and be left alone. When someone steps out of line, I help clean up the mess. Either as part of the PIT crew, or on my own.”
I snorted. “Very noble.”
“Simple self-preservation.”
“I thought you were immortal.”
“Demons live forever if left alone. But there are ways to kill a demon.”
Good to know.
The taxi slid to a stop in front of a sign for the Murray Crematorium.
“Remind me to ask about those ways to kill a demon.” I slid out my side and stepped up on the curb.
Blaise chuckled as he joined me. “I’m not convinced that would be such a good idea for me.”
“Damn right.” I pushed through the open door into the softly lit entrance painted in light gray and mauve, soothing colors for those contemplating toasting a loved one.
But there was nothing soothing about this location for someone with a nose like mine. More so, I hated the smell of dead people, and the place practically reeked of death.
A man in a—you guessed it—gray suit stepped out of an office, his fingers steepled, a slippery smile on his face. Not too much, not too little, but just enough of a smile to reassure a would-be customer.
Creepy.
“May I help you?” he inquired.
“Are you the owner?” I asked.
He nodded like the butler on the Addams Family. Seriously chill-worthy.
I flipped my badge open. “We’re with the NYC police department, investigating the apparent theft of three bodies from your premises.”
The man’s plastered-on, fake smile dipped into a ghoulish frown and he glanced behind us as if afraid someone might come through the front door and overhear us. “Please, step into my office.”
I did and turned to face him immediately. Blaise followed the man, effectively trapping him between the two of us.
“As I told the detective on the telephone earlier—” the owner started.
Blaise raised a finger. “That would be me.”
“—I was out of town those days. Marcus Dunham was the employee in charge of receiving and processing the remains of the three gentlemen. He hasn’t shown up for work in the past two days and he’s not answering his telephone at home. I didn’t know he’d…misplaced…the clients until the call this morning. I’ve gone over and over the paperwork and it’s all in order. I don’t know what could have happened.”
“Have you conducted a complete inventory of…clients?” I asked. “Are there any more missing than the original three?”
“We don’t make it a habit to keep our clients any longer than necessary.” The man straightened, his back stiff, his chin tipping upward until I could see the hairs in his nostrils. Ick. Not a pretty sight. “We run a dignified establishment. This is the first and only time such a travesty has occurred, I assure you.”
I was inclined to believe him. It was clear he took pride in the business, and wouldn’t want anything to damage the company’s reputation—like word getting out that a dead body in his care went on a rampage. “We’re going to need the name and address of the employee who accepted and redirected the bodies. Also, are there any video cameras?”
The man blinked. “Why would we need cameras? Most of our clients aren’t in the habit of walking out of here. But I will get you that address.” He strode to a mahogany file cabinet in the corner of the office and opened the bottom drawer, selecting a file from within. He jotted a name and address on a notepad, ripped off the top sheet and handed it to me. “Do I need to go to the police station to file missing persons reports on the clients that were stolen from here?”
“I suggest you do that.” Now that I had what I needed, there was no point in sticking around. The place smelled of death and ash, cleverly, if not completely, disguised by a rose-scented candle burning on the man’s desk. “They will want a statement and any other information you might have.”
Blaise followed me out the door.
Once outside, I inhaled deeply, sucking in the polluted air of New York as if it was the nectar of the gods. The stench of death clung to my leather jacket, even as we hurried to the curb to hail a taxi.
The employee who’d stolen or sold the bodies lived in Brooklyn, a short taxi ride away. As I lifted a hand to wave down a taxi, I brushed against a teenager who smelled distinctly of dog.
“Werewolf,” Blaise confirmed.
I spun to check out the young man who wore jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt, plugged into an MP3 player, like any other teenaged human. “Really?”
The teen glanced my way. When he noticed I was watching him, he glared and turned his back to me, hurrying away.
“Anyone tell you it isn’t nice to stare?” Demon partner hooked my elbow and dragged me around to face the street. “It’s not as though he’ll change in public.”
Heat blossomed in my cheeks, and I forced myself to look away from where the teen had blended into the foot traffic on the sidewalk. “I can’t help it. This is crazy. You mean, all the years I thought my nose was playing tricks on me, it was right on the money?”
Blaise’s brows drew together. “How long have you been aware of your extra-sensitive sniffer?”
I shrugged. “My mother always said I liked to sniff my blankets when I was a baby. I could tell which one was my favorite, even half asleep and with my eyes closed. Why?”
“Are you sure you don’t have were-blood in you? You’re not a demon with special powers or anything?”
I snorted. “Hell, no.” I stopped. At least, I didn’t think I was.
“Were you born in Chicago? There are plenty of paranorms there, as you probably already suspected. Can you trace your lineage back on both your mother’s and father’s sides?”
My back stiffened. I didn’t like talking about my father. What had he ever done for me or my mother? “I don’t have a father.”
“What do you mean?” Tall, dark and demon leaned casually against the back of the seat, but I could sense when he’d tensed.
“He was a jerk. He left my mother when my brother was born. Not that it’s any of your business.” I turned away from him, in the opposite direction of the werewolf teen. Even after all the years of being alone, the pain I felt over my father’s desertion left me cold. The blow had been an especially tough one for my mother. She’d had to struggle to support me and my baby brother, working long, hard hours, barely able to afford a babysitter much less put food on the table.
The heartache of my father’s desertion paled in comparison to my little brother’s disappearance when he was only five years old. There in the playground one moment, gone the next. My mother never got over his loss. I’d been twelve at the time. Mom had hung on long enough to see me graduate from high school before she passed away. I attributed everything wrong in her life to poor living conditions and a broken heart. If my father had been half a man, he’d have stuck around and helped her. But maybe my ideas ab
out what a man should be were totally off base. Lord knows I’d never found one that lived up to my ideal.
“This is our stop,” Blaise announced as the taxi slid up against the curb.
The building looked like all the others. A nondescript terracotta brick with unimaginative windows and concrete steps leading up to a locked glass door. I tested the door; the lock held firm.
A curtain in the first-floor window moved to the side and a middle-aged lady with frizzy hair peered out.
I waved and motioned for her to come unlock the door.
She shook her head and yanked the curtain over the window.
The next time she peered out, I had my badge out and ready. When she dropped the curtain back in place, I waited.
The woman emerged from her apartment into the building’s hallway, frowning heavily. “What do you want?” she asked through the glass door, without opening it.
“We’re looking for Marcus Dunham.”
“He’s not here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I’m not his keeper.” She turned to go back into her apartment.
“Ma’am, any information will help.” Blaise stepped up to the window. “We only have a few questions for him.”
The woman stared at Blaise through narrowed eyes, moved closer to the glass and then smiled at the handsome demon, batting her eyelids. “Now, if I was a betting woman, I’d bet he’d show up here around eight o’clock tonight.”
“Why’s that?” Blaise spoke softly, that deep, sultry, all-male tone wrapping itself around my core and squeezing tight. Wow, he really had a way of mesmerizing with words and a look.
Apparently it was having the same effect on the lady, because she tipped her chin and looked up at Blaise from beneath her lowered eyelids. “The girl in apartment eight cooks dinner for him about that time every night.” She reached for the door handle. “I could show you where she lives—and Marcus, too—if want to come in.”
