Graveyard Shift

by Jenn Burke

  But if she was responsible for murdering Hannah, that took away her motivation to murder Gareth, and the emotion that had rung in her voice when she spoke of her rage against him... I don’t think that was faked.

  “And Hannah’s death?”

  The man paused. “There were rumors that she and Hannah were having an affair, but Hannah wouldn’t leave Gareth for her.”

  I cast a glance at Lexi. “These rumors are why you think she killed Hannah?”

  Lexi wrinkled her nose, her thoughts obviously falling along the same lines as mine. That was pretty shoddy evidence.

  “The police investigation turned up nothing else.”

  It wouldn’t, if the cops were corrupt, as Priya said. So the question became, who did I believe? Hudson’s niece, or this stranger on a phone line?

  Actually, the question was: Could I live with a demon having access to the man I loved?

  Lexi nudged my arm and when I looked up, nodded encouragingly.

  Protecting Hudson, even from himself. That was what mattered.

  “I can get her to you,” I said.

  “I’m very glad to hear that. When and where shall we meet?”

  “Alleys. The parking lot where your men accosted me. Saturday at 10:00 p.m.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “One last thing—who am I speaking with?”

  “You may call me Kurt.”

  “All right. I’ll be in touch if anything changes.” I disconnected and thrust the phone back at Lexi. “You’re going to need to help me out with this.”

  “I will.”

  “And you’ll back me up when Hudson flips out?”

  “He’ll see it’s right. Eventually.”

  “Ha, yeah. Eventually,” I drawled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When we emerged from the office, Priya was scowling at a box of hair dye. She spotted us and held it up. “Really?” she asked Lexi.

  I literally felt Lexi’s hackles go up. “What?”

  “You think this is all it’s going to take to hide him in plain sight?”

  “That’s usually what I do,” I said, but Priya’s eyes were locked on Lexi. “Change my hair color and get really good at saying ‘No, man, I’m Wes’s cousin.’”

  Priya shook the box and its contents rattled. “That’s a bloody rubbish plan. You can’t just pop up looking like Wes Cooper with dark hair—especially not when your body’s gone missing from the morgue.”

  “I’ve done this a few times, you know.”

  “But not like this, I reckon.” She tilted her head. “Or do you often stage a violent, sudden and very public death for yourself when you need to ditch an identity?”

  Okay...she had a point. “What are you thinking?”

  “New hair color, yes, but also a new style. New look, new clothes, new car.”

  “I like my car!” My little Toyota was comfortable and reliable, and shopping for a new one always sucked since the salesperson usually assumed I was a wet-behind-the-ears first-time buyer.

  Iskander, leaning back in his chair, nodded, then got to his feet. “I can take care of the car.”

  “Get me something similar to—”

  “Nope,” Priya cut me off. “Get the opposite of what he was driving before.”

  Shit, this was not going to be good.

  Isk gave me a mock salute. He looked much better than he had before the Halloween party, and I wondered if that was due to time passing or Evan’s tender loving care. Probably both, come to think of it. “I’ve got it under control.”

  Priya turned to Evan. “You’re about his size, aren’t you?”

  Evan stood, displaying that he had a couple of inches on me. “My clothes aren’t exactly different from his. Polos and jeans for work, T-shirts and jeans for not-work.”

  “That’s not much of a style. Why don’t you and Lexi—”

  Lexi held up a hand. “Not on your fucking life. I’m not leaving you alone here with Wes.”

  I put a hand on her arm. “Lex, I’m—”

  “No,” she said, staring at Priya. “It’s not happening.”

  A corner of Priya’s lip twitched. “You know Hudson’s upstairs, right?”

  But Lexi had her “don’t fuck with me” expression on. She’d dug in her heels, and there was no swaying her once that happened.

  “She stays,” I said.

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Sam offered. “I know exactly what to get you, Wes.”

  Oh, crap.

  A few minutes later, Evan and Sam were out the door with one of Lexi’s credit cards and the order to find me a whole new wardrobe—something up to date and fashionable. I hoped he’d go somewhere that had salespeople that doubled as fashion consultants, or else god knew what Sam would convince him to buy.

  That left me alone with two less-than-congenial women.

  We set up in one of the guest bedrooms that had its own attached bathroom, so we wouldn’t wake Hudson. I sat on the bed while Priya dug through a bag she’d retrieved from the apartment over the garage. Lexi watched her every move with distrustful eyes.

  Priya let out a crow of triumph and held up a box of hair dye, this one a bright copper red. “This is a much better choice than brown.”

  “How so?” Lexi demanded defensively.

  “To start, that’s about the worst shade you could have chosen for him. Ash brown is going to look atrocious. He’s got nice warm undertones to his skin, yeah? Golden brown would have been a better choice.”

  “Well, forgive me for not spending a huge amount of time on choosing the exact right—”

  I squeezed Lexi’s shoulder to interrupt her rant. “Red will make me stand out more.”

  Priya pointed a finger at me. “Exactly. We want your hair to be what people notice, not your face, since we can’t change your features.”

  “Is that why the...” I gestured at the undercut on one side of her head.

  “Rightly so. I probably should have cut it all off, but...” She shrugged. “A girl has to have some vanity, yeah?”

  “All right, let’s do it.”

  An hour later, I was a redhead. It looked...weird. I was so used to seeing myself with my dark blond hair that the red tone was really throwing me. It looked like dark auburn, since it was wet, but Priya assured me it would dry to a bright, eye-catching red.

  “Do you trust me?” Priya asked.

  Well, that was an easy question. “No.”

  She sighed and held up a pair of clippers. “Do you trust me to cut your hair?”

  “Oh.” I doubted she’d shave it all off after spending the time to dye it, so... “Sure.”

  “Cheers,” she said with a smile, and attacked my hair.

  It didn’t take long. My hair was thick, but I kept it short on the sides and the back. When Priya was done, though, it was much shorter...as in, shaved down to stubble. The top still had some length to it, though she’d done something with a pair of shears to make it choppy and edgy. I had a very defined part now, and I suspected that if I had the right product, I could probably make it as smooth and styled as Iskander’s pompadour. But I kind of liked the shaggier look that greeted me in the mirror.

  “What do you think?”

  I turned my head this way and that, checking it out, and finally nodded. “I like it.”

  “When your beard starts coming in—”

  Lexi, who’d been leaning against the door, glowering but otherwise silent, straightened. “I can help with that.” She stepped up to my side, expecting Priya to get out of the way—which she did—and lifted a hand to hover next to my cheek. “Ready?”

  “What are you—”

  Before I could finish, Lexi placed her fingers on my skin and my face started to itch.
Like, face-first encounter with poison ivy itch. I went to claw at my cheeks, but Lexi grabbed my hands. “It’ll pass. I promise.”

  “What the hell did you do?” No sooner had I uttered the words than the itch died off. Lexi released my hands and I lifted them to my cheeks—to find a fully grown beard. I whipped around to look in the mirror, stunned.

  “I was pretty sure that would work,” Lexi said triumphantly.

  “Only pretty sure?” I caught the look of disbelief Priya shot Lexi in the mirror, but I was too fascinated with my beard—my freaking beard!—to pay much attention.

  “Wow.” I scraped my fingernails through the surprisingly brown bristles. I’d never tried to grow a beard on purpose. There had been plenty of times I’d gone without shaving, but my stubble came in light and patchy so I always got rid of it as soon as I could. But this? This was like I’d taken beard Viagra. It was full, but not hipster-long—and for the first time in my not-life, I looked older than my early twenties. “This is fucking awesome. Why didn’t we do this before?”

  “You never asked.”

  “You look great,” Priya said. “I’ll trim it up a little and you’ll be all set.”

  “Is the color okay?” I asked, stroking my mustache. “Should we dye it too?”

  “I think it’s fine,” Lexi said. “It doesn’t matter these days if the curtains match the drapes.”

  Priya grunted. “That’s kind of a rude saying, innit?”

  “True, though. Gods, you look different.”

  “Yeah?” I said, turning to face her. “Mission accomplished?”

  Priya held up a hand. “We’ll call it when Evan gets back with the clothes.”

  Right. Clothes.

  I hoped after all this was done, Hudson still saw me as his Wes.

  * * *

  The Fox and Pheasant Country Club in Richmond Hill was as old-school and posh as the name suggested. Hudson kept glancing over at me as we drove. He’d made his appreciation for my new look clear, but it still made me feel self-conscious. I couldn’t see my red hair but I could feel how it stood up, artfully mussed and much more stylish than I was used to. My fingers kept stroking my beard—I had to admit, that was the one thing I truly liked about my new appearance.

  But then there were the clothes.

  I don’t know if it was Evan’s idea, or Sam’s, or some random salesperson who steamrolled them, but my new wardrobe was about as far away from the old Wes as I could get without wearing a kilt. The pants they’d chosen for me were uniformly skinny and colorful—only one pair of dark-washed jeans in the bunch. The rest were camel brown, burgundy, sky blue, navy blue, and so on. The shirts—all button-down—sported bold patterns I would never have chosen, and there were a couple of tweed vests and jackets to complete the outfits. Plus a pair of thick-rimmed glasses—very Clark Kent. The final package was somewhere between hipster and small-business owner, and there was no way anyone would look at me and think, “Hey, that’s Wes Cooper.” So, mission accomplished. It was fashionable. It looked good. But damn it, I missed my comfortable jeans and gently colored sweaters.

  My self-consciousness didn’t abate as the loud rumble of Hudson’s monster car turned people’s heads. I cringed at the looks we were getting. In this milieu I felt unrefined and more than a little out of place. This was a sanctuary for rich people, as evidenced by the umpteen high-end Beamers, Benzes, Teslas and Jags in the parking lot, covered by a light dusting of snow. Hud and I might have a house in one of the nicest areas of town, but I never thought of myself as rich, and certainly not the type that would frequent a club like this.

  Though, I had to say, in my outfit of camel-brown skinny pants, white shirt with burnt-orange polka dots, brown tweed vest and saddle-brown leather boots, I looked more the part of high-end socialite than ever before.

  I started for the main building, only to pause as I realized Hudson hadn’t moved away from the car. “You coming?”

  I could have sworn he muttered something like “Almost,” before clearing his throat. “Yeah. Just, uh. You look good.” His cheeks seemed a little darker than usual as he turned his face upward to let snow fall on it.

  I appreciated the compliment, but it also made me feel a little squirmy inside. This new look hadn’t settled on me comfortably yet, and I couldn’t help but feel like Taggart Westerson made Wes Cooper pale in comparison. And how wonky was that, to feel like I was competing against myself? I knew Hudson loved me, so wasn’t it a good thing he liked how I looked now too?

  I wasn’t going to figure this out standing in a country club’s parking lot, though, and the snow would ruin my new boots. “C’mon,” I said, closer to a growl than I meant it to be.

  Hudson didn’t comment on my tone.

  The main building’s interior was something else. Marble flooring, simple yet expensive-looking furnishings, richly carved wood tables and gorgeous artwork on every wall. It was the sort of space designed to impress, and it definitely did.

  “Can I help you?” a young man called from the front desk, a genuine smile on his face.

  “Hi,” Hudson said brightly. “I’m Hudson Rojas. I called earlier about speaking with the club director?”

  The clerk’s smile dimmed. “I’m sorry you made the trip, Mr. Rojas. As I said over the phone, Ms. Riley isn’t available to speak with you today.”

  “But she’s in?”

  The clerk struggled with that one, clearly not wanting to lie. “She is, but—”

  “I promise I won’t take more than ten minutes of her time, if that.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll need to make an appointment. I can see what her availability is like later next month?”

  Hudson leaned on the desk and turned up the wattage of his smile. He looked at the clerk’s name tag. “Damien, I know it’s your job to put up barriers and protect the big bosses, so I don’t fault you for it, man. But I need to see her before next month. It’s about an investigation.”

  Damien’s eyes widened. “You’re with the police?”

  “No, but I’m a private investigator and—”

  A woman in a two-piece russet-colored skirt suit stepped out of one of the offices behind the desk. Her brown hair was caught back in a low bun, and something in the way she carried herself made me think of Sam. And Hudson, for that matter. Like a predator.

  “Damien, is there a problem?”

  “No, Ms. Riley,” Damien said quickly. “Mr. Rojas wanted to meet with you, but—”

  I gave her a pointed look. “We need to speak about your extended family.”

  She gave no indication that she caught on to my euphemism. “I’ll see them.”

  Damien gestured for us to go around the desk and follow Riley.

  Her office was as posh as the rest of the place. We settled into comfortable leather chairs on the opposite side of the large ornate desk from her, and she wasted no time in getting to the point. “A vampire and...something,” she said, her eyes narrowing in my direction, “want to speak with me about my ‘extended family.’ That’s an interesting development so close after Halloween. Unless it’s a prank.”

  I shook my head. “No, no prank. I’m W—Taggart Westerson, and this is Hudson Rojas. We’re here to talk to you about Walter Gordon.”

  Her stoic mask cracked. “Yes. I heard about his accident. He was well liked in our clan.”

  “Were you aware he was dealing drugs?” Hudson asked.

  “Drugs?”

  “Yes. We know of at least two shifters he dealt to, one of whom is dead after using a new product he gave her.” I glanced at Hudson, who gave me a nod. “He didn’t die in the car accident, Ms. Riley. He died of sampling the same drug before the accident occurred.”

  “I... I had no idea.”

  Hudson leaned forward. “So you weren’t aware of him conducting that sort of business among your platinu
m-level clientele?”

  “I assume you’re aware that the platinum tier of membership is reserved for our shifter clan.”

  “We figured,” I said.

  “No, I can’t recall hearing anything about any such...transactions. Drugs for shifters are...anathema. It’s not worth the expense.”

  “So you’re not aware of any other sudden deaths in your clan?”

  “No.”

  “Have you heard of the rumors in the city’s paranormal community about a shifter clan that’s little more than a gang that sells drugs?” Hudson asked.

  “No, I haven’t. What you’ve said just now about Walter—that’s the first of anything I’ve heard. Drugs are simply not a way of life in the clan, Mr. Rojas. As I said before, it doesn’t make sense.”

  I frowned. “We’ve spoken to a few shifters outside of your clan in particular who have heard these rumors—”

  “I’m not suggesting the rumors don’t exist, Mr. Westerson, but simply that I haven’t heard of them. We don’t do a lot of socializing with other shifters.” Ms. Riley was quiet for a moment before relaxing back into her chair. “I’m struggling with the idea that Walter died because of—of misadventure.” That was one term for it. “Are you looking into his death?”

  “As a part of our investigation, yes.” I didn’t want to get into the details about how all of this came about—or how all the threads seemed to be twisting together. “Is there anything else you think we should know?”

  “Despite being labeled ‘platinum,’ we give our clan members a significant discount. Even with that, Walter was notoriously late on his club dues every month. Until two months ago. For the first time, he paid before the due date, and he had a new car. I assumed he’d gotten a raise at work.”

  I shared a look with Hudson. This information definitely fit in to what we knew of Walter.

  “But now I suppose it was because he’d gotten an influx of cash from his...extracurricular activities.” She sighed.