Embraced By Darkness

Chapter Five

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It didn't do too much to ease the tension running through me. I didn't want to face the destruction I'd faced yesterday. Didn't want to face the horror and pain of another soul. Didn't want to feel her in me or around me. Two in as many days was at least one too many.

"Exactly the same?" I asked, after a moment.

"Apparently so."

"Where?"

"Essendon."

Which was a northern suburb, and nowhere near Richmond. Which meant whatever the hell was going on wasn't being restricted to the one area. "Cole on his way?"

"Yep. Should be there in five."

"It'll take me twenty or so," I paused. "Were there any witnesses?"

"No neighbors reported anything. The woman's sister found her this morning. She's currently in the hospital under sedation."

As she would be, if this morning's murder was anything like yesterday's. "Did she say anything to the cops beforehand?"

"No. And the cops have tried contacting the woman's husband, but there's no response. Apparently he didn't turn up for work this morning."

Her husband. Good Lord. I briefly closed my eyes and blew out a breath. "I'll get there ASAP."

"Keep me updated."

"Will do." I hung up and climbed into the car. The journey over wasn't a pleasant one, my mind more on the images of bloodshed than the road. It was a wonder I didn't crash.

Cole and his team were already in place and investigating by the time I pulled up. I ducked under the police tape and walked up the steps. The smell hit me almost immediately and I stopped, unwilling to face what I knew waited.

Because not only did death wait, but that thick sense of gloating evil, as well. It wanted a reaction. Needed a reaction.

And if my turning stomach was anything to go by, it might just get it.

Though I made no sound, footsteps began to echo through the house, heading in my direction. Cole was a wolf, even if he was a shifter rather than a were, and he must have scented me. He appeared out of the gloom of the hallway, stripping off bloody gloves and tossing them in the special waste unit that had been set up to one side of the door.

"It's as bad as the first one," he said, stopping in the doorway and filling my senses with his warm, masculine scent. It was a nice distraction, but one I knew couldn't last.

"Same deal as before?"

"Yeah, pretty much." His gaze swept me, but it was more clinical than interested. "You ready to face it?"

"Her," I snapped. "Her soul is a her, same as she was."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Just reached to one side and handed me another pair of those paper-thin shoe-covers. "Use these. It's pretty messy in there."

I slipped the things on yet again, then asked, "Has the husband been found yet?"

"Nope. But he's looking a likely suspect."

"Except if this murder is like yesterday's. Then something else is going down." I stood up and blew out a breath. "Okay, let's get this over with."

He stood to one side and waved me ahead of him. The stink hit harder the moment I stepped into the small hallway, filling every breath with the scent of death. I shuddered, and tried to ignore it.

Which was a hard thing to do when it seemed to permeate not only the air, but the walls themselves.

"Through the living room and into the kitchen," Cole said, his warm voice almost jarring against the cold stillness of the house.

I walked through the living room, avoiding the bloody splashes and bits of gore. The bird-shifter glanced up and gave me a nod as I passed him, then got back to examining the bloody handprint on the wall.

There were more bloody prints on the doorframe. I flexed my fingers, trying to ease the tension rolling through me.

I knew what to expect. Knew it would be bad. And yet, my stomach still recoiled when I saw the utter destruction of what once had been a human body. No mere man could have done this. Hell, even with the strength of a vampire and a werewolf behind me, I had serious doubts as to whether I could have done this.

My gaze stopped on her torso, hunkered down in a far corner under a table. Like yesterday's victim, a knife had been plunged deep into this woman's right eye, pinning her head to the wall behind.

And she'd died with a scream on her lips and terror locked in her remaining eye.

My stomach rebelled. I turned and ran for the front door, barely getting outside before I lost the contents of my breakfast into the shrubbery. I stayed there, bent over the mint bush, sucking in the scent as I tried to calm the trembling in both body and spirit.

I couldn't go back in there. I just couldn't.

I didn't care if her spirit was there. It wouldn't tell me anything I didn't already know—and I certainly didn't want to feel any more of her pain than what I'd already seen.

"Here, drink this."

Cole's soft voice came from behind me. I looked around, then accepted the glass of water he was offering. After rinsing my mouth several times, I sipped the remaining water, not wanting to stir my fragile stomach any more than necessary but needing to get some moisture back into my body. It felt like that house had drained me in more ways than one.

"I'm sorry," I said, after a moment. "That was very unprofessional of me."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But it's nice to know some of our killers still have a soft side."

"Oh, there's lots of soft things about me," I said, trying to force some lightness into my voice and not succeeding very well. "And if you play your cards right, I might just let you uncover them one day."

"A day I can wait for," he said, amusement mingling with concern in his bright eyes. "Did you get any sense of a soul in there?"

I shook my head. There was nothing in there but death that was bloody and raw. That, and the sense of evil that hovered gloating above it. Whether it was a soul or merely a lingering emotion I was somehow sensing, I had no idea. Rut I had no intention of opening myself up to it to find out.

I shuddered, and took another hasty sip of water. "She had no hair, just like the first victim."

"Yeah. Seems the hair fetish is a part of this, whatever this is."

"Did you find any hair at yesterday's scene?"

"No. Why?"

"Because the fiancé had some hair in his hand when I found him, but not enough, and I didn't see it dumped anywhere along the way. So what happened to it?"

"Anyone's guess right now."

Yeah, I guess it was. "Has anyone tried scenting out the husband?"

"No. I'm the only one here with a nose strong enough to do it, and I can't leave the scene until the investigation is done."

Which may well be too late to uncover anything useful. "You want to get me something with the husband's scent on it?"

He nodded, and moved back inside the house. My gaze swept the surrounding houses, seeing neat, cared for lawns and dwellings. Why had death come calling in this happy little neighborhood? What had this couple done to bring such destruction down upon themselves?

Cole came back out carrying a crumpled white business shirt. I took it from him and sniffed deeply, drawing in the musky scent of human male. Then I stripped off my jacket and sweater, and handed them to him, along with my purse.

"Keep these safe for me, will you?"

He nodded, then stepped back as I began to shift shape. In wolf form, Cole's scent leapt into focus—a delicious aroma that had my tail wagging and my hormones jumping. I studiously put my nose to the ground and tried to ignore it. After scuffing around for several minutes, I caught the husband's scent and followed it out onto the pavement.

I followed the trail down Kernan Street and onto Robinson, trotting past a mix of houses and apartments, all filled with life if not laughter. It made me feel warmer, somehow.

But dread began to fill me again as I crossed another road and entered another park. I suddenly had no doubt what I would find at the end of this trail, and find him I did. In a stand of trees near the lake.

Like Liam Barry yesterday, this man lay on his back. He'd died with a look of shock and agony on his face and the smell of terror lingering on his skin. The part not covered by blood and gore, that was.

I shifted to human shape, then called it in. Ten minutes before a cleanup team arrived. I swore softly, then set the phone to record, placed it in the branch of a nearby tree, and began my report.

And noticed there were only a few strands of dark hair clutched in his bloody fingers.

Where the hell was all the hair going?

I didn't know, but I had a feeling it was some sort of clue.

The cleanup team arrived precisely on time. I left them to it and walked back to the house. I didn't see any hair floating about on the breeze or caught in trees. Maybe it had already been swept down the street drains. Or maybe the answer was far more sinister.

Perhaps what I needed to do was check out past murders, and see if this pattern had been set elsewhere.

Cole was nowhere to be seen when I arrived back at the house, but his scent was drifting out from inside. I donned my sweater, then grabbed my jacket and purse and headed back to my can There was nothing more I could do here at the moment—or rather, nothing more that I wanted to do.

It was time to go talk to Adrienne's lover.

Jodie Carr lay wrapped in white hospital sheets, looking more than a little sorry for herself. Her blue eyes—a blue so pale they were almost gray—fixed on me briefly as I walked in, then her gaze skipped away to the window, staring as if there was something more interesting out there than just the brick wall of another building. She couldn't even see sky through that window. For a werewolf, that would have been hard to take, but I guess humans had higher tolerances.

"Jodie Carr?" I asked, stopping beside her bed and digging out my badge.

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

I held my badge in front of her. "I'm here about Adrienne."

She finally looked at me again. "Why? What is she to you?"

The slight edge in her voice had my eyebrows rising, if only because it oddly seemed to hint at jealousy. "Her alpha has asked me to investigate her disappearance."

She snorted. "That bastard didn't give a damn about her, not as long as she obeyed his edicts and behaved like a girl should."

"So he had a suspicion you and Adrienne were lovers?"

She blinked, and for an instant, fear slithered across her face. Not that I blamed her. I'd spent many years afraid of Blake and his get.

"Why the fuck would you think something like that?"

"Because it's true? Few people would try to kill themselves just because they believed a friend was dead."

She looked away and didn't say anything.

"Look, her father thinks she's in serious trouble, so any information you can provide might just help bring her back."

"She won't ever come back."

"And why would you think that?"

"Because she's dead."

I blinked. "Her father doesn't seem to think so."

"Her father is a goddamn moron. He doesn't know Adrienne. He never has."

"He's a clairvoyant. That would give him—"

"Nothing," she spat. "Nothing compared to what I have."

"And that is?"

"Love." She closed her eyes. "She's dead. I can feel it."

The pain in her voice had me wanting to reach out and comfort her, but I had a strong feeling any such move would be rejected. "What story was Adrienne working on before she disappeared?"

"I'm not really sure. It was something to do with the club—something she saw there." Jodie shrugged. "She never really talked about her work much at home. That was our rule."

"What club arc we talking about?" Even though I'd already guessed the answer, I asked the question all the same. Better to get a sure answer than to be proved wrong later. "Mirror Image?"

She nodded.

"So they do allow humans and werewolves to intermingle sexually there?"

"Yeah. There's a no claws or violence rule, though. Anyone seen getting a little too heavy with a human gets thrown out." She looked at me coldly. "Don't tell me you're one of those wolves who believes a no-mingling-with-the-humans rule is safer for everyone?"

"I've seen what a werewolf in a sexual frenzy can do to another wolf. A human wouldn't last."

She snorted. "You misjudge the strength of humans."

"Or you're overestimating it."

If there was one inescapable fact in this world, it was that werewolves were stronger than humans. We might not be able to rip someone apart limb by limb, but we could rent and tear and brutalize. And if we were in the midst of moon fever, we might not even realize we were doing it until it was all too late.

Given that one inescapable fact, I was betting the humans who went into Mirror Image signed some type of waiver before they were allowed to enter. Letting humans and wolves intermingle in a sexually charged environment had to be asking for trouble. Especially during a moonrise.

Jodie didn't argue the point. Just looked away again.

I studied her for a moment, wondering just what Adrienne had seen in a woman who wasn't only human, but who was all delicate angles and bones, then asked, "Is the club monitored?"

"Heavily. Cameras and nonhuman bouncers everywhere."

With nonhuman bouncers, they didn't really need that many cameras. Most of us could scent trouble long before it started. But maybe the owners were just being cautious. Or maybe they got off on watching others have sex.

"Did you and Adrienne go there often?"

She sniffed. "It was one of the few places we could go and not be worried about who was watching. There's not many choices for those with human partners."

And for damn good reasons. "And you didn't notice anything odd or out of place during your time there?"

"No."

"When was the last time you saw Adrienne?"

"At the airport. She was going to Monitor Island to chase a lead."

"Don't suppose she mentioned what sort of lead?"

"No, but she was excited. She said it could make her career."

Or break it, as the case may be. "Did she contact you at all while she was away?"

"Every night. The last time she was a little deflated. I gathered she couldn't find anything good for her story." She paused, and took a shuddery breath. "I was supposed to pick her up from the airport, but I got held up in traffic. She wasn't there when I finally arrived, and I thought she'd gotten tired of waiting and caught a cab."

"But she never arrived home?"

She shook her head. "I reported her missing two days later."

"Why two days?"

"Because she's disappeared before, but only for a day or two. She usually comes home after she's blown off some steam."

I wouldn't have been surprised if Adrienne's past disappearances coincided with her more aggressive tendencies. A careful wolf might be able to curb her instincts most of the time, but violence was a part of our soul, and sometimes it just needed to come out.

"I don't suppose you remember what were you doing when Adrienne first started investigating the club?"

"You know she did a newspaper piece on it, don't you?" Yes.

"She hated doing that, you know. She preferred crime stuff, investigative reporting. She was good at it, too."

"Then why did she do the entertainment piece?"

"She had no choice. Her old boss retired, a new guy came in. He decided she was more suited to reporting entertainment than crime."

"I'm surprised she didn't quit if she felt that strongly about it."

"Oh, she was intending to, but she wanted to be sure she had another job to walk into first."

Then she was more sensible than me. There were times in the past I'd quit over jerk bosses, and had been left for weeks scrimping for a dollar to buy my next coffee. Of course, this was well before I joined the Directorate.

"So in the process of researching for the article, she discovered something that teased her instincts?"

"No. It actually happened after the article was published. The owners were pleased with what she wrote, and gave her an invitation into the Executive Room—which is a private dance area for special guests. We were coming out of there when we ran into someone coming out of the private room opposite." She paused, and blinked away the sudden spark of moisture in her eyes. "Adrienne had a talent that went beyond the pack's clairvoyance. She could sense things about people. Catch glimpses of their thoughts or their actions through touch. When she bumped into that man, she uncovered something that had her excited."

"You didn't ask what she discovered?"

She snorted softly "Of course I did. Wouldn't you? She just said that she'd hit the story jackpot, and would tell me more when she was certain."

"She obviously never did?"

"No."

"And you have no idea why Adrienne went to Monitor Island?" No.

"Did it involve the person she ran into at the club?"

"I told you, I don't know. Why do you keep asking me stupid questions when I've already told you I can't help you?"

Because I'm trying to find out what happened to her. Trying to prevent it from happening to anyone else. But I kept the words inside. It wasn't hard to guess that Jodie was speaking out of anguish more than any desire to be unhelpful.

"What plane was Adrienne supposed to arrive home on?" I'd need to check if she ever actually boarded it.

"A five PM Qantas flight."

"And there's nothing else you can tell me? Nothing she said or did that seemed odd to you?"

"Nothing at all." She looked at me then, eyes red rimmed and brimming with tears, "Just go away, and leave me alone."

I hesitated, wanting to ask more, but also not wanting-to alienate her completely. I might need to question her again later. So I simply said, "Thanks for your help, Jodie."

She didn't answer, just went back to looking out the window. I headed out of the hospital and into the fresh air as quickly as I could. After sucking in several deep breaths to wash away the lingering aroma of antiseptic, pain, and hopelessness that always seemed to haunt hospitals, I began the long walk back to where I'd parked my car. As I walked, I took my phone out, hit the vid-button, and dialed the cow.

She was as happy as ever to sec my smiling face.

"Now what the hell are you after?" she said, voice flat and annoyed.

I restrained my grin. I really did like this woman's flat-out bitchiness. "Want you to check out a club for me. I need background and trouble reports."

"What club?"

"Mirror Image."

She raised perfectly plucked eyebrows. "That's the weird one that allows humans and nonhumans to mix, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"Is it connected to the murders?"

"I don't know."

"I'm not going to pull reports on a club just because you're curious about it," she said, in that snotty way of hers.

"It may be connected to a missing persons case I'm investigating. I'm just covering all the bases."

"Oh, I'm sure you're doing more than that, wolf girl." She sniffed. "I'll send whatever I can find."

"You're such a darling, Sal."

She all but snarled at me. I chuckled and hung up. In that instant, I felt it again. The cold chill of evil. An evil that hungered to kill, and rent, and tear, not talk.

I swung around, and saw it. Not the thing I was sensing, but the car. It had veered across several lanes of traffic and was coming straight at me. I had a brief glimpse of dark hair, thin features, and a grin of sheer delight before I was diving out of the way. I hit the concrete hard, rolled to my feet, and ran for the nearest street pole, my heart racing quicker than my feet. The roar of the car engine didn't get any closer. Instead, the car bounced off another and continued on, scattering pedestrians as it continued down the footpath before swerving back out into the traffic. I didn't bother chasing it. I might have vampire speed, but that car was moving way faster than I ever could, the driver weaving in and out of traffic like a madman.

I dusted the dirt off my hands and knees, then got out my phone again.

"This really has to stop," Sal said. "You might enjoy hearing my dulcet tones, but I have better things—"

"Fucking shut up and put me through to Jack," I said.

"He's in a meeting—"

"I don't care. Put me through."

She muttered something under her breath, then the phone made odd noises as she patched me through.

"This had better be important, Riley," Jack said. "I was in a meeting with the director—"

"Someone just tried to run me over," I snapped. "And I think whatever is killing these people might be following me."

I heard a chair slide back, then footsteps as Jack walked out of whatever room he was in. "Okay, explain."

"Remember the truck yesterday? Well, today it was a car. I caught a glimpse of the driver and I didn't recognize him. It wasn't accidental—he was aiming for me. I got the plate number."

"Give me it, and I'll do a check."

I gave him the number, then said, "It'll probably be stolen."

"No doubt Now tell me about this thing following you."

I blew out a breath, and leaned against the street pole. "When I went to the first murder yesterday, there was a sense of evil lingering there. A gloating sort of evil, if that makes sense. It faded, so I figured maybe it was either my imagination or some leftover emotion I was sensing. But I felt it today at the second murder, and again now, just before that car tried to mash me between its wheels."

"Do you think we're dealing with a vampire?"

I hesitated. "I don't know. In some ways, it feels like I'm sensing emotions rather than anything real or solid."

"And you felt it before the car came at you?"

"But not before the truck. I don't think whatever it is I'm sensing is connected to the run-over attempts, if that's what you're thinking."

"Can you feel it now?"

I hesitated, and looked around. The air was rich with exhaust fumes, gas, humans, and eucalyptus—not my favorite scents, but better than death any day.

"No."

"So you can't positively say it's not connected, then."

"Other than the feeling that it's not, no I can't."

He grunted. "I'll talk to Cole, see if he noticed anything unusual that didn't make his report. In the meantime, you be careful."

"Don't worry," I said dryly, "I have no intention of damaging the Directorate's investment."

"Good," he said, and hung up.

So much for concern over said investment. I shoved my phone back into my pocket, and continued on to my car.

It took me half an hour to drive over to Callie Harris's parents' place, only to discover they weren't actually there. But Callie's sister, Jenny, was.

"So how can I help you?" she said, tucking a long strand of brown hair behind her ear with fingers that shook.

I sat down on the chair opposite hers, and said, as gently as I could, "I need to question you about Liam and Callie's relationship."

"There's nothing to know. They were in love and getting married."

"So they had no problems? Never fought?"

Tears glittered briefly in her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. "Everyone argues. Even people in love."

"Do you know if they argued over anything recently?"

She looked away. "No."

"If you know anything," I said quietly, "even something small, it may just help track down their killers."

She didn't say anything for a moment, looking down at her clenched hands. "How could something they fought about help track down her killer? It didn't mean anything. They'd worked through it, and the wedding was going ahead."

I raised my eyebrows. "It didn't mean anything" was usually a metaphor for "I made a mistake of the sexual kind." "So Callie had a one-night stand?"

"At her bachelorette party." She hesitated, then said in a rush, "She was drunk, it really didn't mean anything, and she was so ashamed of herself afterward."

"When was the party?"

"Two days before… before—" She stopped, gulping down air.

I waited a moment, then asked, "And she told Liam about it?"

"She had to. I mean, how could she not? There were ten of us there. Someone would have told him eventually, and that would have been even worse."

Worse than being torn apart by a cuckolded fiancé? I didn't think so. "You didn't try to stop her straying?"

She blushed and looked away. "I didn't know. Not until later."

Because she was too busy getting laid herself, I bet. "Where did this all happen?"

For some odd reason, I was expecting her to say Mirror Image, but she didn't. "At a friend's. She owns a house down Fairhaven way, right near the beach."

Then the friend had some money. Fairhaven had a million dollar plus price tag. "Who was the man she slept with?"

She shrugged. "One of the strippers."

"There was more than one?"

She looked away again. "There were ten."

One for each of them, then. Which meant it was not your typical bachelorette party—not if they catered to everyone's sexual needs. "Do you know the name of the company?"

"Nonpareil."

Not one I'd heard of, but then, I really didn't have a whole lot to do with humans and their sexuality. "Did you arrange it?"

"No, Cheryl, the other bridesmaid, did." She hesitated. "You don't think the strippers had anything to do with her murder, do you?"

"Probably not." If only because I doubted strippers would have been a link to the Essendon case. But then, who knew? Maybe the wife had needed to recharge her sexual batteries, or had been to a party that had employed a stripper recently.

"And there's nothing else you can tell me? About the strippers, that night, or their relationship? Nothing that you think might help, however inconsequential?"

She shook her head. "Liam wouldn't do this to her. It wasn't him. He worshipped her."

Maybe, but it wouldn't be the first time someone who worshipped their partner went off the deep end and killed them, for whatever reason. I'd watched enough of the news over my short life to realize that.

I pushed to my feet. "If you do think of anything—however small—give me a call." I gave her a card with my Directorate number on it.

She took it without comment. I headed out, and left her to her tears. But I hoped like hell I never had to confront that sort of pain again, either through work or in my private life.

Once back in the car, I typed "Nonpareil" into the onboard computer and did a search. The stripper business was located in the old section of North Melbourne, and there were no reports or complaints about it.

I started the car and headed over. To be honest, it probably would have been easier to ring, because I really didn't think these men were connected to the murders, but it was too easy to avoid truths on the phone. And if the strippers had seen anything out of place that night, I wanted to know about it.

Nonpareil was situated on the first floor of a nondescript brick building. It was surrounded by factories that looked to be carrying the grime of centuries on their facades, and the air was thick with the scent of oil, metal, and humans.

Not the prettiest of places to visit, that was for sure.

I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside. There was no sign of the grime here, just plush red carpets, gold handrails, and rich-looking paintings filled with apple-cheeked men and women cavorting around naked. Not what I'd call sexy, but then, I'd never been a fan of Old World style.

I took the stairs two at a time and found myself in a lobby that was all gold drapery and overstuffed, lush-looking furniture. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon teased the air, but entwined in that was the heady scent of man. Or rather, wolf.

This wasn't a human stripper business, as I'd presumed.

He was sitting behind a large mahogany desk down the far end of the room. In the half-light of the lamp-lit room, his golden skin seemed to glow a dark amber, and his brown eyes gleamed with interest.

"Well, hello there," he rumbled, voice deep and sexy. "What can we do for you on this fine afternoon?"

Why couldn't the Directorate find secretaries—or liaisons—who looked like this? Damn, he was fine. It was just unfortunate that I wasn't here for fun. I got out my badge and showed it to him. "I need to speak to someone about a booking."

"Past booking, I'm gathering?"

"Yes." I stopped near the desk, my nostrils flaring as his scent teased them. Orange and musk. Nice.

"Then you'll need to speak to the manager, Shadow."

Amusement ran through me. "Shadow? Is that his stage name or his real name?"

"Stage. We don't do real names when we're at work. A job like this tends to attract the loons."

He pressed a button and a door to his right opened. "Just wait in there. Shadow won't be long."

"In there" turned out to a small waiting room equipped with several well-padded leather lounges and a coffee machine that had more choices than I'd seen at many cafes. I helped myself to a peppermint mocha and drew the sweet, rich scent into my lungs. Not hazelnut, but almost as good.

Five minutes later, the door at the other end of the room opened, and another wolf stepped in. He was tall and powerfully built, with chiseled features and skin so black it seemed to swallow the warm light whole. And the sheer sexual energy radiating off him had my hormones skipping along in dizzy pleasure.

"Guardian Jenson, I presume," he said, his voice a low vibration that rumbled pleasantly across my senses.

I stood so suddenly my coffee splashed over my hand. It said a lot about my state of arousal that I barely even noticed it. "Yes. Sorry to be bothering you at work, but I need to ask you some questions about a past booking."

"The Callie Harris one, I presume?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Good guess."

"I saw the report of her murder in the Herald Sun, and presumed we'd be getting a visit sooner rather than later." His bright blue gaze flicked down my length, and the heat of it echoed through the fibers of my being. "I didn't expect our interrogator to be so pleasant on the eye, however."

I resisted the urge to fan myself, and said, "What can you tell me about that night?"

He waved a hand toward the seat behind me, "Please, sit."

I did, and had the pleasure of watching him walk across the room. He was a big man, but each step was a move of grace and a sense of power restrained. He sat on the chair several feet away, his gaze sliding casually down my body again before rising to meet mine. Lust surged between us, heating the air, sending little beads of perspiration skating across my skin.

He smiled. "It is a definite pleasure to be dealing with a werewolf for a change. No blushes or uncomfortable exclamations."

No, just a whole lot of desire that couldn't go anywhere. I was working, not playing. And if I said that often enough, I just might convince my giddy hormones. "So humans arc the base of your business?"

"Of course. Human sexuality may seem outwardly repressed, but their hungers are as strong as any werewolf's."

I sipped at the coffee, then said, "But they are not. Isn't it dangerous? Especially during a full moon?"

"Yes, which is why we also employ vamps and shifters. Werewolves are never booked for the moon phase."

"Sensible." Though I'd imagine employing vampires could be just as dangerous. It would only take one to sip more than he needed, and there'd be a whole heap of trouble. Still, I wasn't here to lecture him on his business practices.

"So… Callie Harris's party?"

"Ten strippers, and a two hour contract for sexual services afterward. A good earner."

"Who studded Callie?"

"Ramjet."

I couldn't help grinning. "Are you serious?"

"He's a big boy, you understand." His voice was solemn, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his seriousness. "And he has little finesse, but some like it that way. Ms. Harris apparently was one of them."

"And he hasn't seen her since?"

"There is a no philandering with the customers rule here, Ms. Jenson. It is strictly adhered to." He hesitated, and I felt the heat of his desire roll over me again. "You however, are not a customer."

"No, I'm a guardian on duty. Did any of the men present on the night see or hear anything unusual that you know of?"

The scent and heat of his lust increased, swirling around me, filling my senses with his rich spicy aroma, making the low-down ache even fiercer. Part of me wanted to take what he was offering, enjoy the moment and this big strong wolf, but things weren't that simple anymore. Not with Kellen in my life.

"One of the vamps reported a brief mind touch, but it was gone before he could trace the source. Unfortunately," he added, before I could say anything, "he's on vacation for the next two weeks, and isn't available for questioning."

Conveniently? Or was I just being overly suspicious? Certainly there was nothing in Shadow's words or manner to suggest lies. "Did he say if it felt more feminine or masculine?"

"Masculine. I did wonder if it was a husband—or husband-to-be—especially after Ms. Harris's murder."

"So the source of the probe was external?"

"He wasn't entirely sure. As I said, the touch was apparently very brief."

Which didn't exactly help me decide whether it was important or not. "Do you know whether Callie Harris was drunk or sober?"

He raised a dark eyebrow. "That's an unusual question, is it not?"

"Not when I'm trying to find out if her encounter was deliberate or alcohol-induced."

He smiled. "It was very deliberate, trust me."

"Ah." So Callie's sister had been finding excuses to explain Callie's behavior. I wondered if Callie had used the same excuse with Liam. And whether he'd believed it.

I gulped down the remainder of my coffee, then rose and gave him a card. "If anyone else remembers anything, please give me a call."

He took the card, then reached down for one of the pens sitting on the coffee table and scrawled a number on the back of it.

"I know how to contact the Directorate," he said, handing the card back. "So I have no need of your number. However, should you wish anything else of me, please ring that number. It's my private, not business, line."

I smiled as I took his card. "I seriously doubt I could afford your rates."

He raised a hand, his fingers brushing my cheek, a featherlight caress that might as well have been a sledgehammer, so strongly did my body react. "Lust burns between us, Ms. Jenson. Should you ever wish to pursue it, it would be my pleasure. I do have a private life beyond managing this club."

"But I'm not sure I have a life beyond that of a guardian." I stepped away, and tried to ignore the frustrated screaming of my hormones. "Thanks for your help, Shadow."

He smiled. "I'll await your call, Ms. Jenson."

I didn't reply, just got out of there while I was still in control of my desires. Once back in the car, I turned the AC onto full cool, and wondered what the hell I should do next. The guardian training I'd undergone tended to concentrate on the other side of a guardian's life—the killing and surviving. The actual hunting bit was, in many ways, left up to individual instincts.

Right now, my instincts were insisting that if I wasn't going to give them sex, then I sure as hell better give them food. And maybe I'd think better on a full stomach.

I started the car and drove around until I found a McDonald's drive-thru, and ordered a couple of burgers, some fries, and a Coke. I munched as I drove, and after a while, found myself heading toward the leafy and money-rich suburb of Toorak and the home of Dia Jones.

Dia was a psychic—and a blind woman who saw far too much. I'd helped rescue her kid from the clutches of the madman who was her brother and her master™ at least in the sense that he could control all those who'd been created in the lab by his father. That madman was dead, but my help had indebted Dia to the Directorate, and she was one of us now—even though she was officially listed as a consultant.

I hadn't seen her a whole lot since the events on Deshon Starr's estate, though I knew Jack had been in contact with her a number of times. Part of me was iffy about seeing her now, simply because, while. I liked her, being in her presence made me feel a little uncomfortable. It was like she could see through whatever I said, and glimpse the truth or lies behind it.

But if anyone could clarify—or at least hint at—what was going on, then maybe it was Dia. And any shortcut to solving our murder had to be a good one if it managed to save a life.

I pulled up in front of her house, which was more in the style of the grand old English mansions often shown on TV than the heavily ornate, American South style that seemed so prevalent on the rest of this street. The brickwork had been painted a warm, soft gold, and ivy crawled up the walls and across the roof, giving the impression that the house had been here forever. I climbed out of my car and walked through the ornate, wrought-iron gates. A lush, somewhat overgrown lawn stretched from the side gate to the porch, and pencil pines lined the boundary. I was still in as much awe of the place as I'd been when I first came here so many months ago. It was a pocket of peace in the middle of a thriving, bustling community.

Of course, Dia had been afraid that the government would take this mansion away from her, as it had started confiscating all of Deshon Starr's properties after we'd destroyed his crime syndicate and killed the man himself. Or monster, as he was. But Dia had a good bargaining chip—the Directorate wanted her services, and this house had been part of the price. I didn't know the other. Jack wouldn't tell me and I hadn't yet found the documents on the Directorate's network.

I walked up the steps and pressed the buzzer. There were a few beats of silence, then the intercom cracked and a soft voice said, "Yes?"

"Dia? Riley Jenson from the Directorate. I need to talk to you, if you have the time."

"Riley? Of course I have. Be there in a minute."

Another few seconds passed, then the door opened and Dia was standing there, as ethereal and beautiful as ever. Her hair—a pure whitish-silver—was loose, and shone with an almost unnatural brilliance as it spilled down the back of her long, flowing white dress. The garment scooped in at her waist, hinting at her shape while not emphasizing it. But no matter how stunning she might look in her floaty garb, it was her eyes that always got me. Even if she was blind, the blue of her eyes was magnetic—and yet, in many ways, unforgiving. And once again I was struck by the sensation that this woman saw far more than she was ever likely to admit.

Of course, the blue of her eyes wasn't natural, just like the silver hair. Her true hair color was a mix of silver and brown, and her eyes were also naturally brown, ringed by blue, but she'd once told me silver and blue suited her better. Dia wasn't only a psychic, but a clone with Helki shapeshifting genes who was able to subtly alter her appearance as easily as I could become a wolf.

"It's lovely to see you again, Riley." Her voice was as warm as her smile. "But I'm gathering this is not a social call?"

"Unfortunately, no." I hesitated. "How's little Risa doing?"

Her smile broke free, stunning in its richness. "She is beautiful, and will be pleased to see you again. Come in."

Last time I'd seen her, Risa had been barely seven months old, and certainly not up to talking. Yet, like her mom, there'd been a tremendous amount of power in her violet eyes. And even at seven months, she'd seemed to hold far more awareness of the world and her surrounds than any normal child.

But then, I guess she wasn't a normal child. She was the daughter of a clone and who knew what father. I'd seen Risa's birth certificate, but the man listed as her father didn't actually exist. It was yet another puzzle I was determined to resolve—for my own curiosity, if nothing more.

I stepped over the threshold and into Dia's huge hallway. A massive chandelier sprayed rainbows across the soft golden walls and carpets, and highlighted the various toys scattered about the place—though none of them, I noted with interest, rested in the middle of the hall, but rather hugged the sides. Either someone had been cautiously tidying up after the daughter so the mom didn't trip, or the child took an unusual amount of care when playing. I was betting on the latter.

A vase of sunflowers sat on a. redwood table, lending some spring cheeriness to the hall, and the staircase that spiraled upward was again scattered with toys. I went through the first of the two doors that led off the hall, noting with a smile that the bright, modernistic painting that had once dominated wall-space above the marble fireplace had been replaced by a gorgeous picture of Dia and her daughter.

I sat on one of the large sofas and was just about to ask where Risa was when she came bolting around the corner on a plastic train, white pigtails flying as she made choo-choo noises.

She gave me a grin and a wave as she flew on by and disappeared out the doorway, barely avoiding her mom's legs.

"My God, she's grown," I said, as Dia chuckled softly and stared down the hallway after her fast-disappearing child.

"She decided to skip the whole walking stage at eight months, and got straight into running. I don't believe she's stopped running—or talking—since."

"That must be hard when you can't see."

She shrugged and moved across the room with calm assurance. "I have good hearing, I have my other senses, and I have employed someone to cook and look after the house. We cope. Of course, once outside, I still have the help of the Fravardin."

Who were the guardian spirits her clone brother, Misha—the man who had been my mate for a while—had met and enlisted when he'd been in the Middle East. They might have failed at protecting Misha in the end, but they had died trying. And even after his death, those who had remained had honored his wishes and kept protecting Dia. He'd once said that he would use them to protect me, but I had a feeling he'd never had the chance to put that into action. Certainly I'd been in deadly situations since then, and no invisible entity had popped along to offer assistance.

And mostly, I was glad about that, despite having a few extra scars I didn't really need.

"So what can I do for you?" Dia continued.

I crossed my arms on my knees and said, "I was wondering if you'd heard any rumors about a nightclub called Mirror Image."

She wrinkled her nose. "I have several clients who attend. I do not like the vibe I get from it."

"What do you mean?"

Risa scooted past on the train again, this time making siren noises.

Dia smiled. "She's destined to work with cars when she's older. If it has wheels and it's fast, she loves it."

I raised my eyebrows. "So she's not psychic like you?"

"Oh, she is. I'm just not sure what direction her talent will take, as it is still developing. But it's there and it's strong. More so than mine." She shrugged, then added, "From what I have seen—or felt—from the clients who have gone there, the club is a good place to be. But I have always sensed something predatory behind it."

"Most werewolf clubs have that feel. The hunt is on for sex."

She nodded. "But this is different."

"In what way?"

She hesitated. "It has something to do with the owners. They are predators."

"They?"

"There are two of them, and they are what the club is."

"Which makes a whole lot of sense," I muttered.

She smiled. "What I see through my visions is not always definable. You know that."

I blew out a breath, then said, "Have you heard any recent news reports?"

She studied me for a minute, blind eyes unfocused and yet curiously aware all the same. "You're hunting whoever is tearing apart those poor women, aren't you?"

"Yes." Unfortunately. "But nothing is making sense. We found both killers dead for no apparent reason, and neither should have been capable of tearing someone apart like they did."

"Sometimes humans can do extraordinary things."

And sometimes something else is involved. "At least one of the victims was unfaithful. I know anger can often give a little extra strength but this goes beyond that. And what I really can't understand is why these men would go to such extremes. I mean, why destroy their own lives as well as their partner's? That doesn't make sense."

"Jealousy often doesn't. And it can be a very destructive emotion."

Yeah, but the cause of these murders was more than that. I was sure of it. "It just doesn't feel right."

And if anyone would understand that statement, then it would be Dia.

She continued to study me for several seconds, then said, "If you want me to help, I need to touch you."

My heart accelerated. I knew it was fear of the unknown more than fear of her. Which was odd, really, considering some of the truly depraved men I'd brought down over the last year. "Why?"

She smiled. "We both know you are afraid of what I might or might not see of your future, which is why you are so reluctant to even shake my hand in greeting. But if you want my help on these cases, I need to see what you have seen. And to do that, I must first touch you."

And here I was thinking I'd been so clever about concealing my apprehension about her powers.

She held out a hand, palm up. With some reluctance, I placed my fingers in hers.

"If you see more shit in my future, I do not want to know about it. I've been through enough this last year."

Her expression was serious as her blind gaze swept my face. Sometimes it was hard to remember this woman could not see. "I cannot always control the direction of my gifts. If you do not wish to hear where they lead, then it is best we not do this. I will not censure what I see. I never have."

Which is probably why she'd become as renowned as she was. Good or bad, she told it all—and honesty was rare in her field.

I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Let's just do this, then."

She smiled. "It may not be all bad, Riley."

"Which is not saying that it'll all be good."

"No. It rarely is."

She closed her eyes and her fingers clenched around mine. Electricity washed across my skin—a warm tingle of energy that made the hairs on my arms stand on end and my pulse race. Not in excitement or in fear, but from some emotion that resided between the two. The wolf inside had her teeth bared, ready to fight. But this was a force I'd invited in, and I couldn't back away from that now.

So I held myself still as the tingly sensation washed up my arm and swept across my body, until it felt like I was wrapped in a blanket of energy.

Dia shuddered. "I see the deaths. I see the agony of their souls."

I didn't say anything. After all, what was there to say? Not only had I seen it, I'd felt it, and that was not a place I wanted to revisit, even in memory.

"I see the two cases. Separate cases." She hesitated, frowning lightly. "I see a woman. She is red, like you. Different, like you. She has a gift, a pack gift that is both different and stronger than her father's, and it sometimes aids her work. The club and its owners hold many secrets, one which the wolf you seek uncovered."

Dia paused, and another shudder went through her. "The second case is different. It is shadowed by a malevolence that constantly hungers for vengeance."

"Vengeance for what?" I asked softly, not sure if by speaking I'd break the vision, but needing to ask all the same.

"Betrayal. He has been seeking retribution for many years."

Which would suggest the second victim had betrayed her husband somehow.

"He hates," Dia continued. "And he will continue to hunt and kill until he is stopped."

"You can't tell me who? Give me a name or description?"

She either didn't hear or didn't know, because she tilted her head and said, "An emotional decision comes for you."

My heart sunk to the depths of my stomach. This was exactly the sort of thing I didn't want her seeing. "I don't want to know, Dia."

Her grip on my fingers seemed to tighten, even though I made no move to pull my hand from hers. Well, I guess she had warned me, and now I would have to face up to whatever she was seeing.

Maybe just this once, forewarned would be forearmed.

"You will gain what you have always wanted, but it will not be in the form you have dreamed of."

I blinked. What I'd always wanted was a hubby and a family of my own—how could I gain all that if it wasn't in the form I dreamed of? "And that means?"

"that sometimes what we wish and what life offers are two completely different things."

Like I didn't already know that.

She continued softly, "There are many men in your life, but I see three who will become special."

"Three? I don't need three. I need one." Just one. That wasn't asking too much, was it?

"There is always one. But there are others. One will hurt One will heal. And one will always be there, regardless."

I hesitated, part of me wanting to ask the question, the other fearing it. "Is one of them my soul mate?"

"Can a spirit with two souls have one soul mate? That is a. question only time can answer."

"Well, that's a crappy sort of answer, if you ask me."

She blinked, then squeezed my fingers and released them. "I'm sorry I couldn't concentrate more on the murders, but as I warned, sometimes my foresight goes where it wills."

Yeah, and it didn't exactly give us more than what we already had. Still, if these murders weren't new, as Dia had implied, then a trip into the files for a closer look at past murders was obviously in order. The clues might lay in the past. Whether they'd help us solve the present crimes was anyone's guess.

"Be careful with this thing you hunt," Dia said, rubbing her arms lightly. "I do not think it will be easy to stop."

"The things we hunt never arc."

"No." She hesitated. "I'm sorry for dipping into your private life. I know you didn't want to hear that, and it wasn't my intention—"

I waved her apology away. "Don't worry. At least it wasn't totally bad. And at least there's some hope of my dreams coming true, even if not in the form I desire."

She smiled. "Which makes no sense when said like that."

"Tell me about it," I said wryly.

She pressed her hands against the sofa and stood up. "Would you like tea? Coffee? My next reading isn't for another hour, and it's so nice to see someone other than clients for a change."

Technically, I could be classed as a client, given she now worked for the Directorate, but I knew what she meant. While I had my doubts that Dia and I could ever be pals, I wasn't about to walk away from a prospective friendship. I had few enough of those, too.

All of which was my fault. I tended to be the prickly, standoffish type—a leftover of my hellish days with the pack, no doubt.

"Coffee would be good," I said with a smile.

"Good." She walked around the sofa and headed to a side door, but stopped as her daughter came choofing around the corner again.

"Where does she get the energy?" I asked with a grin.

"Heaven only knows," Dia muttered, then bent and asked, "Risa, would you like a drink? And some cookies?"

The little girl nodded so fast her pigtails were a blur of white. And then she stilled, looked at me, and pointed.

"Death, Mommy. Death."