Part 4 (1/2)

So at least twenty-four hours had pa.s.sed, if not more. I wrinkled my nose. The chances of the dead man's soul hanging about were slim. Even if he was there, the odds that I 'd actually understand him were practically nil. To date, it seemed that the fresher the kill, the stronger I could see or hear the soul-and vice versa.

”The police took your statement, I presume.” I pressed the buzzer again, then stepped back and looked up. No one answered, and there didn't seem to be any movement or sound evident from either of the first-floor apartments.

”Yes, they did. You can double-check it if you think I've been lying about anything.”

I smiled. ”Oh, I will, but not because I think you're lying. I want to see what the cops and coroner all thought.”

”I didn't think coroners worked that fast.”

”It depends on the situation.” And in this one, it could be days before a full report came out. He was right on one thing- BDSM deaths stood side by side with suicides at the bottom of the priority list when it came to cause-of-death examinations. Still, they'd have initial impressions, and those would be in the case notes. ”Where are you now?”

”Home.”

I gave the intercom buzzer one final push. Still no answer. Alana was either out or working. ”Can you get to your mate's place quickly?”

”Be there in fifteen.” He gave me the address, then added, ”I really do appreciate this.”

”You owe me a coffee. And I hope you realize there may be nothing I can do.”

”I know.”

”Meet you there, then.” I hung up, then shoved my cell back into my purse and headed down to my car. Ben's dead friend lived in Prahan, which wasn't that far away, even with the late-afternoon traffic going nowhere fast.

I got there with a few minutes to spare. Ben was nowhere to be seen, so I leaned against the trunk of my car and studied the building. It was one of those boring brick designs that were put up in the latter part of the twentieth century-a basic straight- up-and-down affair with few windows and little imagination. Someone had recently painted it cream, and there were neatly trimmed hedges along the front and the sides, but the greenery didn't do a whole lot to relieve the blandness.

Not a place I could live in, if only because the apartments didn't look particularly large. It would have made me feel like a caged animal.

The roar of a motorcycle caught my attention. I looked around to see a leather-clad man on a big, mean-looking bike come roaring up the street toward me. He gave me a wave when he saw me looking, then slowed and drove the bike into the parking spot behind my car.

I smiled and walked back to him. ”Fancy entrance,” I said, as he took the helmet off.

Ben patted his bike affectionately. ”Haven't given this old girl a run for a while. It's nice to be on her again.”

I looked at the bike. It didn't look anything particularly special to me. ”It's a bike.”

Amus.e.m.e.nt gleamed in his bright blue eyes. ”No, it's a 1975 GL1000 Gold Wing. Some of this baby's features were way ahead of her time.”

”Well, I'm charmed to meet her,” I said, voice dry. ”Now, do you want to take me up to your mate's place?”

His grin was as s.e.xy as all h.e.l.l as he climbed off the bike, his teeth a stark contrast to his rich black skin. ”Not into motorcycles?”

”No.” But my treacherous hormones were certainly into all that leather. He was a tall man-nearly a foot taller than me, and at five seven, I wasn't short-and powerfully built, with chiseled features and thick black hair. And all that wonderful black leather fit like a glove, emphasizing and enhancing his muscular build.

He undid the stud at his neck, then lowered the jacket zip, revealing a dark blue T -s.h.i.+rt underneath. My nostrils flared, sucking in the musky scent of man mixed with just the faintest hint of perspiration.

Very nice indeed.

”I think you need to come for a ride on one of my bikes. That'll change your tune.”

The image of pressing close to his leather-clad body as we roared through the streets on his noisy machine had my pulse rate tripping-but I wasn't sure if it was excitement or panic. I mean, I liked looking-a lot-but I didn't feel ready for anything more right now. A quick dance with a stranger during the moon heat was safe enough for both my wounded heart and my emotions.

This wolf was not.

I stepped back, and waved him on ahead. ”Cars are safer.”

”That's the problem. There's no direct thrill.”

”There is with sports cars.”

”It's not the same, trust me.” He glanced down at me, eyebrow raised. ”And how can a guardian afford to get around in a sports car?”

”She can't. But I've been in them.” ”Not the same.” He began climbing the building's outside steps to the first floor, leaving me rather ideally placed for some b.u.t.t-viewing action. ”Denny's apartment is the end one. He hated having neighbors on both sides.”

”Did the cops talk to the neighbor he has got?”

He shrugged, making the leather jacket ripple rather nicely. ”They weren't exactly telling me much.” He threw a grin over his shoulder. ”But that could have something to do with me calling them p.r.i.c.ks who wouldn't know a murder if it slapped them in the face.”

”Could be,” I agreed dryly.

We reached the end of the balcony. He stopped and opened a door that looked freshly painted. The air that flooded out was filled with the scent of roses and death.

I stepped past Ben into the apartment. It wasn't exactly a huge place, but it was neat and bright, thanks to the white walls and the skylights. The first room was a living room and kitchen combined, and the whole area was extraordinarily clean. Even the sink gleamed.

I scanned the scenery photos on the walls, wondering if he'd shot them himself, then said, ”Where was he found?”

”In the first bedroom.”

I walked around the L-shaped sofa and headed toward the first door. The smell of death was sharper the closer I got to the bedroom, and my skin crawled. Not because of the death scent, but because there was something else here, something that felt wrong.

I stopped just inside the doorway, briefly noting the blood splatters on the walls and the wide dark stain on the carpet before my gaze was drawn to the heavy-looking hook hanging from the ceiling above the stain.

”That where it happened?” Stupid question, but sometimes they just had to be asked.

”Yes.”

Ben had stopped right behind me, and the thick, warm heat of him flowed over me, drowning my senses and sending desire p.r.i.c.kling across my skin. Not what I needed right now.

Or later, for that matter.

I turned around and lightly pressed my fingers into his stomach. Felt the steel of muscle underneath the cotton T-s.h.i.+rt. ”You need to step back. You're overwhelming my senses.”

”I think that's the nicest thing a woman has said to me in a while.”

He didn't move, but then again, I wasn't pus.h.i.+ng very hard. Not yet.

I snorted softly. ”Somehow, I'm doubting that.”

”You'd be surprised.” He took several steps back. The richness of his aroma abated enough to allow more of the room's flavors in. ”We strippers are taken for granted more often than not.”

”I thought you didn't do much stripping now.” I turned around and took a step forward, distancing myself a little more and trying to catch the source of that tenuous, unsettling scent.