"Yeah, he has no scent." She closed her eyes, imagining herself in his arms again, surrounded by his heat, the raw sensual smell of him that was not his actual scent, but delicious all the same. Desire stirred in her veins, a reminder that she'd only just knocked the edge off need. Complete satisfaction was a long way off yet. And, unfortunately, she very much suspected there was only one man who could fill the demands of her body.
"What do you mean?" Jack asked.
"It's like he's been wiped clean. There's nothing on him." Nothing to track him by, which might well be the point.
"Is something like that usual?"
"No, it's extremely unusual."
"Meaning he's done it on purpose?"
"Very likely." Though how on earth did you erase a base scent?
"Then we track him once he comes out of that bar, and see if we can actually get something on him."
"You'd better use a good tracker. He's a shifter of some kind and may well sense them."
"So we use a bird shifter."
"It'd be a good idea." At least Grey wouldn't scent a bird. "Is that all you buzzed for?"
"No. Harrison just walked into the bar. Go suss him out."
"And leave Grey? Won't that make him suspicious?"
"Can't see why. You made it clear you were here to play the field for a while."
Yeah, but she didn't want to play the field. She only wanted to play with Grey. Which was a big bad when she knew absolutely nothing about the man.
"Give me a position on Harrison."
"Table near the corner window."
"I'll go give him a sniff."
"Do that, and report back. We'll see where we go from there."
She knew where she wanted to go from there. To bed. With Grey. "Turning you off again."
"Darlin', you could never turn me off."
She grinned. She'd learned very early on that Jack was a serial flirt. As long as they were female, he didn't seem to care whether they were young, old, beautiful or plain. He treated them all to the same level of sexy banter. Why he was still single she had no idea. The man was definitely a good catch-though, unfortunately, not her type. If she ever did settle down, it would be with another shifter, not a human. She'd seen enough mixed marriages fizzle out to not want to try one herself.
"Jack, you're incorrigible."
"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me-does that mean we can get down and get dirty?"
She laughed. "No, it does not."
"Damn."
"Bye Jack."
She turned off the receive and checked her reflection in the mirror. The heat in her cheeks had faded a little, but not the excited gleam in her eyes. She looked like a women on the hunt, which she supposed she was. Only the object of her lust was not a man she could see at this particular point in time.
She sighed, ran her fingers through her short hair to settle it back into place, then headed out into the main bar area again, grabbing a drink before moving on in search of her quarry.
Harrison was one of several men clustered around a petite blonde. Eryn flared her nostrils, carefully searching the scents swirling around her, working through the thick maze of flowers, forest, and fruits, finally catching a brief, tantalizing taste of the one she was looking for. But the slither was gone before she could pinpoint a direction. Frowning, she looked around to ensure no one was watching her, then she slopped half of her drink on the floor. She took a step, pretended to slide, and cannoned into Harrison's hard form with a grunt. There wasn't much fat on the man, that was for sure.
"Hey, careful there, little lady," he said, his hands firm on her arms as he caught and righted her.
"Sorry," she said, forcing contriteness into her voice. "I slid on the wet floor."
Keeping one hand on her arm, he frowned down at the floorboards. "Some idiot must have spilt their drink. We'd better get someone to clean that before somebody gets hurt."
His voice was rich, and held a twang that reminded her of the Old West. In his faded denims, blue checked shirt and brown boots, he certainly fit the image of a cowboy. Only she had a suspicion the brown mop of hair had never been restrained by a hat, and that the shiny boots hadn't even tread across a well kept lawn, let alone the wilds of a cattle ranch.
He snapped his fingers, calling over a waitress, then his blue gaze settled on her. As handsome as his rugged features were, there was damn little in the way of response from her hormones. Maybe they were still too busy languishing in the afterglow of her brief time with Grey.
She raised a hand and brushed the droplets of wine from his shirt. His body was taut under the cotton fabric, his muscles well defined. "Lucky it's not red."
His grin was decidedly roughish. "It's only an old shirt anyways." He stuck out a huge hand. "Tate Harrison, at your service."
"Eryn James." She shook his hand, feeling the calluses across his palm. He might not be a cowboy, but he definitely wasn't a paper pusher, either. She lowered her shields a little, trying to catch his scent without getting too close. The air was a riot of aromas. They were too close to the blonde and her entourage for her to pinpoint his scent from everyone else's. "Listen, why don't we go over to the bar, and I'll buy you a drink to apologize for spilling mine all over you."
"Apologies aren't necessary, but I'm more than happy to accompany you to the bar."
He touched a hand to her back and guided her forward. His fingers were pleasantly warm through the gauzy material of her dress, but didn't brand her the way Grey's had.
Damn it, why was her mind so fixated on the man?
They found an untaken space down near the end of the bar, and she ordered herself a wine and him a beer.
He hunkered down a little, his shoulders brushing hers as he leaned muscular forearms on the mahogany surface and wrapped a paw around his drink. "You been coming here long?"
She met his gaze, seeing the blatant interest there and half wishing she could respond more than mildly. The man was first rate in the rugged looks department, and she very much suspected that if she hadn't met Grey first, her hormones might have latched onto a man like this.
But then, given the long drought they'd been suffering, they might have latched onto any man she found even remotely attractive. "First night."
"Ah. So you're merely testing the waters."
She nodded. "And I have no intention of settling on one overture until I test all those on offer."
"That goes without saying." He took a drink of beer, then added, "You looking for anything in particular?"
She couldn't help smiling. "Won't know that until I find it."
"Good. You'd be amazed at how many women come in here with preconceived ideas about what-who-would make a suitable mate."
She raised an eyebrow at the edge in his voice. "You sound more than a little peeved by that."
"Hell, yeah. Preconceived notions cut down the options-for all of us."
"So you haven't had much luck here yourself?"
He shook his head. "Of course, I'm not here all that regular. I've spent time with eight or nine ladies, but nothing has ever eventuated."
"Beyond the realms of the bar, you mean?"
He nodded and raised a large hand. "Seems the hands of a plumber aren't what ladies want these days."
She raised a hand, placing her palm against his. His fingers dwarfed hers. "Then those ladies are idiots. I can't imagine the plumbing trade becoming obsolete any time soon, and you guys are certainly raking it in when it comes to the money side of things."
He grinned. "Most women don't realize that."
"Maybe you'd better start mentioning it."
"I just might." His fingers enclosed around hers. "Is my current company at all interested in plumbers?"
"She would be, if she didn't already have an offer on the table tonight."
"And he let you walk away from him? The man is a fool."
"Well, he did have to arrange a room."
"Little lady, if you'd agreed to be mine for the night, there'd
be no way in hell I'd let you leave my side until I got you into a room and had my wicked way with you."
She had a vision of his rough hands skimming across her naked, burning skin, and her pulse leapt. Maybe she wasn't as immune to this man as she'd thought.
She raised an eyebrow, a grin teasing her lips. "And would it be wicked?"
His blue gaze practically smoldered. "Wicked and wild. That's a promise."
She drew his hand close, kissing his fingers, drawing in his scent as she did so. Beneath the rich aroma of man was the delicious hint of musk and earthiness. And no hint of the cloying smell of death.
Not the murderer, then. Which made him safe to play with, if she chose to do so.
"I might just hold you to that promise."
"Please do."
She untwined her fingers from his and picked up her drink. "Will you be here tomorrow night?"
"Probably not. But I might be able to make it Monday."
"Then maybe I'll see you then."
He nodded. "If I'm here, and you're here, you can bet your boots I'll be seeing you."
She grinned and raised her glass. "To the possibility of Monday night, then."
He clinked his glass against hers. "And to the prospect of wild and wicked sex."
Oh, yes, please. But the image that darted through her mind was not that of the man who stood in front of her. She rose on her toes and kissed his suntanned cheek, drawing in his scent again just to be sure. Definitely no springtime, definitely no hint of death, and definitely safe to play with.
But safe wasn't what her hormones wanted, apparently.
Drink in hand, she made her way back to the restroom. This time it was occupied, so she had to wait several minutes before it was secure enough to get in contact with Jack.
"It's not Harrison," she said, when she could.
"You sure?"
"Yes. Death is not a smell you can easily hide, and our murderer was entrenched in it." So entrenched, she suspected it was the evil in his soul she was sensing more than his actual scent.
"Which leaves us with Stockard and Gantry. If either of them aren't the killer, we're in the shit."
"Was this the only bar all five women attended?"
"Afraid so. And the only men all five saw are our three current suspects."
"Grey said he's only been here for a week."
"Grey lied."
"But why lie over something as simple as that?"
"Darlin, if I knew that, I could probably tell you whether he was our murderer or not."
She frowned. Somehow, she suspected the reasons for Grey's lies were a whole lot more complicated than either Jack or she suspected. "Have you been able to confirm whether they saw any of these men outside the bar's limits?"
"Afraid not. He's picking loners, and even though three of the five lived in apartment complexes, none of the neighbors heard or saw anything."
Nothing unusual in that. The head-down-see-nothing attitude seemed to have pervaded society ages ago. "And security cameras?"
"You've read the reports. Most of the complexes were old and didn't have cameras installed in the foyers."
Which was a required feature in all new apartment buildings. Even some of the older buildings were installing them for security purposes-hers had, and she knew many of her neighbors felt safer for it.
"Has Gantry come into the pub yet?"
"No."
"Then what do you want me to do?" Even as she asked the question, part of her was willing him to give the right answer.
"You up to spending more time with Grey?"
She was up, down, and sideways for it. Hell, she was practically combusting at the thought. "You do know I'm a shifter, right?"
She could almost hear the gears in his mind turning, wondering where the hell she was leading with a comment like that. Eventually, he said, voice a little wary, "Yeah. So?"
"So, I haven't had sex in six months."
He burst out laughing. "Damn it, woman, that's an ache I would willingly have eased."
"Intercourse between departmental employees is not currently approved."
"Darlin', for you I'd break the rules."
She grinned. "I thought you loved your job."
"I do. But you're not the only one who's suffering a drought."
"Well, if you stopped listening in on everyone else having sex and started following up some of the offers you get, you wouldn't be suffering a drought."
"But that would mean making an effort. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
"Then continue to suffer the drought," she said dryly, "because this shifter isn't offering relief."
"Well, damn."
She smiled. "Where's Grey?"
He paused. "Coming out of room three-o-five and heading toward the stairs."
"Looking for me."
"Most likely." Jack hesitated. "You really don't have to take this any further."
"But if I don't, we may never get any leads on this killer."
"Yeah, but still-"
"Jack, I'm safe in the club, and I'm more than capable of protecting myself outside it. I want this killer stopped as much as the rest of you."
"But bedding suspects goes way beyond the call of duty."
"Not for a shifter," she said dryly. Hell, a shifter in a rutting haze would shag anything with two legs and a dick. Not that she was anywhere near as desperate as that, but given the way her hormones had latched onto Grey, she'd been a lot closer to the mark than she'd thought.
"Shifters have a whole different set of morals when it comes to sex," she continued. Humans might have finally caught on to the "promiscuity is good" attitude, but shifters had been there forever. "That's part of the reason I was picked, wasn't it?"
"Well, that and the fact you resemble the other victims."
"So quit worrying about me, and just start worrying about where you're going to fire those frustrated little sperms of yours when you're listening to me having the best sex of my life."
She cut off the sound of his choked laughter and left the restroom. Grey was making a beeline across the dance floor, heading straight towards her.
How had he known she was in the restroom?
He was still a good ten feet away when the force of him hit her, sucking away her breath and leaving her gasping. Her gaze rose to his. The gray depths smoldered with both desire and annoyance, and his passionate mouth was little more than a thin line. Trouble, with a capital T, headed her way.
And she couldn't wait for it to explode all over her. Or in her, as the case may be.
He stopped so close that all she could smell was heat and lust and man. Her breast brushed against the soft wool of his sweater, sending little tingles of electricity shooting across her body. God, she was puddling with desire for the man, and he hadn't done anything except glare down at her.
What the hell was going on between them? They were complete and utter strangers who'd shared a brief but amazing encounter. Yes, some sort of connection was logical, but this went beyond the usual sexual vibe of shifters. And it was far stronger than anything she'd felt in her life so far.
"I told you I'd come get you if you didn't follow me."
His voice was a low rumble that echoed across the recesses of her mind. It was as if she were somehow feeling his words in her head as well as actually hearing them. She raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to remain still and calm when all she wanted to do was throw herself into this man's arm and beg him to take her.
"And I told you I'd think about it."
"I have a room booked."
"And I have a room full of prospects to explore."
He considered her for a moment, then his gaze slid down her body, taking in every inch, exploring in a way she wished his hands would explore. By the time he'd finished little beads of sweat dotted her body and her breath was little more than pants of desire.
The man was definitely dynamite.
"Tell you what," he said, the smile touching his lips both dange
rous and confident. "Give me an hour. If, in that time, I don't manage to give you the best orgasm of your life, you walk free."
Walking right now might be a problem, let alone after she'd spent an hour in his presence. "And if you do manage such a feat, what happens?"
His slow grin became full-blown and damn near blew all her circuitry. "Then you're mine for the entire night."
Oh, yes please...
She took a deep breath, trying to get some air into lungs that felt as if they were burning. "And how are we going to judge whether you've been successful or not?"
"You're a beagle shifter, aren't you?"
She stared at him for a minute, wondering how he'd known. While shifters innately recognized others of their kind, it was unusual to be able to pinpoint the exact breed. "Yes."
"And beagles yodel when they hit the extremes, don't they?"
Jack was going to have a field day with that bit of news. Especially if she did yodel. "Yeah, but we don't want to deafen other patrons." Or turn them off their own activities.
"Our room is shielded against extremes of noise. Shifters attend these bars as often as humans, and the owners do cater for the rutting requirements of different breeds."
Something else the manager hadn't thought to mention when he'd been briefing her. What else had he left out? As she'd said to Jack, even the tiniest bit of info could lead them to the killer.
And she really, really, hoped that the killer didn't have wicked gray eyes and a mind-blowing smile.
"Deal?" he asked softly.
"Deal," she said. And hoped like hell she didn't end up regretting it.
He placed a hand on her elbow, his touch seeming to scald her skin as he led her up the stairs and down the long corridor to one of the end rooms. She glanced up, checking the position of the security cams, knowing Jack would be watching through them. She gave him a covert smile and a wink before Grey guided her inside and locked the door behind them.
As rooms went, it was pretty basic. The walls were done in a God-awful red, while the carpet and ceiling were a beige that might once have been white. The bed was king size and covered in plain cotton sheets. There was also a sofa, and to her right, a small bathroom.
"Love the color scheme," she said dryly, raising an eyebrow as she turned to face him. The lust so evident in his expression damn near fried her brains. She swallowed heavily and added, "Was there no other choice?"