Storm of Sin Page 6

  I hold up my hands, then slowly reach into my coat pocket. “Bureau business.” They tense until I flip open my badge, then one raises a delicate hand and smoothes down the raised fur on the top of her head.

  “Go tell Jinx there’s a Bureau agent here,” she says, and the other panther pads off, a red bodysuit hugging her curves. “I’m Dion. I’d say it was a pleasure, but lying leaves a bad taste in my mouth. What do you want?”

  Pulling out my phone, I bring up one of the less jarring photos of the dead shifter. “Know her?”

  Dion’s eyes widen, taking on a shimmer, and she lets out a low, mournful yowl largely hidden by the loud dance beat surrounding us. With a nod towards the end of the bar, she turns on her stiletto heel and strides away.

  This corner of the club is slightly quieter, and she flashes two fingers to the bartender. He pours her a double shot of vodka, then fixes his perfectly round eyes on me. I can’t tell what he is, but I’d guess some form of lizard. Or perhaps a chameleon. “What’ll it be?”

  “Zacapa 23. With only one cube of ice.”

  Dion tosses back her drink in a single swallow. The bartender refills her glass before snagging the bottle of rum from a high shelf. “Thirty bucks,” he says, holding out his hand.

  A fucking rip-off, even if this is some of the best rum in the world. “Keep the tab open.” Drink in hand, I return my focus to Dion. “Who is she?”

  “Jacinda. She was a regular on cats-only nights.” Dion sniffs, a single tear glistening on her lashes. “A wolf accosted her years ago—beat her up after she refused to sleep with him—and she only trusted those of the feline persuasion.”

  The last word rumbles deep in her throat, and if I were not on the job, I would give serious thought to pursuing her—at least for the night. Instead, I swirl the rum in the snifter, letting the familiar butterscotch scent center me.

  “When did you last see her?”

  Dion leans halfway over the bar. “Bastian? When was our last cats-only night? Ten days ago?”

  The bartender shakes his head. “Eleven.”

  “Anyone who might have seen her after that night? Did she have friends? Family in town?” Downing the rest of the rum, I nod at Bastian for another.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Jinx. She’s the owner here, and she knew Jacinda better than I did.” Dion’s voice isn’t as smooth now, and she knocks back the second vodka, then slams the glass down on the bar top. “Jacinda was so sweet. Timid. What...what happened to her?”

  “The Bureau is still investigating. Where do I find Jinx? She and I need to have a talk.”

  Jinx is a tall, willowy redhead wearing a black chainmail dress that dips low between her breasts before falling all the way to the floor. She rounds her desk in the club’s back office and offers me her hand. “You are Sinclair?” she asks, her amber eyes trained on me.

  “Agent Sin.”

  Her grip is strong, and as she leans closer, she sniffs once. “Incubus? And...something else. These walls are warded, Agent Sin. Glamour is not possible inside this room, so I suggest you do not try.”

  “My talents are for personal use only. If I relied on them to do my job, I would be a piss-poor investigator.” I bristle at the suggestion I would influence a potential witness, but I suppose it is not an unreasonable assumption. “You knew a tiger shifter named Jacinda?”

  Jinx’s eyes darken, and she presses her red lips together for a moment before she takes a seat and motions for me to do the same. “You said ’knew.’ Jacinda’s dead?”

  “Her body was found this morning at Fort Baker park. One of your floor managers, Dion, said Jacinda was here eleven days ago. I need to know if you saw her after that night.”

  “I didn’t. I had a family emergency and left the Feline Fest a little after nine. Jacinda was sitting at the bar with Dion. I called her this past weekend but she didn’t answer, and I left her a message. I worried, but she traveled often for work. Pharmaceutical sales. I assumed…” Jinx shakes her head. “I should have checked on her. What happened?”

  “I cannot share details of an ongoing investigation. Do you have her address? Phone number? Names of her other friends?”

  “Y-yes. I can give you all of her contact information.” Jinx scribbles on a Post-it note, then grabs a second one and adds her own phone number. “Call me any time, Agent Sin. Jacinda and I weren’t terribly close. She only moved to San Francisco a few months ago. But she was a kind and sweet soul, and I wanted to get to know her better.”

  “I will.” Rising, I tuck the papers into my pocket. A vague sense of guilt over questioning Jinx and Dion without my partner lingers in my gut, but I lack the patience to explain the nuances of the shifter world to her tonight. I can sense the grief flowing from the jaguar still sitting at her desk, and before I slip through the door, I add, “I will find her killer and they will pay.”

  With no word from Gabriel, the prospect of going back to my penthouse apartment leaves me unsettled, so I take a seat at the bar and order another drink. Three hours later, midnight approaches, and sobriety is a distant, fuzzy memory.

  Other than the bartender, not a single shifter has spoken to me, but that affords me the opportunity to observe. The wolves and hyenas do not mix with the cats, but the bears and dragons don’t care. They’ll dance, flirt, and make out with anyone.

  “Another,” I slur to Bastian, but he shakes his head.

  “Sorry, man. You’re cut off. Did you drive here?”

  The chameleon blinks so quickly, I struggle to focus and snarl as I dig my keys out of my pocket and hold them over my head. “I am d-drunk. Nnnot ssstuuupid. I will walk. Bill. Now.”

  Anger helps sharpen my words, and I scribble my name on the check, tuck my card and keys back into my pocket, and stumble towards the door.

  Halfway there, a sweet, melodious voice floats just under the music.

  “You want to come with me now, dearie. I will take care of you.”

  I know that voice. And the solicitous tone with an undercurrent of pure evil. I thought she had stolen all my memories of her, but apparently, some were merely buried. Regina. I scan the club, desperate to discern if this is all in my head or if she is truly here.

  “Did you drive here, my sweet girl? Where did you park? Tell me now, and forget about your friends.”

  Fuck. When Regina captured me, there were no automobiles. She is here. And she has found another victim.

  Turning around quickly is a mistake. The lights, blaring music, and at least a dozen shots of rum conspire against me, and I start to fall, nearly taking a small pack of female wolves to the ground with me.

  Two of them shove me away as I hear Regina again. “Do not protest, dear. No talking now at all. Off we go.”

  “Stop!” My strained cry does not carry over the din, and when I get to my feet, I cannot see anything but a mass of people waiting to enter the club for its after-midnight soiree. “Get out of my way,” I snarl, but all I am is a drunk asshole, and no one listens.

  “Regina!” I call at the top of my lungs. “Regina, you fucking bitch, stop right now!”

  But when I finally stumble into the street, there are only empty sidewalks and thick fog rolling in off of the bay.

  Zoe

  A pounding headache wakes me, and I groan as I sit up and rub my eyes. But the sound only gets louder. The walls are shaking. Someone’s knocking. I stumble to my door and check the peephole.

  Shit.

  “Sin? How the hell did you find me?”

  His eyes are bloodshot and very blue, and he smells like he took a bath in a bottle of rum and—ew—vomit.

  “Regiiiinnnnaaa,” he mumbles. “Nnnneeeddd...”

  I step aside to let him stumble into my apartment, and as I shut the door, he tries to turn, but his legs tangle and he falls over.

  “You’re drunk off your ass.” Tugging at his arm, I try to pull him up, but he’s solid and apparently determined to stay on the floor. “And a mess. There’s no way
I’m letting you on my furniture like this.”

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I kneel next to him and start peeling his jacket from his shoulders. “Off with this.”

  “Youuuuu...rrrrr....otherrrrr.” He’s staring at me like I’m a ghost, or worse, but he lets me prop him up to sitting.

  “I’m not, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop insisting I am.” The jacket lands in a heap next to him, and I go to work on his black shirt. Stupid asshole. How dare he show up like this and make me take care of him after what he did to me this afternoon.

  “Like…her…” Sin reaches up and tries to touch my cheek, but I bat his hand away and finish with the last few buttons on his shirt.

  “Holy fucking shit.” His sculpted chest and abs are impressive, but they’re also covered with scars. Long, thin lines, those same awful T shapes at the ends. Scooting around him, I have to swallow the horror sticking in my throat.

  His back is even worse with at least twice the number of scars I saw on Temple’s autopsy photo. How could one man—even if he is a demon—withstand so much pain?

  “Sin, my God.”

  “God knows.” The words escape on a whisper, and his head lolls forward. When I reach for his belt, he says, “Please. No.”

  I rest my hand over his heart and wait for him to look up at me. “You reek, and I’m pretty sure you can’t stand on your own. But I’m going to get a blanket to cover you up. Stay here and don’t try to move.” I leave him with his arms around his knees, swaying slightly, and rummage around in my closet.

  Once the blanket’s draped over his body, I kneel back down and touch his cheek. “Give me your pants, and I’ll throw everything in the wash. You can sleep this off on the couch. Okay? I’m so mad at you I should just leave you on the floor, but my grandmother would come back to haunt me if I did that.”

  “Mad’s....not here. You are. How?”

  He’s not making any sense. My patience is long gone, but so is Sin’s fight, and when I reach for his belt this time, he doesn’t protest. The blanket covers most of what he very obviously doesn’t want me to see, but the brief glimpse I catch of his right thigh reveals more scars—burns this time.

  It takes us ten minutes to traverse the few feet to the couch, Sin crawling on his knees with me bracing him so he doesn’t fall over, but once he’s stretched out under the blanket, he forces his eyes open and for one second, I think he actually focuses on me. “Thank you, Zoe.”

  “Yeah, well...you might not feel the same way in the morning with the hangover you’re definitely going to have. Good night, Sin.”

  Eleven

  Sin

  The scent of coffee rouses me. I force my eyes open and wince against the bright lights. Fuck. It has been years since I had a hangover this terrible. Worse, I can feel the first stirrings of hunger in my gut. Soon, I will need to find a willing snack.

  “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

  Zoe. The last hour of my night comes screaming back to me in a rush. Searching for Regina. Failing to find her. Stopping at a liquor store for a bottle of Absinthe and using it to dull the pain of my memories.

  Then...ending up here.

  She sets a mug of coffee down on the end table. “You’re naked under there, and I don’t fancy a show.”

  From the way her cheeks tinge pink, she does. Very much. But I, on the other hand, do not want to give her one. This was—is—inappropriate on every level.

  Drawing the blanket closer to my chest, I sit up and groan. “I owe you an apology.”

  “Several.”

  With a sigh, Zoe leans against the arm of a chair a few feet away. She wears a long, peach robe, and her red curls are damp. Her scent wraps around me—coconut and watermelon—and I breathe deeply, wanting more. I do not understand why her mere presence both soothes and irritates me, but under the blanket, my cock rises to attention, and I shift my legs to hide my reaction from her.

  “Several, then. Was I…indelicate? Indecent?” The way my body is reacting to her now is definitely the latter, but hopefully she has not noticed. I bow my head, letting the rich scent of coffee replace all else, and the first sip eases the pounding behind my eyes.

  “No. But you woke me well after midnight, stumbled in here babbling and smelling of puke, and then passed out. Plus, you left me at headquarters yesterday with no explanation. Alone. On my first day.”

  She keeps her tone soft, thankfully, but the judgment is clear. She believes me to be an asshole. She would be right. I am.

  “It was a difficult evening.”

  “No shit.” Draining her mug, she sets it in the kitchen sink. “Your clothes are clean and hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I’m going to get dressed. There’s a spare toothbrush on the sink. Towels are in the linen closet. Shower. Use anything you need of mine—I don’t like girlie scents, so you won’t end up smelling like a flower shop—and then, assuming you weren’t a total and complete idiot and left your car wherever you were drinking, I’ll drive you to go pick it up.”

  As she scoots past me, I reach out and grab her wrist. “Zoe?” She doesn’t pull away, but her shoulders stiffen and she holds her breath. “I am sorry. You deserve a better partner. If you wish, I will speak to Commander Eve.”

  Her gaze softens slightly. “We both know that’s not going to happen. This is my case now just as much as it is yours. So you’re going to pull yourself out of your current pity-party-bender and start being honest with me. What I deserve—what I want—is for you to be a better partner. To help me rather than standing in my way. So get on that.”

  With a little huff, she twists free of my hold, and when the bedroom door closes with a soft click, I nod. She is right. I need to be better, and I will. Because while most of the previous night is a blur, I do remember one thing very clearly.

  Regina is no longer in Hell, and I fear she just kidnapped another shifter.

  Zoe

  Longest. Night. Ever. Lying awake as I tried to forget the sight of my partner’s mostly naked body? Torture. Listening to him scream at 3:00 a.m.? So much worse. I don’t think he remembers the nightmare. Or how I rushed out in just my sleep tank and skimpy shorts and tried to wake him. Or how he grabbed me and held on like his life depended on it for all of a minute before passing out again. Or the words he kept repeating over and over again.

  “I failed you. Lost you.”

  Failed me? Sure, he was an ass. And a shitty partner. But the anguish in his words was so much more than leaving me alone on my first day would ever warrant. And he certainly didn’t lose me. Was he talking about someone else?

  I should tell him about the nightmare. Better to come clean now than have him remember in a week, right? Making a mental note to ask Kunchin to tell me more about incubi, I pull on a pair of jeans and a black sweater. Everything else in my wardrobe hangs off me these days, but these two pieces? They’re from my time at the police academy when I was running five miles a day, and they’re about the only clothes I own that make me feel…good. Maybe even sexy.

  Stop it, Zoe. He’s your partner. And he’s a demon. Just because he needed you in the middle of the night doesn’t mean anything can or will happen. In fact, you need to make sure it doesn’t.

  Except when Sin emerges from the bathroom fully dressed, his black hair tamed, and stubble covering his jaw, his eyes hold a heat I know wasn’t there yesterday.

  “You look better,” I say, a little surprised at how quickly he bounced back from what had to be one hell of a hangover.

  “I feel like shit. But I will live. We should go.” He picks up his phone from the coffee table where I set it the previous night and glances at the screen, then frowns. “My car is parked a block from a shifter club called Loup Noir, and we need their security footage.”

  “Why?” I grab my keys, crossbody bag, and travel mug. Sin looks back at the coffee pot longingly, and I arch a brow as I point to the insulated cup’s twin sitting on the counter. “Take it. I’m mad, not a heartles
s bitch.”

  His laugh surprises me, and from his expression, it might surprise him too. “A heartless bitch would not have let me in last night.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice. Pretty sure you would have passed out in the hall. That would have earned me a stern lecture from the building manager, and I’m already on his shit list.”

  Sin keeps pace with me as I take the stairs three floors down to the underground parking garage. “Why are you ‘on his shit list’?”

  I sink into the well-worn driver’s seat and start the car, then grip the steering wheel so tightly, two of my knuckles crack. “After Temple...” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force myself to take a deep breath. “I lost it for a while. Only I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so instead of crashing at a partner’s place, I puked in the mail room. Twice.”

  “We will stop them,” Sin says quietly. “I promise.”

  Loup Noir doesn’t look like much from the outside. Not at 9:00 a.m. in the morning, anyway. A massive steel door, no windows, and the usual complement of detritus scattered over the sidewalk. The only indication it’s a club at all? The plastic wrist bands in the gutter. “You spent your night here? No wonder you smelled like death.”

  The sound Sin makes is something close to a growl. “This is one of the more reputable clubs in the city. Like the members themselves, the exterior transforms when it opens.”

  He doesn’t even glance at his car before going up to the door and pressing a small, almost invisible button at eye level.

  “We don’t open until seven,” a weary voice says through an overhead speaker.

  “Agents Sinclair and Dawes from the Bureau. We need to speak to Jinx immediately.”

  “Jinx?” I mouth.

  Sin takes my arm and draws me away from the door a few feet. “You are about to enter a world unlike anything you have seen before. Let me take the lead, and above all, do not stare.”