Page 6

Chapter 5

Gumshoe

LENNOX

“ G reystone Boulder-Wolf may have been many things, but tidy he was not.” Charlie stares around the tiny apartment, her nose wrinkling. “Is that…” She approaches a dusty bird cage and peers into it. “A dead canary.”

“Weird.” I follow her in, prepared to shift at any sign of a threat.

“You’re telling me,” Charlie replies, staring at the bird. “It’s been dead longer than its owner. Who leaves a dead bird in their apartment?”

Ignoring the bird, I step around piles of newspapers and books. “It’s weird because shifters don’t keep pets.” We’re wolves at heart and small animals set off our prey drive. We’re mostly civilized and can control those urges but why keep pets around to tempt us? “This place didn’t belong to him.”

Charlie looks up from where she was inspecting a notebook laying open on a desk. “I thought you said this was his address?”

I frown, sniffing the air. I can smell Greystone’s presence. He was here maybe three days ago, just before he was killed. “He was staying here but this place wasn’t his.” I sniff again. “Belongs to a human. A female.”

“A girlfriend?” Charlie places the notebook in an evidence bag and sets it by the door.

I make my way through the apartment, opening doors until I find the bedroom. Sniffing again, I say to Charlie, who’s followed me down the hall, “They had sex here recently.”

Charlie’s lips curl and her nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting, Lennox! You can smell when someone’s had sex?”

Yup. I can also scent when a person is on their period, which Charlie is not. I can smell when a person is sick or near death. I know when another animal has invaded my territory.

But I don’t tell Charlie any of this. She’s my mate and I want her to look at me with… well… not disgust, no matter how cute the expression is on her.

I walk further into the bedroom, moving items on the floor with my shoe. Something crinkles and I go down to one knee, gingerly working a folded piece of paper from the pocket of a pair of men’s trousers.

Opening it, I see a handwritten scrawled note: 716 Olive.

“Address?” Charlie asks, reading over my shoulder.

“That’s my guess.”

She pulls out her phone and taps at the screen with the confidence only a human born of the last few generations can manage. “There are a handful of Olive Roads in this country, there are more Oliver addresses, one in this state, but it’s in Buffalo.” She frowns and worries her lip between her front teeth, then snaps her fingers and taps her phone again.

“Aha!”

My head is swimming from her proximity, the mating hormones have me focusing solely on the shine of her lip where she bit it. I want to lick her there, to feel the satiny smooth…

“Lennox?”

I blink and try to shake the fuzz from my head. She’s frowning at me. “Yeah?”

Her brow smooths once she has my attention. “It’s a martini bar called Olive 716. The address is 716 West 23 rd Street. It’s not far from here. Should we go?” she asks, her tone eager.

I nod. Doubt niggles at the back of my mind, but I can’t hear my intuition over the blood rushing through my ears every time I breathe her in.

We finish up in the apartment, searching cabinets, under beds and in closets. As we leave, I’m convinced the home belongs to a human woman. If we find the woman, we might find the murderer.

“I’m not really dressed for a swanky bar,” Charlie says conversationally from the driver’s seat as she pulls into traffic.

I glance over her outfit of snug, faded blue jeans, a Mets T-shirt, and canvas high-top runners, and nod my agreement. She might have to wait in the car while I go in and talk to the bar owner.

She frowns at me. “You don’t hang out with women much, do you?”

Shit, it can’t be good if your mate feels the need to ask such a question. “Uh no, why?”

“Well, and I know this is going to sound like a trap, and it totally is, but I don’t dictate social conventions. But if a woman you might be interested in comments on her appearance, your only response should be reassurance that she looks amazing and will shine like a diamond wherever she chooses to go.”

Interested in… did she just acknowledge my interest? How does she know? Am I being that obvious?

Almost involuntarily, my lip lifts in amusement. Skipping over the part where she assumes I’m interested, I say, “What if she’s dressed in a potato sack and heading to a royal coronation? By your logic, I shouldn’t save her the embarrassment of walking into such an auspicious place underdressed, but allow her to make a fool of herself?”

Laughing, Charlie says, “Dude, you’re so old! What does a potato sack even look like? Who talks that way anymore? Wait, are you so old you were around for the invention of potato sacks?”

We share a laugh and again, I find myself musing at how many smiles Charlie can get from me. Not for nothing, I was voted grimmest mug on the force during the 1995 Commissioner’s ball. To my credit, I was hunting a serial killer targeting shifters back then and there wasn’t much to smile about.

Damn it, Charlie might have a point. I am old, and my mate is… not. If I intend to curry her favour, which I’m still debating due to my family’s curse, I’ll need to start acting more appropriately around her. Stop suggesting she dresses like an urchin looking for a hot meal, even if she does.

I will love her in the package she comes in.

Love… wait, no, these mating hormones are getting out of hand fast. I’ve only known the woman a few days. Not even the natural order can convince me I can fall in love that quickly.

As she pulls up to the curb on the opposite side of the street from the martini bar, I resist the urge to rush around the truck to open her door. She doesn’t need me to. She’s been doing it just fine for years.

Good job, wolf. Let the woman work.

“I’d probably look pretty cute in a potato sack,” Charlie continues, as I join her.

Looking both ways, I stop myself from taking her arm and step into the road. “You’d look cute in anything you wear.”

Her grin widens and her eyes sparkle. “You’re a fast learner.”

“Easy to do when your teacher is the prettiest firefighter in the city.”

“Are you flirting with me, detective?”

I chuckle, saying, “I don’t flirt…” I lose the rest as a buzzing fills my ears, so loud, it dims everything around me. Only a few things can cause my senses to spin that way, and I go with my gut.

Grabbing, Charlie, I spin her in my arms, hugging her protectively to my chest and turning my back to the martini bar just as it explodes.

Searing heat strikes me and I’m blown off my feet. As my body is thrown, I twist, holding Charlie tightly as we strike the pavement, rolling to a violent stop. The force of the blast tears Charlie away from me and I lose sight of her in the smoke filling the air.

Blinking, I reach out with my senses, finding her and crawling toward her.

She’s laying on her side, her hand next to her body, limp on the pavement. “Charlie!” I grip her shoulder and roll her onto her back, growling as a trickle of blood drips down her face from a cut on her forehead. I brush the hair aside and lift her against my chest. “Charlie, sweetheart, please wake up.”

I grip her chin and hold her until her eyelashes flutter. She frowns, then recognition hits and her features smooth. “Lennox.” Even in this desperate moment, my fear for her nearly overwhelming me, her voice saying my name makes me feel like the tallest man on the planet.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

She turns over in my arms and pushes herself up onto her knees. “Was anyone hurt?” She blinks blearily, trying to see through the smoke.

“Charlie, you hit your head,” I tell her, my arm wrapped around her back. “You need to lay still until an ambulance gets here.”

“I’m fine.” Charlie pushes against me, and I back up, giving her space. She coughs and drags her radio off her belt, lifting it to her lips. “This is Investigator Lopez from Fire Station five. We need multiple units to 716 West 23 rd Street.” Her anguished eyes meet mine. “There’s been a bombing.”