Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel (22 page)

I'm drawn to the dance floor and find myself among the dancers, moving to the music. It doesn't matter that I'm dancing alone, the floor is so crowded no one will know, or care.

Swaying to the music, eyes closed, I forget my troubles. I heard Kane sing that first day I visited his office, but I was so freaked out by the sight of him playing air guitar and dancing around, I didn't pay much attention to the voice. I pay attention now.

Kane's voice is a cross between Rob Thomas and Bryan Adams. There's just enough grittiness in it to be sexy. I move deeper into the crowd, closer to the stage. Before I know it, I'm standing with the groupies, staring up at Kane like he's some kind of god.

He walks to the edge of the stage and sings down to his adoring fans, spots me, and nearly forgets the words. I smile over that. He bends and extends his hand to me. I stare blankly at it for a moment.

A girl nudges me. “Take it!” she shouts.

I do. The next thing I know, I'm hefted up on stage. Kane sings to me, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do except stand there like an idiot. A moment later the modeling training kicks in and I strut my stuff. The crowd goes wild.

Kane rubs against me a time or two and gets in my face to blast out his song. I realize the song has changed and he now sings Billy Joel's “Uptown Girl.” That makes me laugh. It's not very rock and roll, but the crowd is in the moment and so am I. This is what I do. And although Kane investigates besides singing with a band, I realize this is what he does, too. We entertain.

The song ends and Kane shouts to the crowd that the band is taking a break. He grabs my arm on the way past and, laughing, we walk offstage.

“I thought this wasn't your kind of place, cupcake,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

Still high from actually having fun, I answer, “I need to talk to you. It can't wait until Monday.”

Morgan hands his guitar to another band member and leads me down a dark hallway, past a set of doors, and we're suddenly outside in a back alley. It's cold and he's not wearing a shirt.

“You're going to freeze to death out here,” I tell him.

He shrugs, reaches into his back pocket and pulls the T-shirt out, slipping it over his head. It has the band name scrawled across the front and I have a flash of Lisa Keller. Kane then reaches down and retrieves a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his boot. He lights up. “I always come out here during break to cool down and have a smoke. What's going on that you have to come slumming, cupcake?”

“My friend Cindy went home this weekend and she was going to check on the Billingtons for me. They've disappeared. Up and left everything behind. I want you to expand your search to include finding them.”

Kane stares at me through a haze of cigarette smoke. His eyes narrow. “Why would they cut out like that and leave everything behind?”

Good question. I can't tell Kane the truth. I can only tell him a portion of the note's contents. “Cindy said they'd left me a note. The impression I get is that the adoption might not have been entirely legal. Something they could have gotten in trouble for.”

“Baby black market?”

I shrug. “Could be. Something wasn't on the up-and-up. They may have information on Wendy Underwood, unless you've already found something on her.”

He shakes his head. “That woman doesn't want to be found. It's like she dropped off the face of the earth after she left the lab.”

Everyone in my life seems to be dropping off the face of the earth. “Maybe the Billingtons won't be as careful about covering their tracks.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with a cowboy boot. “It's why these people in your life feel like they have to cover their tracks that has me curious. You're sure you're telling me everything?”

“I'm telling you everything I know,” I lie. “If both Wendy Underwood and the Billingtons were involved in some type of baby sale, they could all get in trouble, couldn't they?”

“Yeah, they could,” he agrees. “You do remember it will be another thirty grand to find your adoptive parents?”

Now I don't feel bad about lying to Morgan. I'm paying a lot for the privilege. “I remember.”

“Leave me information about the Billingtons on my machine. First names, family members. Where they're originally from.”

Problem is, I don't have much information on the Billingtons. I'll think about it hard and try to come up with something.

“Got to get back to work,” he says. “Want to stick around? I'll buy you a drink when we finish for the night.”

Funny, I want Terry to forget we're all business, and I want Kane to remember it. “No, thanks. As soon as I find the girl I came with, I'm heading out.”

He flashes the dimples. “Your loss, cupcake. I personally think you need to have more fun.”

He's right. I do need to have more fun, but with werewolf outbreaks, murderers on the loose, and unanswered questions, it's difficult. For one brief moment onstage with Kane, I had fun. I forgot everything and allowed myself to live in the moment. I guess I owe him for that. Then I remember I'm paying him sixty grand if he finds all the parties I want found.

“Let's go. It's been a long day.”

Morgan opens the door and I follow him inside. He has a nice ass. I'll give him that. His band buddies are poised at the stage entrance, drinking and flirting with groupies. I'll wager most of those women are waiting to talk to Morgan. I won't cramp his style, and keep walking once we reach the stage entrance.

I'm back out on the dance floor a moment later. A disk jockey plays old rock and roll tunes. I make my way through the dancers until I leave one crowd and join another. Getting back to the table where I left Karen might take me a good thirty minutes. As I work my way through the crowd, a scent suddenly teases me, barely noticeable combined with all the other scents—body odor, perfume, men's cologne, beer. It draws me up short. It's him.

CONFESSION NO. 19

Whoever coined the phrase “what you don't know can't hurt you” was an idiot.

My gaze darts frantically to the right and left—in front and behind me. People. They're everywhere. I close my eyes and focus on the scent and which direction it's coming from. It wafts in and out, teasing me. About the time I decide I imagined it, I catch another whiff. In front of me. I think that's the direction the scent comes from. I move forward … hunting.

Directly ahead, I see a man walking away, his arm draped around a girl with long dark hair. He wears a thin muscle shirt, the style that shows most of the backs of both shoulders. A word is tattooed across the left one. The shirt covers all but the letters
I N E S
. I try to catch up, but the bottleneck of people gathered around the bar hold me back. He's headed toward the front entrance, which means he's on his way out. Since I have freakish upper body strength, I figure now is a good time to use it. I start shoving my way through the crowd.

Foul language explodes around me. I send one poor guy crashing into the bar where the shatter of glass says he's overturned several drinks. More cussing. I keep moving. The man in the T-shirt is almost to the door. I can't let him get away. What if it's him? What if the dark-haired girl is his next victim? A hand grips my arm. I try to twist free.

“Lou? Where the hell you been, girl? I've been looking for you.”

Karen's nails dig into my arm. I try to shake her off but she holds on. “Where's the damn fire? Hold up, Lou.”

“Let go!” I growl the words. “He's getting away!”

“Huh?” Karen releases me. I shove my way through people and finally reach the door. The dark-haired girl stands talking to another girl. I glance around. No sign of the guy with the tattoo. Since I don't see him, I assume he went outside. I do the same.

The line is shorter now to get in. I race past it, looking at faces illuminated by the flashing sign above the door of Freddie Z's. I reach the street and glance in both directions. There are people walking down the street, but I don't see a guy in a muscle T-shirt.

“Lou, what's wrong? Who's getting away?”

Karen huffs as she speaks because she's winded from chasing after me. I don't know what to say. Then I remember the girl. I'll question her about the guy I thought she was leaving with. Without explaining to Karen, I walk back to the entrance. The big black doorman blocks my way.

“You come out, you get back in line to get in,” he informs me.

This calls for quick thinking and serious flirting. I bat my lashes at him. “I left my purse in there. I just want to go back in real quick and get it.”

He eyes my big beauty bag.

“It's a little purse that I keep in my big purse.”

“You yanking me?”

“Lou, I thought we were going.” Karen now stands beside us.

“I left something inside,” I explain. “This nice gentleman was just about to let me go back to get it.”

“Well, hurry up,” Karen snaps. “I want to go home.”

The doorman glances between the two of us and sighs. “Go on,” he tells me.

“I'll get the car,” Karen calls.

I scramble past him. Once inside, I expect to see the girl where she was when I left. She's gone, and so is the girl she was talking to. I move a few feet, looking around. I don't see her anywhere. Not that I would spot her easily in this packed place. Shit. It could take me all night to track her down. I might never track her down the way the crowd mills around.

Who knows if the guy with the tattoo was him? Lots of guys have tattoos. I don't know if the scent I caught was real or simply a product of my subconscious. What I don't know can't hurt me. Yeah, right.

Deflated, I go back out. Karen waits at the curb. I climb into her car and she takes me home. By the time we reach my apartment building, a hot shower sounds good. A familiar El Camino is parked in front of my building.

“Well, well,” I say to Karen. “That man just can't stay away from me.”

“Who is it?” Karen asks.

“Terry, you know, the cop?”

“Lucky girl,” Karen mutters. “I never knew you had so much man action going on. I thought you were saving yourself for Stefan.”

“I might if he was saving himself for me, but we both know that is not the case.”

Karen nods. “Two can play his game,” she agrees. “Is that cop as hot as he looks like he'd be in bed?”

Men kiss and tell … women are worse. “Yes,” I say with a grin and climb out of the car. “Thanks for spending the day with me.” I close the door.

Walking to the passenger side of the El Camino, I open the door. “What's going on?”

“Do you know what time it is?” he asks.

I glance at my watch. “It's one-thirty and you really should get your own watch so you don't have to stake out apartment buildings hoping to ask someone coming home.”

“Funny,” he says sarcastically. “I've been trying to call you. I wanted to check up on you and you wouldn't answer your phone.”

If my phone rang in Freddie Z's, I would have never heard it over the noise. I climb inside the El Camino, which is at least warm. “Karen and I were out all day. We went to a club tonight.”

Terry frowns at me. “Do you think it's smart to go to clubs when you know the killer considers them his hunting grounds?”

There are a zillion clubs in New York. What were the odds that I thought I spotted Dog Breath at the one I was at tonight? Slim to none … unless he had been following me all day. “I'm not giving up my social life over this creep,” I say. “We don't even know if he's still alive, or even still in the area.”

“Exactly,” Terry snaps. “We don't know, so why are you out running around at night, putting yourself at risk?”

Although in my opinion, it's none of his business, I answer, “I had a meeting with someone tonight. I had to meet him at a club because that's where he works.”

His pretty blue eyes narrow. “Who. Kane?”

I'm starting to get pissed. Just because Terry and I are basically working together on the missing women files doesn't mean he can stick his nose in my personal life. “He is conducting an investigation for me, remember? Sometimes that's the only place I can catch him.”

Terry snorts. “That guy has a rap sheet a mile long. Breaking and entering. Car theft. You shouldn't be involved with him.”

Okay, so I'm not surprised Kane has a rap sheet. I imagine there's not much he won't do to get the information he needs. That might be a bad thing in Terry's opinion, but since I'm a person needing information, it's not necessarily a bad thing in mine. What is a bad thing is Terry telling me who I can hire to do my personal business and who I can't. “Just because we slept together doesn't mean you now have the right to order me around. Where I go and who I see is none of your business.”

I open the door to get out, but Terry grabs my arm. “It is my business, dammit!”

Glancing down at his hand wrapped around my arm, I say, “If you don't want me to beat you up again, you'd better let go.”

He releases me. A second later he shoves the same hand through his hair. “Look. I was worried about you. I've been looking at those files all afternoon. Women missing. Some of them dead. I don't want you to be in a file.”

No matter how hard Terry tries to keep our relationship impersonal, it's not working for him. It's not working me for me, either. I was mad a minute ago, but I've never seen him look vulnerable. He's a control freak and he's hooked up with a freak who is out of control. Two freaks, actually. Me and Dog Breath.

“You want to come up for coffee?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I'll take you to have coffee. I'm not coming up.”

I'm tired, but Terry looks like he could use some company. “I get the impression you don't trust me, Shay.”