Skin Deep (8 page)

A pair of booted feet entered my line of vision and left me no choice but to address him. I looked up, intending to feign surprise with a touch of fear. I had no trouble with surprise. His youth, not his presence, elicited the emotion. He didn't look much older than me—no more than eighteen. Humans aged faster than Walkers did, and their age showed. My eighteenth year loomed like a death knell, but I did look a lot younger. It posed a problem when Grandma Ivy had insisted I attend the local high school if I wanted to stay with her. The headmaster at Crawdon High had demanded proof of my age before admission. A good thing I was only in school six months before graduation.

My visitor's dark hair stuck up in boyish spikes, as if he'd just run his fingers through it in frustration. My neck hurt with craning it to take in his full height. He cracked a smile. Clearly, he didn't smile much or had forgotten the art long ago. His mouth turned up at the corners, but his eyes remained cool, calculating and contemplative, as if he recognized me from somewhere.

My fear was real too. The effect he had on me scared me so badly; enough for me to wish I were very far away from him. But at the same time, he enthralled me. Ugh. This is what got girls into trouble, all this hormonal bullshit.

I pulled the buds from my ears, dropped them on the desk and rose to my feet. His height made me insecure enough to stand, and then it was too late to sit down again without looking totally idiotic. Hot pain stabbed my shoulder from the movement. It took considerable effort not to wince and I concentrated on his chin. Firm and stubbled, it screamed determined and stubborn. I decided I liked his chin. Very much.

Get a grip, you idiot. He's a bloody cop.

"Hello. Sorry if we startled you. I'm Agent Westin with the Chicago PD." He didn't look the least bit sorry. He waved a hand at the other agent who still stood by the door. Blond, beautiful and silent. "That's Agent Carnarvon. We're the ones making the racket outside."

He nodded at the large windows behind me. From my position, the red emergency lights flashing outside never reached me. The light reflected against the white sills of the windows and threw a haze of pink on the wall to my right, but not enough to draw my attention.

"Sorry, I didn't hear." I indicated the buds and the music drive lying on the desk, its little green light blinked on pause.

"Ah." A light bulb expression lit his face, now I'd proved to be musically inclined instead of deaf. "What’re you listening to?"

Was he trying to make conversation? My shoulder ached and I was in no mood for a chat.

He's way too good-looking to get me on a bad day. Life ain't fair—so get used to it, Kailin.

"Beethoven," I answered flatly.

"Oh, I don't have patience for classical. Jazz is more my style."

I blinked and waited. He wanted to discuss music while my poor friend suffocated inside the closet. The blood-filled closet. Panic surged through me. Anjelo sat among my bloodstained clothes and towels. It was a danger to his Panther as much as the Hunt was to mine.

Dear Ailuros, please look after the poor guy.

"We're checking the building out. There's been a bit of commotion outside." Westin cut right to the chase.

I kept my face blank. Not going to fall into the trap, thanks.

"What's going on?" I turned on my heel and hurried to the window, peering in the direction of the lights. "What happened?"

"Someone dumped a body in the community garden."

High shock value required. I hoped my expression of horror did it justice. Part of me registered the presence of Westin's beautiful partner. Her disinterested glance flitted over me. I ignored it.

"When?" I faced him, hoping for a sign.
Had my little act convinced him yet?
I needed to tone it down, though or I'd get found out. The last thing I wanted was to ingrain in his mind that I was a total wook.

"Not long ago, about an hour or so." His obsidian eyes focused sharply on my face, watching for the slightest tell. "What are you doing here so late, Miss
...?"

"Odel. Kailin Odel. I work for the rehab center. Teen rehab counselor."

His eyebrows raised in disbelief. I could almost hear the sound of tumblers and springs clicking and clacking away as he tried to guess my age.

"A bit young for a counselor."

"Counselor in training," I said, stressing the word 'training' with a raised eyebrow of my own.

"Is this a night job?"

My brow twisted in confusion. Blood loss began to tire me out.

"School?" Agent Carnarvon, by the door, scowled.

"Oh. I'm at U of C, Detective. But it's okay. I look young for my age so I get that a lot." I waved a hand at the files. "As you can tell, I have tons of paperwork to clear for my supervisor. It tends to pile up while we aren't looking. Clancy's got a group session at noon tomorrow and I thought I'd better give her a hand and get a head start writing up some reports."

"Planning on going home at all?"

"I won't be much longer," I replied.

"It's a dangerous neighborhood, Miss Odel." His eyes assessed me. I'd have given anything to peek into his busy little mind. A part of me didn't mind the assessment, especially when those dark eyes lost their glacial pall for a few seconds. I imagined a more intense, dreamy look in his eyes.

Get a grip, Odel. Fantasizing about the cop won't keep your ass out of jail.

"I don't live far away. Just a short walk around the block. Besides, everyone knows me pretty well. I can take care of myself."

"If you don't mind me saying.... You're very young to make a career decision, especially one as intense as a counselor."

"I'm a youth and drug counselor, Agent Westin. My background allows me to empathize with them. I understand the patients. It's why I can make real progress with them. Besides, I'm still a trainee counselor on the staff. I’m supervised, though not as much as before." His needling annoyed me. I hated questions about my age. So I was young. He didn't know Walkers aged slower than Humans. I should’ve cut him some slack, but he'd already pushed my buttons. Add to the fact I was beginning to like his company far too much—that broad expanse of chest—it became a recipe for cataclysmic disaster.

I took a long, assessing look of my own, noting his lack of gray or wrinkles. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. "You look pretty young yourself. For a detective...."

Agent Carnarvon smiled behind him, though she didn't meet my eyes.

"Touché, Miss Odel. I guess I deserved that." He flushed a little. "Just a few more questions and we'll be out of your way. Did you hear any gunshots?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

"We believe someone witnessed the drop and the killers shot at this person. From the pattern of the damage in the garden, we traced him to the rear entrance of this building. We've checked the building, but all we’ve found were empty offices."

"Have you asked Clem?" Redirection always helped. If I nudged him toward Clem, maybe he'd leave me alone. This was taking far too long for poor Anjelo to survive the cramped closet.

"Clem?" he asked.

"The super. Lives in the basement," I snipped. He should know this. He was the detective, not me.

"Okay, we'll check with him. What time did you get here tonight?" His eyes traveled the room as he spoke.

"Around eight." Not many people hung around at eight, so there'd be no one to confirm or deny it.

"So you didn't hear anyone enter the building in the last hour or so?"

I picked up my ear-buds and he fell silent as they swung from my hand.

"Mind if I look around a bit?" He raised his hands in apology. I figured he was a by-the-book kind of guy and declining such a request would raise further, possibly damning, questions.

"Sure, go ahead." I had no choice. He'd check anyway or get a subpoena and be right back. Poor Anjelo.

My heart clenched when he walked to the closet and opened the door. His fingers searched inside for the lights and flipped the switch. The light flickered a few times, as it strained to connect the electrical points to illuminate the bulb. It succeeded and stayed on. It brightened the closet and haphazard contents in stark detail.

He peered out the window on his left, which sat on the same wall as the windows in my office, and looked down on the garden below. He scanned the shelves and the walls for far too long. Did he sense something in there? I leaned forward, tense. Waiting. Forgetting the silent Agent Carnarvon who waited by the door.

Then, my chest clenched with shock. Anjelo had missed a spot. Right there on the threshold, an inch to the left of Agent Westin's shiny right boot, sat an equally shiny ruby puddle Waiting for him to see it or step in it. I dared not imagine which would've been worse. Thankfully, his feet blocked his partner's view of the evidence.

He completed his scan of the closet interior, after paying special attention to the fake wall sealing off my special storage area. I was sure he'd hear my heart thundering all the way in the closet. If not mine, then probably Anjelo's.

Satisfied, he switched off the light and closed the door, his boot heel missing the traitorous red spot by a breath and a heartbeat.

"Thanks for your time, Miss Odel." He'd seen enough. I couldn't be rid of him fast enough. "You really should be leaving the office earlier, when it's safer. The city is far more dangerous than you may realize."

He held out a card and I reached out for it. At the same moment, Westin moved forward as if he knew I’d have to reach to grasp it. I expected the sharp stab of pain in my shoulder as I stretched, testing muscles that preferred to be left alone. I didn't expect the sudden blaze of heat sparked by the meeting of our fingers. Warmth pulsed from the point of contact all the way up my arm to my chest, constricting my lungs so I couldn't breathe and speeding up a heartbeat already hammering double time with nerves. I grabbed my hand back, glancing up and hoping I covered my defensiveness.

Our eyes met and I knew from his expression he felt something similar. He looked startled and a bit disturbed. As if whatever he felt made him uncomfortable. My pulse raced, this time with anger. He obviously wasn't too thrilled. I sat back down, deciding on silence rather than blurting out my thoughts. Westin cleared his throat and gave his head the tiniest shake, as if he was trying to dislodge the woolly threads of slumber.

"Are you willing to sign a statement? Even if you haven't seen anything. It's part of the investigation." He frowned as he spoke. Clearly, his mind was elsewhere and the words he spoke formed automatically.

"Sure." Model citizen.

"And we'd need your supervisor's details to corroborate your employment." I fished around in Clancy's drawer and passed Westin a business card. This time, we both took care to ensure we avoided contact.

I leaned against the backrest of my chair and crossed my legs to wait while he studied it. I flicked my foot back and forth, as he spoke.

"Are you sure you haven't been in the garden this evening?" My forehead creased. He stared pointedly at my booted feet. "You've got soil stuck in your soles."

"Yeah, I've been in the garden. I'm there every now and then. I have a little patch of flowers I take care of. Or try to." I nodded at the vase of Delphiniums sitting precariously on the edge of the overflowing desk, slightly wilted but still a glorious deep blue.

Again, I’d stymied him, but he seemed satisfied with my answers so far. I could tell something still bugged him though. Throughout our conversation, he kept looking at my hair.

Glorious ebony tresses was the way Grandma Ivy described it. Said it reminded her of my mother. I always found it strange my father's mother didn't hate her daughter-in-law for abandoning her family. She had the most annoying habit of stroking my head as if I were the cat, thought I never dared to demand she stop. When it came to Grandma Ivy, submitting was the easiest option.

"Do you use the back entrance often?" There went my heart again, faster than a freight train.

"Of course, Detective. It's the route I take to tend my flowers. I'm not lazy, but I certainly won't walk all the way around the building to get the garden. I use the back door all the time. During the day, of course. The light outside hasn’t worked for ages. I've complained but the super never does anything about it."

"Probably why we found strands of hair the exact shade of yours on the step outside the back door."

I nodded, the offending dark strands stirring back and forth. The plait had held, but barely, and dozens of tendrils had escaped during my evening’s activities.

"We've bothered you enough." He hesitated. "Thank you for your help." He retreated from the room after holding the door open for Agent Carnarvon, then shut the door behind him. The tap-tap of their footsteps receded down the hall.

I stretched my arm, stiffened from controlling the shivers of pain, which ran through my shoulder. Relief flooded me while adrenalin ebbed from my limbs. That damned spot of blood had almost given me a stroke. Not to mention my body's traitorous reaction to his touch.

Disgusted with myself, I shut the computer down and gathered my stuff. My shoulder ached like crazy, but I had to clean up the spot. Grabbing a fistful of tissues, I opened the closet door and swiped at the offensive blood spot. I rubbed until not a trace remained.