I pushed to my feet. "If you do think of anything, contact the Directorate." And if she didn't, someone from the Directorate would follow up with her regardless.

She nodded and wiped a hand across her nose again. I headed out. Cole was kneeling near the victim's head. "You ever heard of a strip joint called Man Hard?"

"Now why would you think I'd be visiting strip joints?" he said without looking up.

"Uh, because you're a man?"

He snorted softly. "Being a man doesn't automatically mean I have a preference for visiting strip clubs."

"Well, being a werewolf doesn't automatically mean I'm a wh.o.r.e, but half the world holds that opinion of us."

"Touche." He flashed me a grin that was more than nice. "Doesn't change the fact, though. I don't visit clubs. Stripper or wolf."

"You must live a sad and lonely life, Cole Reece."

"Only in comparison to some werewolves. By wolf shifter standards, I'm very outgoing."

Then the wolf shifters had very different standards from the rest of the supernatural community. "Found anything else of note?"

"Dust."

"Dust?"

"Yeah. Not the sort of dust that generally acc.u.mulates around houses, either. This stuff appears to be herbal."

I frowned. "There was dust at both Armel's and Bovel's, too."Cole nodded. "It's been at all three scenes. I'd hazard a guess it's the same, but we won't know until we get the samples to the lab."

"So how is this dust important?"

"That I can't say." He paused to seal the bag. "Sh.o.r.e's safe has been opened, just like the rest of them, though this murder isn't as violent as the second one."

"Maybe because he has closer neighbors."

"Could be."

"You'll let me know if you find anything?"

"You know, you could read reports like a normal person."

I grinned. "But why would I do that when it's so much more enjoyable hearing your silky voice?"

"I'm not ever sleeping with you, you know that, don't you?"

"Facts have never stopped the fun of trying."

He snorted softly. "Will you just get out of here and let me work?"

I gave him a break and left. Once back in the car, I did a search on the strip club that Anna had mentioned. There was nothing on record, but that didn't mean the club didn't exist. It might simply mean that it was one of the underground ones.

And I knew exactly who would know. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, flicked the vid-b.u.t.ton, then rang Ben.

"Hey, how's my favorite werewolf doing?" he said, his smile like snow against the utter night of his skin.

"I thought your sister was your favorite werewolf."

"Well, she is. But I can't sleep with her. You I can."

His blue eyes shone with amus.e.m.e.nt and my stomach did flip-flops. Ben and I hadn't gotten any further than just being friends, and while the potential to become lovers was definitely there, it would never be anything more. Ben had found, and lost, his soul mate several years ago, and her death had shattered his heart. He might live, he might be marginally happy, and he might enjoy s.e.x, but there could never be anything more for him. Could never be anything deeper.

"I don't think my vampire would be too happy about me s.e.xing you on a regular basis."

"How about a nonregular basis?"

"Not even that, I suspect."

"You have told him I'm harmless, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but he isn't believing it."

"You really need to sit down and talk to that man. He's spoiling all my fun."

I laughed softly. "And possibly mine.""No possibly about it, my sweet." His grin flashed again. "What can I do for you?"

"I need some information about a strip club."

"Well, the cost of supplying information is having a meal with me."

"You're just trying to get me into bed again."

"No doubt about it." The corners of his blue eyes crinkled with the force of his smile. "So, how about it?"

"Yes to a late dinner, no to s.e.x. When are you free?"

He paused and glanced away. "I have a break in forty-five minutes. You want to meet me around at Fuzzball's?"

Fuzzball's was a little cafe not far away from his work. We'd met there once, for lunch, and while the food or coffee wasn't great, it certainly wasn't the worse place that I've ever eaten.

"I'll be there in forty-five."

"I'll be waiting."

I grinned and hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang again, but the number wasn't one I was familiar with. Frowning, I flicked the b.u.t.ton and said, "Riley Jenson speaking."

"Riley, it's Mike. You said to ring if I had anything else."

It took a moment for the name to click. It was the street kid-the one with the bright blue eyes and quick mind.

"I did. What have you got?"

He didn't ask for cash, as I half expected him to. Instead, he said in a rush, "There was a woman here asking about Joe. It wasn't the same one that talked to Kaz, but I think she's going to kill him."

Chapter Six

"She can't find him, right?" I said, a little alarmed by the panic in his voice. Mike was a kid who had seemed totally in control. I wouldn't have expected this sort of reaction out of him.

"But she can. She did something to me. I don't know..." He paused. "She threw this dust at me, and suddenly I couldn't stop blabbing. Anything she asked, I answered. It was unreal." He blew out a breath. "I thought she was harmless. She was in a d.a.m.n wheelchair, after all."

A wheelchair. So Cole was right about the reasons the bird was resting on its belly. While shapeshifting could heal most injuries, there were a few that could never be repaired. Missing limbs didn't grow back, and broken spines were never fixed. I had no idea why, especially when most other broken bones could be repaired once set. Maybe it had something to do with nerve damage.

"Look, this woman is a sorcerer, so she's obviously used some sort of magic on you. How much head start has she got?"

"Maybe five minutes. She said she'd kill everyone if I moved or tried to warn Joe, but once I got the chance, I rang you."

"And did you ring Joe?"

"No. I mean, I can't. He doesn't have a phone with him when he's working."

"I thought you said he didn't work nights."

"Well, he doesn't normally. But he hasn't had a good run this week and needs the cash."

I bit down on the instinct to ask what he needed the cash for, simply because it was a stupid question. Even street kids needed cash for some of the necessities in life. Although in Joe's case I didn't think one of those necessities was drugs. Not yet, anyway.

"Where is he?"

"He's working the hospitals. I'm not sure which one he's doing tonight, but he did the Freemasons last night, so it'll probably be the Epworth tonight."

I frowned. "What do you mean, he's working the hospitals?"

"He's a pickpocket. Hospitals are great places to work, because no one expects it."

That's because most people expected a certain level of respect in hospitals. But then, a street kid living just above the starvation line isn't exactly going to be respectful of anything but his own skin.

"I'll see what I can do, but you'll owe me one."

"Deal."

I hung up, then threw the phone down on the pa.s.senger seat and started the car. It didn't take that long to get to the hospital, but with the extended visiting hours the hospital had, parking was a b.i.t.c.h. I didn't even bother looking, just stopped in a no- parking zone and slapped the Directorate official vehicle sticker onto the dash. I grabbed my gun from under the seat, then climbed out.

The wind was free of any familiar scents. I jogged toward the hospital, keeping alert and using my psychic senses to feel for anything that seemed remotely out of place.

People milled around the main doors, but neither Joe nor a strange woman wearing a blonde wig were present. I hesitated, wondering if I should move up to the parking lot and investigate there, or stick to the hospital. After a moment, I moved toward the dark gla.s.s doors. If I were a thief, I'd rather go to someplace where a lone person hanging around wasn't going to be that noticeable-and that wasn't in a parking lot.

The doors swished open, and the scents of antiseptic, sickness, sorrow, and death washed over me. When combined with the overwhelming odor of humanity, the urge to gag became pressing. I hated hospitals at the best of times, and walking into one willingly had to rate right up there with walking into a cemetery. For a start, both places were filled with far too many ghosts.

I paused just to the left of the entrance, studying the foyer and wondering where the h.e.l.l was the best place to find a thief.

The aroma of fried food snagged my attention, and I headed that way. Lots of people tended to get careless in cafeterias. Some flung their purses over the side of the chairs, others shoved their wallets casually in a side pocket while carrying trays of food.

Either one was easy pickings for an experienced thief.

And Joe was obviously that.

Most of the tables in the cafeteria were empty, with only a few near the serving counter currently occupied. The kitchen itself seemed to be packing up, the clang of metal and rush of steam as hot trays were cleaned mingling easily with the murmur of conversation.

I walked farther into the room, just in case there was a section I wasn't seeing, and caught a trace of Joe's scent. My heart rate quickened, the wolf within eager for the chase. I followed my nose, weaving my way through the tables, moving through the cafeteria and out into a wide hall. There were more people here, but most of them were moving toward the exit. Joe's scent was fainter, getting lost in the myriad of other smells.

I walked through the doors and back out onto the street. Joe's scent headed off to the left. I followed, hoping like h.e.l.l he hadn't jumped onto a tram or a bus; if he had, then I'd lost him.

His scent got stronger rather than weaker, but twined within it was another. Only it wasn't a feminine scent, but rather one that was all too familiar.

Decaying flesh.

The sorcerer might have risked talking to Mike, but she was canny enough to realize she'd never keep up with a fleet-footed street kid. Not when she was in a wheelchair, anyway. And in her crow form, she'd hardly be a threat.

But why send a zombie when she had the h.e.l.lhounds at her disposal?

And what had Joe seen that warranted such an action in the first place?

The scent swung left, into a side street. I was running now, my footsteps light, mingling with the noise of the surrounding night. A mix of warehouses and housing loomed. Maybe Joe was hoping to lose his pursuer in the maze that was the Richmond landscape.

The trail swung left again, heading back up toward the hospital, then sharpened abruptly. I slowed and dug my laser out from my pocket. The building was weather worn and rusted, its windows cracked and roofline sagging. Obviously not a warehouse currently in use-and the scents of age and mold coming from it seemed to confirm that.

I pushed the metal door open with my fingertips. Wind rushed past me, scattering the rubbish lining the floor. I stepped inside and flicked to infrared. Two blurs of heat became visible down at the far end of the factory, the brighter of the two half hidden by something large and black, the other creeping ever so slowly toward it. Joe obviously didn't realize the zombie knew exactly where he was.

I broke into a run, moving as quickly as the maze of corridors and the rubbish would allow. Ahead, the dark red blur that was the zombie had drawn closer to Joe. I was running out of time.

A door stood between me and them. I hit it shoulder first and the thing gave way, tearing away from the hinges before clattering to the floor.

The brighter blur that was Joe jumped. The zombie didn't react. It had its orders and its prey in sight, and nothing was going to stop it achieve its goal.

I raised the laser, the weapon humming at the pressure of my finger. At that moment, a crow squawked and the zombie instantly threw itself forward. As Joe yelped and scrambled backward, I fired the laser. The bright beam gave the darkness a red edge as it cut through the metal sides of the bin the teenager was hiding behind and sliced the zombie in half. As its body flopped to the floor in separate pieces, I raised the laser and fired a shot toward the ceiling and the shifter I couldn't see or feel.

The bright beam cut through wood and metal roofing, sending dust and rust flying. A second later, wings rustled and air stirred.

The b.i.t.c.h was taking off.I shoved the laser into my back pocket and reached down inside myself for my seagull shape. "Joe," I shouted, as the magic swept through across my torso and down my limbs. "Wait here. I'll be back."

Then I was flying through the hole in the rusted roof and out into the starry sky. Luckily, a seagull's eyesight was keener than a human's, even at night, and I spotted my quarry within half a turn.

With a flick of my wings, I flew after her. The night was bright, filled with lights and bugs that teased the hungers of the gull even as the rest of me shuddered at the thought. I concentrated on the big black bird ahead, flying faster than I'd ever flown in my life and rapidly gaining ground. The flying lessons were paying off, even if I'd once despaired of ever enjoying the freedom of the skies.