“That’s because I have to deal with assholes all day. What do you want?”
Okay, that jibe I could fully understand—and hey, I could be a pain in the ass when I wanted to be. Just as every other guardian on the books could be. “I need a cleanup team at my current location. I’ve found a ripe one.”
“Charming.” In the background came the sound of typing. “Okay, I’ve dispatched Mel and her team. Should be there in fifteen. Anything else?”
“Can you send me the address of Marrberry House? It hosts charity functions, apparently.”
“I know that, moron.” She paused. “Sending their details through to your car’s onboard now.”
I blinked. Sal was usually super-efficient, but this was brilliant service, even by her standards. And the bitch in me couldn’t resist commenting. “You’re horribly professional this evening. Maybe you need to get premenstrual more often.”
“I haven’t eaten,” she said and hung up.
I stared at my phone for a moment, eyebrow raised. Why hadn’t Sal eaten? The Directorate kept a supply of synth blood for the vampires in their employ, so there was no reason for her to go hungry. Although maybe she was one of those vamps who preferred their blood fresh, straight from the vein. She definitely seemed the fussy type. I was tempted to ring her back and see what was going on, but it wasn’t like we were friends or anything. Talking to me was the last thing she’d probably want.
I shrugged and put the phone away, then leaned on the balustrade again and waited for the cleanup team to arrive. Mel turned out to be a tall, dark-haired woman with a fabulous figure and who wore red stiletto boots underneath her more sensible jeans. A woman after my own heart, obviously.
She strode up the pathway, saw me waiting, and stopped. “Riley Jenson?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid I’ve a rather ripe one for you. The victim seems to have been dead for at least a week, but the heating has been on full, so that guess could be way off.”
“Any obvious signs of death?”
“I didn’t get close enough to find out.”
She smiled. “A guardian with a weak stomach. Nice to know there is such a beast.”
“Now that sounded like something Cole would say.”
Her smile grew. “He and I went to school together, and I’m best friends with his sister.” She looked around as her team—a potbellied man and a woman who was rake thin and almost insectlike—arrived, then added, “You want me to send you a copy of the report as soon as it’s done?”
“That would be great. Oh, and the building’s front doors are locked. I’ll unlock the apartment doors before I leave.”
“Marshall will get these doors easy enough. Anything else I need to know?”
“We need the ID ASAP. She may be linked to another case we’re investigating.”
“We’ll make it a priority.”
“Thanks.”
She nodded and disappeared from my view. I took a deep breath, then dashed inside and unlocked the front door. Then I ran back out, did a one-handed leap over the balcony, and dropped back down to the concrete.
Mel and her team had already gotten inside. Maybe Marshall had been a thief or a locksmith in his pre-Directorate days.
I collected my purse, then headed back to the car. The information on Marrberry House had arrived, so I scanned it quickly, gleaning as much information as I could without reading the full thing. It seemed they ran a number of functions over the year, with their major beneficiaries being the Royal Children’s Hospital and the Peter MacCallum Cancer Foundation. Last year they raised nearly half a million for the two organizations.
I really couldn’t see how they could help our investigations, but being the good little guardian that I sometimes was, I drove over and had a chat with the organizer of last night’s events.
Turns out I was right—he couldn’t help me much. But he did give me a photo they’d been planning to use for publicity purposes—one of Gerard with a striking blonde at his side.
It was hard to say whether she was the woman I’d discovered dead on the bed, because the body had been in such a state of decay, but the height looked the same, as did the blond hair.
So if it was Alana Burns I’d discovered in the apartment, then who was this? And why would she go to so much trouble to date—and then kill—Gerard James?
Unless Cole picked up something in his investigations, they just might be unanswered questions. Which wouldn’t make Jack a happy little vampire at all.
I tossed the photo on the seat, then rang Kade to tell him I’d changed my mind and was heading home. I might have promised Ben I’d check what the police files had to say about his friend’s murder, but I really wasn’t up to doing any more this evening.
I found a parking spot not too far up the street from our apartment building, and hoped like hell the local vandals had gotten tired of their spray-painting binge. Last time I’d brought a Directorate car home, it had ended up green and red. Jack had not been happy.The night air was cool and surprisingly fresh, free of the usual tint of fumes from the nearby freeway. Maybe the wind had been blowing the other way before it had died earlier this evening, because right now, all I could smell was the faintest hint of humanity, mixed with the sharpness of paint coming from the new pizza parlor they were building a few doors down from our place. If they did a good meat-lovers’ pizza, they’d have me and Rhoan practically living on their doorstep.
I pushed open our building’s old glass and wood front door, and rattled up the stairs. We lived on the sixth floor, in one of the bigger apartments the old converted warehouse had, and on clear summer days had a view right out over the western suburbs. It would have been nicer if it had been views of parks or even the bay, but we wouldn’t have been able to afford the place if it had. Anything remotely resembling a decent view cost big bucks these days—even if the building was as run-down as this one.
I grabbed my door key from my purse and opened the apartment’s front door. Then stopped.
There were dark mutterings coming from the direction of my bedroom, and there were clothes strewn everywhere. Over the floor, across the old leather couches, patterning the rugs scattered over the wooden flooring, even hanging off the old red-plastic light features.
Neither my brother nor I were the tidiest of people, but the house had definitely been in a better state when I’d left this morning.
I raised my voice and said, “What the hell have you been doing, Rhoan?”
He came stalking out of my bedroom, his face almost as red as his hair and his gray eyes flashing fire. “I’m looking for a shirt.”
I looked pointedly at all the shirts strewn across the floor and furniture. “What shirt in particular?”
“The pink one.”
“The one you hate?”
“Yes.”
“The one you swore you were going to trash only a couple of weeks ago?”
“That would be the one.” He stalked across the room and upended a basket of clean laundry onto the coffee table.
“Can I ask why you’re looking for this shirt, and only this shirt?”
“Because Liander gave it to me to celebrate our anniversary and I need to wear it tonight.”
I frowned. “I thought he gave you a watch for your anniversary?”
“He did. He also gave me an outfit. He wants me to wear it tonight.”
“Why?” I stepped inside and closed the door, then dumped my purse and keys on the nearby lamp table.
He gave me an exasperated look. “It’s the premiere of the movie, remember?”
Understanding dawned. Rhoan didn’t usually attend the premieres of any of the movies Liander had been involved in, simply because he preferred to remain out of the limelight. But this one was important. This one was the first movie in which Liander’s company had been totally responsible for all the movie’s effects. Which meant Liander had been on tenterhooks for the last week, hoping and praying that the movie—and his effects—were well received. Which had made dealing with both him and my brother a party.
As the scattered clothes would attest.
I shook my head and walked into Rhoan’s bedroom. Like the living room, it looked as if a cyclone had hit it. No doubt my bedroom would be the same—though why he’d think I’d be stealing pink shirts was anyone’s guess. Pink and I were not compatible.
Of course, seeing as we were twins, the shirt didn’t actually suit Rhoan, either, but at least his skin was a bit more tanned than mine. It helped.
I ignored the open robes and went directly to his armoire, sliding out the bottom drawer. I knew from experience—and my own packing habits—that this was where all the unwanted clothing usually ended up.
Sure enough, there it was, shoved right at the back, under the fluorescent pink and lime-green socks I’d given him for his last birthday. I thought he’d adore them, as he usually loved all things bright. Obviously, I was wrong.
I dragged out the shirt and slammed the drawer shut. “Would this be the shirt you’re looking for?” I said, holding it up on one finger as I walked out.
“Yes. Thank God.” He walked across the room and grabbed it from me. “Where’d you find it?”
“In the dead clothes drawer.”
“Ah.” He paused, then added, “I like the socks. Really.”