Keri Arthur - Moon Sworn

“Deal. Though I may not know what you want.”

“Fair enough.” I let her have the cash. “What can you tell me about apartment 404?”

She raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “Only that it’s off limits for us ladies.”

“But that hasn’t stopped you from being curious, has it?”

She smiled. “No.” She paused to take a drag on her cigarette. “There’s two men who head up there regularly. One is a werewolf, the other is a shifter of some kind. A bird, I think, from his scent.”

“Can you give me descriptions?”

She shrugged. “They’re men. Leaner and fitter than the bozos I service, but still men. The wolf has brown hair and brown eyes, the other is a blondie with green eyes.”

“And how do they walk?”

She smiled. “Like men you wouldn’t want to tangle with. Are you a cop?”

“Guardian.”

“Meaning things just might get interesting around here.”

“That depends on what, exactly, is in that room.”

“Well, I can tell you they walk upstairs with nothing and come back down with notes. And a phone rings up there a lot.”

“You’ve never heard voices up there, or seen anyone else enter the room?”

“Nope. And the rest of the rooms are storage, from what I’ve heard.”

“What about security?”

“Camera on the stairs going up. Probably an electronic lock, too, because I’ve heard the beeps. Other than that, I can’t say.”

I was betting the camera was an infrared. Given all the technology on the roof, it would be pretty pointless putting anything else in.

“Who watches the camera? The guard in the hall?”

“I doubt it. Frankie is asleep more often than not.”

I raised an eyebrow, amusement playing around my lips. “So he’s a visual deterrent more than a physical one?”

“Basically. Although I wouldn’t want to get him annoyed—he’s got muscles on his muscles.”

Which didn’t mean a thing if you didn’t know how to use them. “There’s no other security anywhere?”

“Not that I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t.”

“What about backup systems?”

“Other than Frankie, I don’t think there are any.” She shrugged. “The power grid is pretty stable here, so I don’t suppose they think it’s necessary.”

And that at least gave us a way in. “What about the owner?”

“T.J.? He only comes here once a week to pay wages. Vonnie handles the day-to-day stuff.”

“She got a last name?”

“None of us have last names,” she drawled. “Not unless you pay more.”

Not a chance when we could search through the business registrars. “Do you know if the windows upstairs are locked?”

She shook her head. “But half the catches in this dump don’t work, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the same applies upstairs.” She contemplated me for a minute, then added, “The windows are too heavy for your bird form, and the sill would be a hell of a balancing act for your human one.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

“Heard that about you lot.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m expected downstairs in ten minutes for my next customer. Unless you’ve got any more questions, I need to get cleaned up.”

I rose. “What time do those men usually come to check the upstairs room?”

“They’re due this afternoon. They usually get here about two.” She smiled. “For another fifty bucks, I’ll leave the window and the door open in case you need it.”

“You’re a shark in disguise,” I said, nevertheless getting my wallet back out.

“A girl has to live,” she drawled.

I guess she did. And while the conditions here weren’t top notch, at least there was security, and she wasn’t on the street. That had to be a good thing.

“I’ll try not to disturb you when I come back in.”

She snorted. “Did I look as if I’d mind being disturbed?”

I grinned. “Thanks for your help.”

“Cass,” she said. “My name is Cass.”

“Thanks, Cass.”

She nodded, then opened the dresser drawer, grabbing a little tin and tucking the cash inside. I shifted shape and in seagull form flew out the window, circling the building and checking out the different top-floor windows before heading for the side street. I changed shape, adjusted my clothes, then walked back to my car. But I didn’t get in, grabbing my cell phone out of my pocket instead. I pressed Quinn’s number and waited impatiently for him to answer.

“Well, hello,” he drawled, the gentle Irish lilt in his voice sounding oh-so sexy. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“I’ve been visiting a brothel,” I said, imagining his expression and smiling at the image.

“And I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for it,” he said, “even though I can’t really think of one.”

“It had a phone.”

“Most of them do.”

I laughed. “This phone is the contact number for a bunch of hit men for hire.”

“Interesting.” His voice was dry. “So why are you calling me?”

“Because I need food and sex, and not necessarily in that order. I figured you might be interested in sating one or both of those desires.”

“You figured right. Where would you like said sating to occur?”

“Somewhere not too fancy. I need to be back at the brothel by one-thirty, so I haven’t got time to go home and change. And several shape-shifts has shredded the last spare T-shirt I have in the car.”

“Which is a look I quite enjoy,” he said. “I take it you’re close to the city?”

“St. Kilda.”

“Excellent. There’s a small spa in Acland Street that does a great lunch and spa treatment regimen. I’ll send you the address and meet you there in twenty minutes.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Riley, trust me.”

“Okay,” I grumbled. “But you know how bitchy I can get when my hungers aren’t satisfied.”

He laughed. The warm sound flowed through me like a caress. “Trust me, love, I aim to satisfy us both.”

“Well, good.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

“You will.”

He hung up, and I rang Jack. “Boss,” I said, the minute he answered, “that land line is located on the top floor of a brothel, and the whole floor is bristling with electronic security.”

“Meaning they’re hiding something,” he said. “Can you break in, or do you want some professional help?”

“Well, I’m thinking that electronic security usually needs electricity to work, so would it be possible to arrange a little blackout in the area around two?”

“It’ll take out the entire block, but yeah, it can be done.” He paused. “We ran a trace on the number. The phone is listed as belonging to the brothel. The owner of said brothel is one T. J. Hart. We’re trying to track down an address for him.”

That raised my eyebrows. “It isn’t on the business registration?”

“It’s a post office box.”

I frowned. “I didn’t think it was legal to do that. I thought it had to be a street address.”

“Normally, it does.”

Meaning T.J. either knew someone or had paid someone. Which meant he had money or connections that weren’t obvious from the condition of his business.

“He has no license or police record,” Jack continued. “The tax office has his address listed as Fitzroy, but the house was razed for apartments earlier this year.”

Meaning he could be missing or simply didn’t want to be found. I made a mental note to check with Cass this afternoon, then said, “Is it possible to put a tap on the phone?”

“It’s in the pipeline, so make sure you leave no trace of your presence.”

Which meant scent, if we were dealing with another were. I frowned and glanced at my watch, wondering if I could get to Liander’s workshop and back to St. Kilda in twenty minutes. I knew he kept scent-erasing soap there, simply because he often redid my look for undercover operations, and scent erasure was a vital part of that. I might be pushing it time-wise, but it had to be done.