His movements became more and more urgent, until my whole body shook with the intensity of them. I burned, tightened, until I couldn’t breathe and it felt like I would shatter.
“Please,” I somehow whispered, “please.”
He responded instantly, his movements fierce. I shuddered, my control crumbling as my orgasm began to sweep through me, intense and violent. A heartbeat later, he cried out, his body stiffening against mine as he came.
For several minutes neither of us moved. He leaned his forehead against mine, his breathing harsh against my lips.
I smiled, and touched his cheek gently. “If you continue to love me like that for eternity, I will be one contented woman.”
“I do not believe I would have any complaints, either.” He lowered me gently. “As much as I would like to linger here, with you, we should continue with the key search.”
I sighed. “Yes. I’ll just grab a quick shower first.”
He nodded and stepped aside. I padded across to my wardrobe, grabbing underclothing, jeans and a T-shirt, then headed into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later we were standing in front of Rubin Johnson’s little store, situated in McMahon’s Point, just across the bay from the opera house. The shop itself was one of those quaint, single-front two-story Victorians that were everywhere in Sydney, although this one was in the process of being renovated, if the splashes of paint across the windows were anything to go by.
“That is not paint,” Azriel said, voice grim.
I glanced at him sharply, then stepped closer. Unlike the shops on either side, the window here was only half frame rather than full. A wide shelf stretched the length of it, and was lined with necklaces, bracelets. No cuff links, but then, they’d certainly be easier to pocket than the intricate and heavy stone and silver work currently displayed.
The brown splatters I’d presumed were paint had a crusty, cracked look close up, which dried paint didn’t usually get. It was blood – old blood.
My gaze skimmed the jewelry, but none of it appeared to have been splattered. Not that I could see from this angle, anyway. But there were several globs of rusty red near the right end of the shelf and a spray of the stuff up the nearby wall. It was the sort of spray that could happen only when a major artery had been cut.
My gaze jumped to the interior of the shop. It had an open plan, with glass display cabinets lining the long wall to the left and a glass display table situated in the middle of the room. A counter stretched the length of the rear wall and, behind it to the left, a set of wooden stairs led upward. Nothing seemed out of place or disturbed, and there was no sign of anyone – dead or alive.
“That is because the body lies underneath this window. You cannot see it because of the thickness of the shelf.”
“We need to get in there.” I stepped back and scanned the walls. The place was alarmed, but there was no camera, at least out here. I hadn’t noticed one when I was peering in the window, either. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and tried opening the door. “It’s locked. We’ll probably set off the alarm when we go inside, but we should have enough time to examine the body before either the cops or the security firm get here.”
“Then let’s go.”
He caught my hand, and we reappeared just inside the door. The first thing I saw was the alarm panel. Neither the door’s nor the windows’ indicator lights were lit, meaning the system had been switched off. Suggesting, perhaps, that Rubin Johnson had not only known his killer, but had invited him in.
I turned and saw the body. He was barefoot, and wearing an old-fashioned woolen dressing gown that was so well worn the blue check was faded and patchy. He’d been shoved under the shelf like so much rubbish, his limbs at impossible angles to his body.
Azriel walked over and squatted next to him. “He has no head.”
“What?”
He glanced at me, expression neutral but his anger burning through my mind. “His head has been removed.”
“Why the hell would someone remove his head?” I scanned the rest of the room. He’d obviously been killed here – the arterial sprays across the wall and floor were evidence enough of that. “Surely no one would want a trophy that size.”
Or that macabre.
“I do not think it has anything to do with a trophy, but a means of stopping us. Or rather, me.”
“So you can’t read his thoughts.”
“Yes.”
“Which would imply whoever did this is fully aware a reaper can access the memories of the freshly dead.”
“Yes.”
Meaning Lauren had either realized she was missing the cuff link, or she was simply taking out anyone or anything that could pin down her location. And if the latter, that undoubtedly meant there had been something here that could give away her current whereabouts. Maybe she was a longtime customer.
That’s presuming our dark sorceress was the one responsible for this murder.
“If it was not Lauren, then it confirms there is another sorcerer involved. The taint of dark magic lingers in the air.”
“Meaning the bastards are still one step ahead of us.”
He pushed to his feet. “Unfortunately, yes.”
I stared down at the broken body. From this angle, I couldn’t actually see the stump of his neck, thanks to the shadows and the depth of the shelf, and of that I was glad. I’d lost the contents of my stomach far too often in the last twenty-four hours, and I had no desire to test its stability again.
“He’s wearing a dressing gown, so he obviously lived upstairs. It might be worth doing a quick search through the whole premises, just in case he keeps a record of buyers somewhere.”
“Is that likely?”
I shrugged. “Right now, we can’t afford to overlook any option. I’ll take upstairs.”
He nodded, and I headed for the stairs. The upper level consisted of a small living area, a separate bathroom and bedroom, and what could only be described as a kitchen nook. There was also a balcony off the kitchen that provided nice views over the bay.
I grabbed some gloves from under the sink and went searching. There were no filing cabinets, so I went through his drawers. I found all sorts of bills, tax records, notes, as well as various bits of design artwork, but no clientele records.
Which was pretty typical of our luck, really. I clomped down the stairs. “Anything?”
Azriel shook his head. “There is an index of names and addresses, but none of them are our sorcerers or the Gold Coast address.”
“Lauren’s sharing that place with a man, so maybe he’s one of the names listed.”
“Perhaps, but as I said, the Gold Coast address was not listed.”
“Which doesn’t mean he can’t be in there. It just means he might have a secondary address. It might be worth taking the index cards with us and getting Stane to do a check.”
“Why not your uncle? Would it not be easier for the Directorate to conduct such a search?”
“Yeah, but that would mean involving Rhoan again, and I’m not about to do that unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“And yet you’re willing to involve Stane?”
I grimaced at the unspoken implication, even though it was perfectly true. I was more prepared to risk Stane’s life than Rhoan’s, even though, of the two, Rhoan was more capable of defending himself. “The one thing my uncle has that Stane doesn’t is Hunter as his ultimate boss.”
“You can be certain that Hunter is well aware of Stane’s participation in this quest.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Hell, thanks to the Cazadors, she knew everything I did and everyone I talked to. Except for the last couple of hours, that was. I shivered and tried not to itch at hands that still felt bloody, even if no blood had actually been spilled. “It’s just that if I lose Rhoan, I’ll more than likely lose Riley, thanks to their twin bond. And it may be brutal, but I’d rather risk Stane’s life than two people I consider pseudo parents.”
Although I was hoping like hell it didn’t come down to that. Jak had already lost his life to this quest. I really, really, didn’t want that to happen to anyone else.
And yet the notion that others would be lost before this quest was over was one that wouldn’t go away and wouldn’t be ignored.
Azriel picked up the index cards, his expression unreadable and little emotion evident in the link. I really had no idea what he thought of my reasoning, but surely he understood. After all, reapers did what was necessary to get the job done.
“We head to Stane’s, then?” was all he said.
I hesitated, then nodded. “After that, we might go to Adeline Greenfield’s place, and ask whether our Michael Greenfield could possibly be her brother.”
Azriel frowned. “I thought you intended to see your uncle next?”
I grimaced. “I did, but after that confrontation with Rhoan, I’ve rethought the wisdom of that.”
In other words, cowardice had come to the fore. But one angry confrontation a day was really all I could handle at the moment.
“It is not cowardice to wish to avoid a confrontation that might set those you care about on a crash course with death,”Azriel said softly. “And that is what all of us involved in this quest face.”
My gaze flashed to his. “You stay alive, reaper, no matter what. I have no intention of raising our child alone.”
He smiled. “Trust me, I have no intention of going anywhere. Whether the fates give me that choice is another matter entirely.”
“Well, they fucking better,” I said, as I stepped into his arms. “Because if I survive all the chaos they’ve created, I think I deserve some sort of reward.”
He raised an eyebrow, amusement evident. “And I’m to be that reward?”
“You’ll do for starters.”
He laughed, and delight skated through me. I cupped his cheek and lightly brushed my thumb across the small laugh lines near his mouth. Lines that hadn’t been there when he’d first made an appearance in my life. “You should do that more often.”
