Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me. Emotions flickered in his golden gaze.
Shock. Anger. Disgust. Horror. Resignation.
"All right," he said in a thick voice. "You've made your point about Carlyle and the Air elemental. They're yours. But their mole in the police department, he's mine. I'll handle him, not you. Understood?"
I could live with those terms. "Understood. Now, let's go see if we can spot the bastard." The three of us got out of the car and walked toward the front door.
Finn made sure his hair was smooth and sleek, his breath minty-fresh. He also straightened his tie until it was centered against his chest. "Just let me do the talking, and everything will be fine." I rolled my eyes but let him step in front of me.
Finn strolled past the line of people waiting to get in, ignoring the dirty looks and muttered curses that came his way. A seven-foot-tall giant holding a clipboard stood in front of the door, checking off names. Finn stopped in front of the giant and plastered a smile on his face.
"Xavier, my man. How are things tonight?" Finn held out a hand.
Xavier studied Finn with his oversize eyes. He turned his head to one side, and his neck cracked. The flashing heart rune made the giant's shaved head glitter like jet in the dark night. A knowing smile creased the giant's face as he took Finn's hand-and palmed the C-notes hidden there.
"Things are looking up," Xavier rumbled in a deep voice. "Roslyn said you were going to swing by. Enjoy your night, Finn."
Finn slipped him another hundred and winked. "Oh, we intend to."
Xavier unhooked his velvet rope and stepped to one side. And just like that, we were in like Finn.
The outside of Northern Aggression might have been faceless, but the inside had a distinct personality. One of delicious decadence. Crushed red velvet drapes covered the walls, the floor was an exquisite bamboo, and the bar itself was an elaborate sheet of Ice. Intricate runes had been cut into the surface of the bar, mostly suns and stars-symbolizing life and joy. Behind it, a man in a blue silk shirt mixed drinks. His eyes glowed blue-white in the semidarkness. The Ice elemental was responsible for tending bar and making sure his creation stayed in one piece until the end of the evening.
Men and women in various stages of form-fitting undress roamed through the room, offering guests free champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and fresh oysters. You had to pay for everything else on the menu, whether it was food, drink, sex, blood, or drugs. Most of the waitstaff were vampires, all were hookers. Every single one wore a necklace with a rune dangling on the end of it-a heart with an arrow through it-and a bright smile that hinted of the pleasures yet to come. All you had to do was ask-and be able to pay the price.
Some folks thrashed in time to the rocking beat on the dance floor. Others huddled close together in booths. Kissing, caressing, fondling, moaning. In some instances, the tables twitched and shook, as people f**ked on the floor underneath. In other spots, red glows flashed, and smoke curled up to the ceiling from a variety of illegal substances. Everybody had a drink in hand. Every once in a while, a couple would head up the stairs at the back of the nightclub. The upstairs rooms were rented out by the half hour for those who wanted to be more comfortable doing the deed.
A second giant bouncer stood in front of another velvet rope off to one side of the warehouse. The entrance to the private rooms, reserved for Roslyn Phillips's special guests, who paid dearly for the privilege.
The three of us moved farther into the club, and I spotted Roslyn working the crowd.
The black vampire roamed from booth to table to the dance floor and back again.
Shaking hands, smiling, chatting up her clients, and encouraging everyone to indulge themselves in whatever way they liked. The vampire had traded in her yoga pants for a fitted silk suit in a bloody crimson shade. The suit jacket dipped into a deep V in the front, showing off her smooth cle**age, while the skirt stopped at mid-thigh. Tight, fitted boots with spiked heels reached up her knees.
More than one man and woman stopped Roslyn and whispered something into her ear. But the vampire smiled and politely declined the invitations. Her hooking days were over, and she wasn't on the menu anymore. Ah, the joys of management.
After a minute, Roslyn felt me staring at her. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head, telling me Carlyle wasn't here yet. I nudged Finn.
"There's your girl," I said over the din of the music. "Go keep her company. When she spots Chuckie C. and shows him to his private room, call me on my cell." Finn nodded, already heading in Roslyn's direction. "Now what?" Caine asked.
I jerked my head at the bar. "Let's go get a drink. Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait."
We threaded our way through the mob of people, skirted around the dance floor, and bellied up to the bar. Up close, the Ice sculpture was even more impressive and imbued with so much elemental magic it cast off a faint blue glow. Power trickled off the bartender, like water dripping from a faucet, as he held on to just enough of his magic to keep the bar from melting and in one piece. His control was impressive. My own weaker Ice magic stirred in response.
The bartender placed napkins down on the cold slab in front of us. "What can I get you?" "I'll have a gin on the rocks," I said.
Donovan Caine raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little cliche? Gin ordering gin?" I shrugged. "Maybe, but I like it. You?"
"Give me a Scotch, neat."
The bartender moved off to fill our orders. Donovan Caine swiveled his seat around so he could look out into the nightclub. I propped my chin on my elbow and studied him. Black hair, golden eyes, lean body. Not a particularly handsome man, in the classical sense, but it all added up to a rough, rugged package I found exceptionally appealing.
Donovan Caine might hate me, hate what I did, hate the ease with which I could kill.
But the detective was attracted to me too. Wanted me like I wanted him. I'd seen it in his eyes that first night on the balcony at the opera house. Again in the Cake Walk.
Earlier this evening when I'd been eating my yogurt. I glanced at my watch. Not even ten. We probably had a while to wait before Charles Carlyle made an appearance.
And I had lots of ideas of how we could pass the time.
The bartender set our drinks in front of us. I slid a fifty across the icy bar to him.
Caine tossed back his Scotch. I did the same to my gin. The cold liquor burned going down my throat, somehow transforming itself into sweet, comforting warmth when it hit my stomach.
I pushed my empty glass back across the bar and turned my attention to the detective.