"Then take me."
He did.
* * * *
Neva shivered and wished she'd taken the time to put on her extra coat. Even though the wind had dropped, the night was still bitterly cold. Her breath fogged, hanging on the air, mingling with the silvery snowflakes that danced through the night. Through the hush of darkness, music throbbed, a bass-heavy beat that stirred her blood almost as much as the man standing in front of her. The Blue Moon was only a couple of blocks away, and she half-wished she and Duncan were there now, laughing and drinking with the other patrons. Doing ordinary things, enjoying themselves in ordinary ways. Being an ordinary couple.
Only they weren't a couple and were never likely to be. Especially if her father had his way.
She smiled grimly. While her father's edict that she leave Duncan after the full moon or she'd no longer be considered part of his pack made her madder than hell, in many ways it was also ironic. Especially considering her time with Duncan was limited to this moon phase anyway.
She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. How long does it take to open a damn window?
Though he didn't look around, his amusement spun through her. I spent time in jail for being drunk, not breaking and entering. Don't expect any speed records here.
She sighed impatiently and looked around. They were standing in the small alley that ran the length of the block behind the row of shops. Around them were Dumpsters loaded to overflowing, and the powerful smell hung on the crisp air. Behind them was a row of houses, and the warm glow peeking past blinds indicated most of the occupants were home. They had to be quiet, and they had to be careful.
She wished she was home. In bed. With Duncan.
Her gaze drifted past the snow-capped rooflines to the snow-filled sky. The moon was lost to the night, but she didn't need to see it to know it was rising high. The power of it thrummed through her veins. Made her ache to be touched, to be loved.
By one man, not many.
She bit her lip and wished she could reach out to Savannah and discuss the confusion of her feelings. But she couldn't, not when they were about to break into Betise's salon. Sister or not, Savannah would send her deputies around to stop them.
There was a soft click, and Duncan sighed in relief. I'm glad I was never forced to be a thief. It's too damned difficult.
He opened the window, then cupped his hands. She stepped into them and grabbed the sill, pulling herself through and landing on the floor on the other side in an ungainly heap.
You okay?
Yep. She picked herself up and stepped to one side, dusting off her jeans as she did so.
Duncan quickly joined her. Looks like we're in the back storeroom.
We are. She walked out the door and headed across to the chair she'd sat in earlier. The cup is gone.
Thought it might be. He shrugged and began opening drawers.
She watched him for a minute, her hands on her hips, then said, What are you looking for?
Don't know. But I'm sure she's up to something. I'm just not sure if it's connected to the attacks. Searching through her stuff can't hurt.
It could if any of the rangers happened past. She glanced around for a second then headed over to the reception desk and sat down. The computer was off and turning it on was too much of a risk, especially if they had to get out in a hurry. The last thing they wanted was to leave a brightly-shining calling card in the form of a glowing computer screen. She opened the drawers and shuffled through them. There wasn't much to find, beyond the usual stationary items and a couple of masks in the last drawer. She leaned back in the chair, staring at shelves lined with hair products. Faces stared back at her. Plastic faces. "Wigs," she said into the silence.
Duncan looked up. "What?"
"Wigs. On the shelf." She rose and walked over.
"So?"
She plucked the black one free and rubbed the hair between her fingertips. "Savannah said they'd found black hair on several of the victims. Why couldn't the killer have been wearing a wig?"
"Are the wigs made of real hair?" He stopped beside her and felt the wig, his fingers brushing hers and sending little shocks of electricity up her arm.
"They feel like it."
"Perhaps you should pluck a few hairs and get your sister to compare them."