I frowned. "Ben Wilson? I don't know anyone by that name."

"He says otherwise."

Which didn't exactly help. I shifted from one foot to the other and watched a woman in ultra-high, ultra-red stilettos toddle past. My nose twitched. She smelled of rum and cigarette smoke. "Is that all he said?"

"No, he said something about remembering Shadow, whatever the hell that is."

The name clicked. Ben was Shadow, a big, black wolf who managed Nonpareil, a stripper business that catered - as both strippers and studs - to human and nonhuman parties alike. I'd met him briefly while investigating a case a few months ago, and while we'd shared an attraction, I'd been with Kellen at the time and had promised to remain faithful to him.

Fat lot of good it had done me, too.

I blew out a breath, pushed away the lingering remnants of heartache, and said, "Did he leave a phone number?"

"He did. But this is the last time I'm relaying personal messages."

"It's not personal. It's business." Which wasn't exactly a lie, because I actually had no idea what Ben wanted. I doubted if it would be personal, though. Not after all this time.

She grunted. "Not believing that for an instant, wolf girl." She rattled off a phone number. "He also said you can contact him via the office if there's no answer on his cell."

"You're such a sweetie, Sal."

"You know where you can shove being a sweetie," she said and hung up.

I chuckled softly. Jack had told me numerous times to stop being such a bitch around Sal, but baiting that woman was just too much fun to let it go.

I dialed the number she'd given me. It rang several times, then a deep voice said, "Ben Wilson speaking."

"Ben, it's Riley Jenson, returning your call."

"Thank you for calling back." There was more than a touch of relief in his rich tones. "I know you don't know me or anything, but I'm in need of some help, and you're the only guardian I know."

Well, at least I'd been right before. It was business. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, then wanted to smack myself for even thinking the latter.

"What sort of help?" I said, perhaps a touch more sharply than I'd intended.

He hesitated. "One of our strippers has just been murdered."

"Then call the police."

"I have. They're treating it as low priority."

"Why?"

"Because Denny was a known participant in the BDSM scene, and his death looks like sex-play gone wrong."

"And if he was into that scene, they might just be right."

"Except for the fact that Denny only dabbled in BDSM. What really got his rocks off was asphyxiophilia."

I frowned. "Which is?"

"Erotic asphyxiation. Only he wasn't found hanging from his neck, he was found hanging by his wrists, with his back and stomach stripped."

"He got off by trying to kill himself?" That didn't sound like very much fun to me. There again, neither did having my back and stomach beaten so badly that the flesh peeled away.

"He didn't do autoerotic asphyxiation. He was always - always - with a partner."

Something Ben couldn't actually be sure of, unless he was there each and every time. And as frank and as open as wolves were about sex, most of us didn't go blathering to all and sundry about each and every sexual exploit. "Did police find any indication of a partner in the apartment?"

"No, although there had to be one given the state of his body."

"So what do you want me to do? Try and find the partner?"

"I want the truth of what happened. Finding the partner would be a good start, yes."

"I'll need to get in his apartment." Smell the smells, see if his soul was hanging about for a chat. Though not all souls did, as evidenced by Gerard.

"I have a key. I can let you in."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a key to all your employees' apartments?"

"No, just those who are into the more dangerous stuff."

"You mean there're sexual fetishes more dangerous than trying to strangle yourself?"

"Maybe not as dangerous, but certainly walking the edge, yes."

I walked across to the apartment building's main doors and pressed the buzzer for apartment 1B. While I waited for Alana to answer, I asked, "How long ago did he actually die?"

"Yesterday. He didn't turn up for work today, so I called in on the way home. That's when I found him."

So at least twenty-four hours had passed, if not more. I wrinkled my nose. The chances of the dead man's soul hanging about were slim. Even if he was there, the odds that I'd actually understand him were practically nil. To date, it seemed that the fresher the kill, the stronger I could see or hear the soul - and vice versa.

"The police took your statement, I presume." I pressed the buzzer again, then stepped back and looked up. No one answered, and there didn't seem to be any movement or sound evident from either of the first-floor apartments.

"Yes, they did. You can double-check it if you think I've been lying about anything."

I smiled. "Oh, I will, but not because I think you're lying. I want to see what the cops and coroner all thought."

"I didn't think coroners worked that fast."

"It depends on the situation." And in this one, it could be days before a full report came out. He was right on one thing - BDSM deaths stood side by side with suicides at the bottom of the priority list when it came to cause-of-death examinations. Still, they'd have initial impressions, and those would be in the case notes. "Where are you now?"

"Home."

I gave the intercom buzzer one final push. Still no answer. Alana was either out or working. "Can you get to your mate's place quickly?"

"Be there in fifteen." He gave me the address, then added, "I really do appreciate this."

"You owe me a coffee. And I hope you realize there may be nothing I can do."

"I know."

"Meet you there, then." I hung up, then shoved my cell back into my purse and headed down to my car. Ben's dead friend lived in Prahan, which wasn't that far away, even with the late-afternoon traffic going nowhere fast.

I got there with a few minutes to spare. Ben was nowhere to be seen, so I leaned against the trunk of my car and studied the building. It was one of those boring brick designs that were put up in the latter part of the twentieth century - a basic straight-up-and-down affair with few windows and little imagination. Someone had recently painted it cream, and there were neatly trimmed hedges along the front and the sides, but the greenery didn't do a whole lot to relieve the blandness.

Not a place I could live in, if only because the apartments didn't look particularly large. It would have made me feel like a caged animal.

The roar of a motorcycle caught my attention. I looked around to see a leather-clad man on a big, mean-looking bike come roaring up the street toward me. He gave me a wave when he saw me looking, then slowed and drove the bike into the parking spot behind my car.

I smiled and walked back to him. "Fancy entrance," I said, as he took the helmet off.

Ben patted his bike affectionately. "Haven't given this old girl a run for a while. It's nice to be on her again."

I looked at the bike. It didn't look anything particularly special to me. "It's a bike."

Amusement gleamed in his bright blue eyes. "No, it's a 1975 GL1000 Gold Wing. Some of this baby's features were way ahead of her time."

"Well, I'm charmed to meet her," I said, voice dry. "Now, do you want to take me up to your mate's place?"

His grin was as sexy as all hell as he climbed off the bike, his teeth a stark contrast to his rich black skin. "Not into motorcycles?"

"No." But my treacherous hormones were certainly into all that leather. He was a tall man - nearly a foot taller than me, and at five seven, I wasn't short - and powerfully built, with chiseled features and thick black hair. And all that wonderful black leather fit like a glove, emphasizing and enhancing his muscular build.

He undid the stud at his neck, then lowered the jacket zip, revealing a dark blue T-shirt underneath. My nostrils flared, sucking in the musky scent of man mixed with just the faintest hint of perspiration.

Very nice indeed.

"I think you need to come for a ride on one of my bikes. That'll change your tune."

The image of pressing close to his leather-clad body as we roared through the streets on his noisy machine had my pulse rate tripping - but I wasn't sure if it was excitement or panic. I mean, I liked looking - a lot - but I didn't feel ready for anything more right now. A quick dance with a stranger during the moon heat was safe enough for both my wounded heart and my emotions.

This wolf was not.

I stepped back, and waved him on ahead. "Cars are safer."

"That's the problem. There's no direct thrill."

"There is with sports cars."

"It's not the same, trust me." He glanced down at me, eyebrow raised. "And how can a guardian afford to get around in a sports car?"

"She can't. But I've been in them."

"Not the same." He began climbing the building's outside steps to the first floor, leaving me rather ideally placed for some butt-viewing action. "Denny's apartment is the end one. He hated having neighbors on both sides."

"Did the cops talk to the neighbor he has got?"

He shrugged, making the leather jacket ripple rather nicely. "They weren't exactly telling me much." He threw a grin over his shoulder. "But that could have something to do with me calling them pricks who wouldn't know a murder if it slapped them in the face."

"Could be," I agreed dryly.

We reached the end of the balcony. He stopped and opened a door that looked freshly painted. The air that flooded out was filled with the scent of roses and death.

I stepped past Ben into the apartment. It wasn't exactly a huge place, but it was neat and bright, thanks to the white walls and the skylights. The first room was a living room and kitchen combined, and the whole area was extraordinarily clean. Even the sink gleamed.

I scanned the scenery photos on the walls, wondering if he'd shot them himself, then said, "Where was he found?"

"In the first bedroom."

I walked around the L-shaped sofa and headed toward the first door. The smell of death was sharper the closer I got to the bedroom, and my skin crawled. Not because of the death scent, but because there was something else here, something that felt wrong.

I stopped just inside the doorway, briefly noting the blood splatters on the walls and the wide dark stain on the carpet before my gaze was drawn to the heavy-looking hook hanging from the ceiling above the stain.

"That where it happened?" Stupid question, but sometimes they just had to be asked.

"Yes."

Ben had stopped right behind me, and the thick, warm heat of him flowed over me, drowning my senses and sending desire prickling across my skin. Not what I needed right now.

Or later, for that matter.

I turned around and lightly pressed my fingers into his stomach. Felt the steel of muscle underneath the cotton T-shirt. "You need to step back. You're overwhelming my senses."

"I think that's the nicest thing a woman has said to me in a while."

He didn't move, but then again, I wasn't pushing very hard. Not yet.

I snorted softly. "Somehow, I'm doubting that."

"You'd be surprised." He took several steps back. The richness of his aroma abated enough to allow more of the room's flavors in. "We strippers are taken for granted more often than not."

"I thought you didn't do much stripping now." I turned around and took a step forward, distancing myself a little more and trying to catch the source of that tenuous, unsettling scent.

"I don't. But I wasn't always a manager."

"So how long have you been in the profession?" I took another step forward. That strange scent got a bit stronger, reminding me more and more of a vampire's scent - only if the killer was a vampire, then he was one who smelled like no other vampire I'd come across.

"I've been in the business since I was seventeen. There wasn't a whole lot else a kid with little schooling could do. Even apprenticeships need minimum grade levels."

The closer I got to the bed, the stronger that odd smell got, and the more certain I became it was vampire. A vampire that smelled like no other, but a vampire all the same. And he'd been here recently. I stripped off the bedcovers and bent to sniff the sheets.

The scents of wolf and sex emanated off them, but though the vampire stench was extremely strong near the bed, he - or she - hadn't been in it. Not that it meant anything. Someone who liked hanging themselves for kicks wasn't likely to be restricted to a bed for lovemaking.

I looked at Ben. "Were any of Denny's lovers vampires?"

He frowned. "Not that I know of. He had a couple of wolves he'd mentioned recently, but never a vampire."

"Well, one's been in this room. You can smell him near the bed."

He came into the room, filling the whiteness with his dark vitality. He drew in a breath, then his blue gaze met mine. "Something smells old. Off, almost."

I nodded. "Vampire."

He frowned. "Vampires don't smell like that."

"Maybe not the ones you associate with, but the ones I deal with, yeah, they do." I contemplated the heavy metal hook for a moment. There were no vibes of power in this room, no chill that indicated the other side was coming out to play. Maybe his soul had moved on, or maybe he simply didn't want to talk. "I guess the first thing we need to do is try and uncover the name of the vampire who was here. What clubs did Denny frequent?"