Caleb nodded, and I heard the excited thump of his heart. “Do it.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in, cringing when I smelled a healthy dose of desire wafting off of Caleb—that was so inappropriate right now—until I found the scent I was looking for. It came from two different directions. The strongest was near the victim’s head, but a fainter scent drifted in from the forest beyond.
I turned, keeping my eyes closed, and began walking towards the source of the scent. Next to me I could hear Caleb’s footfalls shadowing mine. “Will you let me know if I’m about to run into a tree?” I asked, eyes still shut.
“And ruin all the fun?”
I whacked Caleb in the shoulder.
“Ow, Dracula,” he said, “how did you know where I was?”
“I followed the scent of stupid right to you.”
“Low, Gabrielle,” Caleb said, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
I grinned as well. I missed the easy teasing between the two of us. A wave of desire hit my nostrils, and my grin slipped. “Caleb …”
He groaned. “It’s not like I can help the way I smell. I’ll just … try staring at a tree while I follow you,” he said, “… hopefully the one you run into,” he added under his breath.
“Hardy-har-har,” I said.
The scent recaptured my attention and I moved towards it, letting my nose guide me. The smell got stronger, and then it ended. I stopped and opened my eyes, glancing down at the object in front of me.
Nestled in the dead leaves was a glossy black business card. Caleb crouched down and picked it up.
“It’s an advertisement for Thirst, a nightclub in Cluj,” Caleb said. He flipped over the card and his eyes widened. “Looks like you have a murderous admirer.”
“What?”
He handed the card over to me. “See for yourself.”
Careful to only touch the edges of the card, I read the message: Be here tonight at midnight. I look forward to meeting you, Gabrielle.
I chewed on the nub of my pen as I went over the case with Caleb. “So far we know that the victims died in the same manner, that more than one person has to be involved—”
“And at least one of them smells like flame broiled roses,” Caleb added with a smirk.
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you mocking me?”
He raised his hands. “Those were your words, not mine.”
Damn him, I had used those words when he’d asked about the smell on the drive back. I leaned forward in my chair, looking over the papers spread in front of us. We sat in my room, huddled around the desk next to my bed.
“Oh, by the way, the forensics team pulled a partial fingerprint,” Caleb said.
My eyebrows shot up. “They did?”
“Yep,” he said, reaching across the desk and taking a swig of his coffee. “I overheard that when we bagged and tagged the business card.”
Ugh. The business card. I rubbed my eyes. It was proof that once again I’d managed to personally ensnare myself in a series of murders.
“Not that it matters since you’ll be meeting one of the killers tonight.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me.” Already the Politia was making arrangements for my little murderous meet-and-greet this evening. We’d need to leave in another few hours to set up the recording devices and go over what I needed to say.
They knew I’d find the card. They wanted me to find it. Whoever “they” was.
My gaze drew down once more to the map. “Is the second murder on a ley line?” I asked. I’d assumed it was, but assuming and knowing were two very different things.
Caleb gave me a blank look.
I blinked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because you’re the demonologist here.”
I grimaced. “I hate it when you say things that make sense.” I grabbed my bag and rifled through the papers I’d Xeroxed back at Peel Academy. Several of them were maps of known ley lines in Romania.
I pulled one of the maps out that covered the region of Bistri?a-N?s?ud, squinting at the smudged lines and loopy handwriting. The original map had been hand drawn, and my version was a copy of a reprint. A.k.a., the quality sucked balls. But even with the poor quality reprint I could tell that no ley lines ran through our second crime scene.
Well hell.
“This murder wasn’t on a ley line,” I stated, confused. I glanced up and met Caleb’s eyes. “Why would the first murder occur on a ley line, but not the second?”
Caleb pinched his lower lip as he thought it over. “The location of the first murder could’ve been a coincidence,” he said. His eyes found mine. “Or … the location served another purpose altogether.”
I furrowed my brows. “Like what?”
Caleb stared at me, his eyes troubled. “Like luring Gabrielle Fiori to Romania.”
Chapter 8
I readjusted my miked cleavage for the millionth time as Caleb and I stepped out of Grigori’s car. Club Thirst was just a few doors down.
Grigori rolled down the window and leaned over the console. “I will be around the corner listening with the rest of the team,” he said to me. “Remember what we talked about.”
I nodded. I’d go in, act normal until I was approached, ask the questions the Politia wanted to know, and when I was finished, I’d tuck my hair behind each ear—my cue to the undercover guards posted throughout the club to take down the murder suspect. Easy peasy.
Yeah, right.
Grigori paused, and I saw the moment he went from a colleague to a fatherly figure. “Don’t be a hero. The second something feels wrong, you get out of there—both of you.”
“Of course,” I murmured.
“Do you remember the phrase you are to use if you need help?” he asked.
“‘I don’t think I like it here,’” I repeated from memory. It wasn’t forgetting it I was concerned with. No, I was more concerned about slipping the phrase into a conversation with the murderer suspect.
“Good. You two keep an eye on each other.”