If possible, Garrison’s skin paled even more.
“Right. Happy to escort our detective upstairs.” Paris gave a little salute to Aidan. He and Jane headed for the stairs but, halfway up, Jane glanced back, frowning at Aidan.
“You didn’t promise.”
No, he hadn’t. He just stared at her, waiting for her to understand. That’s one promise I can never give.
Her delicate jaw hardened and Jane turned away. She finished climbing the stairs in silence. He waited until she was at the top, until he heard the door click closed behind her and Paris and then…
He braced his legs apart. Crossed his arms over his chest. Glared at Garrison. The young wolf was third generation, came from a damn good family, but he was still learning. Still too reckless in some ways. “The vamp got the drop on you last night.”
“I didn’t scent him! Me and Jagger—neither of us caught his scent. We’re supposed to smell vamps, but we didn’t, at least, not him. Not until he was right on us.” His words came out in rapid-fire succession. “And he was so fucking strong. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.”
Definitely not your average vamp. “And you didn’t find his trail last night?”
“I…” Garrison glanced at the floor. “No.” His head slumped forward. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Frustrated fury beat within Aidan’s body. He knew Garrison had tried. The guy was young, a bit of an asshole sometimes, but when it came to vamps, Garrison gave his all. Vampires had killed his family. Aidan had been the one to go in and find a young, desperate Garrison alive in the carnage. So maybe—shit, not that he’d ever admit it out loud—maybe he had a small soft spot for the little bastard.
“I…I didn’t find him.” Garrison’s thin shoulders straightened a bit. “But I did find the woman he attacked last night.”
Aidan’s brows climbed.
“She’s alive. And…I’ve got her outside.”
Well, well. Now they were talking. “Bring her to me.”
Chapter Seven
“Stop,” Jane said as she leaned over Aidan’s desk, her gaze on his computer screen. “Stop right there.”
Because she’d just seen her victim.
On the screen, Alan Thatcher was strolling into the club, laughing, with a tall, blond guy walking right next to him.
“He didn’t come alone.”
Paris was quiet as he sat in the chair to her left.
“Play it forward,” Jane said, even as she memorized the grainy features of the blond. Handsome-ish guy. Young. Looked like a college guy and that was a Tulane shirt he was wearing so, yeah, definitely college.
The feed kept going. Alan headed into the crowd. Started talking to a pretty redhead. So much for him wanting to get back with his ex. Alan’s blond buddy hit the bar.
“Looks like a typical night,” Paris murmured. “Two guys going out to pick up pretty women.”
“Only the night didn’t end so typically.” She leaned a bit closer to the screen. “Alan just left the blond. Aren’t guys supposed to act as each other’s wingmen or some crap? He’s—”
She stopped.
Because Alan wasn’t flirting with the pretty redhead any longer. Instead, he was sneaking toward the upper level of the bar. He kept glancing over his shoulder. No one tried to stop him. With the crush of bodies in the club, no one even seemed to notice him. He went up—
But a big, barn-sized bouncer—who also happened to be a werewolf, Jane had seen him a few times at Hell’s Gate—caught Alan on the second floor. He grabbed Alan by his shirtfront.
And a few moments later, Alan was being tossed out the back of Hell’s Gate.
Paris’s fingers—incredibly well manicured for a werewolf—tapped lightly on Aidan’s desk. “So to be clear…because I know this shit looks bad…Aidan wasn’t at Hell’s Gate last night. Not when this Alan Thatcher was here.” He gestured toward the time stamp on the screen.
Jane’s head turned so she was staring into Paris’s eyes. “And where was he?”
“Uh…well, you know…”
“You have no clue, do you?”
“I’m not the one dating him,” Paris muttered. “Maybe you should know.”
“Paris.” She put some bite into his name.
“Secrets are the fucking devil, aren’t they?”
She straightened, rubbing the back of her neck. “I am trying to find a killer.”
“And I’m trying to stop one.”
She frowned at him.
But Paris just stared up at her. “I like you.”
“Okay…” Where was this going?
“So I’d hate for things to end with an implosion, okay?” Then he stood. “That’s why I am saying this with the utmost affection for you. Get the fuck out of this town? Jane.”
“What?”
“Get out, for the next week or two. Go on a cruise. Go to Disney World. Just go somewhere.”
She paced away from him.