"True. But there was a Grey Jamison checked in. We showed the concierge Grey's pic, and it was definitely him.
The front desk hasn't seen Jamison since he went up to his room early this afternoon, and he wasn't answering the phone."
Because the killer had him. Question was, how? "I gather your men checked the room?"
He nodded. "He's not there, and there was no evidence of foul play."
Meaning Grey hadn't put up a fight? Why the hell not? She rubbed her arms, her gaze drifting back to the warehouse.
God, she hoped he was okay.
"Everyone's in place here," Jack continued. "Infrared reports three figures inside that warehouse."
"He left guards?"
Jack nodded. "There's one man near the front entrance, two near the back. We're guessing that if Grey is there, he's one of these." He handed her a Taser. "You'll have to get close for this to knock them out, but I'm guessing that with what you're almost wearing, it won't be a problem."
She slipped the Taser into the special pocket sewn into the back of the short leather skirt. Combined with the studded leather bra, the matching dog collar that now included tracking and audio mikes, and six inch stilettos that could certainly double as a weapon, she had on what she liked to describe as her eye-popping outfit. Jack had been surprised that she even had such an outfit in her wardrobe. He obviously thought her as staid as everyone else, but hey, she was a shifter and had her wild side—even if she didn't bring it out to play very often.
She struck a pose. "So you like what you see?"
"Darlin', if those boys don't bone up the minute they see you, I'll dye my hair pink." He handed her a riding crop and several long strips of leather. "Just to complete the look."
"I won't ask where you managed to find one of these at this hour." She looped the soft leather and tucked them into the side of her skirt, then accepted the whip. Her gaze scooted down his body. Talk about boning up…
She grinned. "You're enjoying your job again, I see."
"I'm a man, you're breathtaking, and a reaction is natural." His grin faded, his expression becoming serious. "Be careful in there, and remember, just give the word and we'll be with you in seconds."
She nodded, placed a kiss on his cheek, then stepped back and called to that place deep within, where the hound dog lay waiting. Energy surged in response, running through her, around her, momentarily snatching away sight and sense as it reshaped and changed her body.
In beagle form, she headed towards the warehouse.
She pricked her ears and sniffed the air as she trotted down the hill. Though she knew there were at least a dozen cops scattered around the area, she couldn't hear them, and she certainly couldn't smell them. Jack had said he'd called in the best, and it looked as if he hadn't been exaggerating.
And she knew then that the only reason she was going into that warehouse at all was because she was the only one who had a hope of sorting out friend from foe via smell. Especially if those two men in there also happened to be face shifters.
She slowed as she approached the warehouse, searching the air for the aroma of the man who stood near the entrance. Pine and musk, intermingled with the stale stench of sweat, teased her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and moved a little closer. Damn it, why did villains never seem to bathe? Or was it simply something in their base smell that made them seem so sour to her senses?
She slipped in through the semi-open door and stopped in the shadows. Villain number one was half concealed by a wooden crate, and more than half asleep. She went back outside, shifted shaped, then boldly thrust open the door.
There was a scramble of movement, then a voice said, "Stop right there, and get your hands… Jesus!"
"Mr. Harding?" she said, keeping her voice low, throaty.
"I'm here, as requested."
His gaze scooted down her body, and came back up, filled with heat. "Lady, as much as I hate to admit it, I think you've got the wrong address."
She slapped the whip lightly against her thigh, watching him for several long minutes. The smell of his excitement began to stain the air. "This is one-three-four Jaybel Drive, is it not?"
"Well, yeah, but—" "Then I have the right address." She slid her gaze slowly down his body, then deliberately licked her lips. "I must say, you're in better shape than some of the other clients I've… cared for… here."
He adjusted himself quickly, cast a quick, almost furtive look toward the shadows on his right, then looked back at her. His change of plans was evident in the lustful light in his eyes. "Then maybe I am Mr. Harding. What do you plan to do for me?"
She strode towards him, her stilettos drumming a sharp tattoo on the concrete. The noise wouldn't carry to the other guard, simply because this warehouse was large and divided by lots of rooms.
She stopped when there were still several feet between them, and raised the whip, pressing the tip lightly against his chest. "That depends on how rough you like it." She let her gaze slide down to his hand. "That gun real, or is it a toy you bought along for us to play with?"
He licked his lips. "What do you mean by play?"
She raised her eyebrows, and slid one hand up her thigh, pushing up the skirt and touching herself lightly. "Cold metal inserted in warm places can give a delicious thrill."
He made a strangled sort of sound, and tried to step forward. She pressed the whip harder against his chest.
"Naughty boy. You paid to be spanked and dominated, not the other way around."
His breathing was becoming more and more rapid, and the scent of his desire swirled around her. Despite her utter distaste for the man, she couldn't help being a little aroused by what she was doing. Maybe this was a game she could play with someone she liked.
Grey, for instance.
She smiled at the thought, and in that moment, awareness surged, a firestorm that burned through every nerve ending.
Eryn?
The voice was groggy, the question uncertain, but it was Grey, there was no doubt about that. The surge of desire and relief was evidence enough of that.
Here. She formed the answer in her mind, hoping he could read it. She'd never attempted mind communication before—
hadn't even been aware she was capable of it. She slapped the whip against the guard's hip and added in a stern voice.
"Strip, and do it quickly."
Strip?
Just taking care of guard number one.
By fucking him?
The question had a note of fury that made her smile.
You say that like fucking him would be a bad thing.
You are mine! The words reverberated through her mind so loudly, she couldn't help wincing. Yet they also made her heart race and her feet want to do a cheerful little dance. She was his.
Was it only a day ago those same words had made her furious?
I'm only joking, Grey. I'm merely getting him naked so he thinks he's going to hit the jackpot. When I get close to him, I'll Taser him unconscious.
So what the hell are you wearing that makes him think he's going to get lucky?
Think leather, think dominatrix.
There was a long pause. I don't think thinking about that is a good idea.
She had to restrain her grin. Hang on a moment. Got to take care of the guard.
She slid the tip of the whip down the guard's chest, and lightly flicked it over his cock. He shuddered and swallowed.
"Nice," she said, sliding the whip down his shaft and lightly toying with his balls. "Very nice. Turn around."
He did, his breathing so hard his whole body shook. Yet he was still a little wary—tension rode his shoulders, and he watched her over one shoulder. He still had the gun. She had to be careful.