Page 38 of Veiled Justice
I opened the first box to find black strappy shoes. I was more of a boots or trainers kind of woman but this wasn’t a boots or trainers event. I examined the heels; they were about two inches high so I could probably manage them.
The next box held a black clutch bag, impressively large and decorated with beading and sequins. I could even fit my favourite extendable baton into it. Nice.
The final box was a berry-red dress made of luxurious velvet with a structured corset with wrap knot detail to one side, a plunging neckline and a split skirt. I had never worn a dress like this. Ever.
Feeling absurdly nervous, I tried it on. It looked amazing –Ilooked amazing. Next I put on the shoes; naturally they were my size and fit perfectly – and the kitten heels meant I could probably run down a suspect if I needed to.
I’d ripped into Rupert for his pedicure, but the truth was they were my one secret luxury. I wasn’t allowed to have painted fingernails on the job but my toes were a different matter. Luckily, they were a sparkly maroon red which complemented the dress perfectly.
The full-length bedroom mirror showed that my appearance still needed a little more work. My hair looked a little wild but a few minutes with the straighteners coaxed the top layer into gentle curls and added structure to the usual chaos. I wasn’t much for makeup but I swiped on some mascara and some nude lipstick. I preferred the ‘less is more’ philosophy. Of course, this dress employed the ‘moreis more’ philosophy and I wasn’t going to argue with it.
Never in my life had I looked more beautiful. If this were a date, excitement would have been fizzing in my veins – but tonight wasn’t about romance. I was on my way to track down a killer and I couldn’t lose sight of that. The dress, the heels, the bag were camouflage: nothing more, nothing less. They were the stripes on the tiger, there to let me get close enough to pounce. I squared my shoulders with a satisfied smirk; the murderers wouldn’t see me coming.
I licked my parched lips and a pint glass of water floated up from my bedside table. ‘Impressive,’ I said to my ghostly companion.The glass was cool in my hand, the water cooler still as it slipped down my grateful throat.
Technically ghosts don’t exist in the Other; at least they aren’t formally recognised as existing, like mermaids. For a long time, I’d believed they weren’t real but then I’d moved into an ancient house in Chester … and now I believed. It was hard not to when my resident shade insisted that I stayed fed and hydrated.
‘Thank you,’ I said to the air in general. Obviously, when I’d discovered a ghost living in my apartment I’d done some deep digging. There had been a couple of deaths recorded in the building but only one in this apartment. Twenty-five-year-old Barbara Wiffin had been found bludgeoned to death in the 1970s, and they’d never found her killer.
For some reason the ghost always felt female to me, but I wasn’t sure enough of its identity to call it by a name. What if it was a Bob and not a Barbara and I made it mad? I didn’t want to try living with a pissy ghost. I knew nothing about them and there was every possibility they weren’t tied to the location of their death at all. For all I knew, it was the spirit of a local cat – itdidknock things onto the floor with startling regularity. In fact, lifting the pint glass was the most control I’d seen from it.
I set down the glass and was refreshing my lipstick when there was a rap at the door. I checked the time: 8pm. The ogre was nothing if not prompt. I added my notepad, pen, phone, baton and some magic-cancelling handcuffs to the capacious clutch bag. Oh, and my compact and my lipstick. Everything a girl needed.
Then I sashayed over to the door and opened it.
Robert ‘call me Robbie’ Krieg was dressed in a charcoal-grey suit with a berry-red bow tie that matched the shade of my dress perfectly. The suit had clearly been tailored to fit him because it didn’t pull across his well-built muscles.
I looked up from his bow tie and met his blazing silver eyes. ‘Thanks for the dress,’ I said with a polite smile.
‘It was a mistake,’ he growled. ‘Take it off.’
‘What?’ I exclaimed, taken aback.
‘I can’t be responsible for my actions when you look like that.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Focus. We’re going to find a killer.’
‘Yeah, but I can definitely enjoy that slit in your skirt while we do it.’ He paused. ‘I’m flirting with you,’ he said pointedly.
My cheeks reddened. ‘Thank you. I had noticed.’
‘You can flirt back, if you want.’
For one whole second, I threw caution to the wind. Blame the coffee. I stepped closer to the huge man before me, put my hand on his solid, sculpted chest and looked up into his dazzling eyes. They didn’t have any right to look so magical and enticing. ‘No, I can’t,’ I said slowly. ‘Because if I do …’ I licked my lips ‘… we would never leave this flat.’
He smelled divine, like leather and black pepper and cedarwood, and I wanted to bury myself in his arms until I smelled just like him. It took no small amount of self-control to step back. ‘Business comes first,’ I said firmly, letting my hand drop.
He swallowed hard but he was still staring at me like I was dessert. ‘Business, Inspector Wise,’ he agreed. ‘And then pleasure.’
‘Perhaps.’ I gave a smile I was powerless to stop. My heart was thundering at the thought of being wrapped in those muscular arms. I wasn’t in love with him – and that was supposed to be my gold standard – but after 658 days of celibacy I was definitely in lust. And since it had been so damned long, maybe I could let the gold standard slip just this once? Surely I could keep a handle on my powers long enough for one good fuck?
Loki flew over and landed on my velvet-clad shoulder. ‘Business,’ he squawked firmly. Great: now I was being warned off by an albino parrot.
‘I’ve got a car waiting downstairs.’ Krieg looked at the bird. ‘You coming?’
Loki flew to his shoulder instead of mine. ‘Find killer,’ he said, his tail bobbing.
‘Find the killer,’ Krieg agreed. ‘Let’s go prowling.’
