Prickly By Nature (23 page)

Dylan stared at him, uncomprehending.

“You know, pasties, strip teases, singing. That sort of thing. It’s kind of like a variety show.”

Dylan frowned. “You’re going to a strip club?” he asked, his tone approaching a growl.

“Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Doesn’t Portland have the most strip clubs per capita or something?”

“Avery,” Dylan said warningly.

Avery waved a hand. “Relax. It’s for a case.”

“What kind of case requires you to go watch strippers looking like that?” Dylan gestured at his outfit.

Avery peered down at himself. He was wearing black boots, skintight black pants, and a thin, matching tank top that left most of his tattooed chest and sides on display. He’d be slapping his latest thrift-shop find—a stylish, retro steel-gray blazer—over the ensemble before he went out. With his pompadoured hair, it gave him an edgy rock-star kind of vibe. He wasn’t aiming to get laid, but he had to appear as if he were open to the possibility. He’d be more likely to get information that way.

Dressing up had helped distract him from Heath’s bad news, but after he’d spent the whole day feeling depressed, Dylan’s censorious expression sparked Avery’s temper. “A case that involves a dancer,” he snapped. “What do you think, I suddenly developed a taste for G-strings and overpriced lap dances?”

Dylan scowled. “Your outfit says ‘fuck me.’ That’s what I think.”

Avery tossed his head. “Of course it does. That’s the point.” He went back into the bathroom, dismissing the entire conversation.

Dylan appeared in the doorway just as he’d finished applying the eyeliner. “I’m going with you.”

“What, so you can glower at everybody and scare them away?” Avery huffed. “No, thanks. I can’t let you intimidate potential witnesses. Besides, I’m taking the Camry. It’s not like I’ll be using public transportation, and I’m coming straight home afterward. It’ll be fine.” Avery dropped the makeup pencil into his bag.

“Tell me about the case.”

Avery sighed. “One of the dancers is being stalked and harassed by a supposed secret admirer. The gifts are getting weird, and he’s scared, but the cops won’t do anything. He hasn’t been harmed, and it’s not like they have a name to put on a restraining order. Basically, he’s shit outta luck until something bad happens. He doesn’t like the idea of that, for obvious reasons.” Avery tilted his head, inspecting his reflection in the mirror above the sink. “Reid will be staking out his apartment tonight to see if this creeper comes around. He wants me to keep an eye on the club, ask some questions. No big deal.”

“I’m going. It’s nonnegotiable.”

Avery sucked in a deep breath, then released it slowly. He turned to Dylan, ready to argue, but the open anxiety on Dylan’s face halted the words before they left his mouth. Avery’s anger receded. “Dylan….”

Dylan rubbed a hand over his short hair. “Do you think I can sit here while you’re at some club, possibly putting yourself in the path of some psycho stalker? Come on, Av. Just let me take you there. I’ll stay out of the way. You know I’ve never interfered when I followed you to Howl or those other clubs. What’s different now?”

Avery sighed again. He recognized the stubborn set to Dylan’s mouth. He knew a losing battle when he saw one. If he tried to leave alone, Dylan would show up at Boylesque anyway. Avery would only aggravate himself by arguing. “Fine. But you know you can’t keep up this babysitting gig forever. Once I’m licensed, I fully expect you to back off. I know you want to protect me, but I can’t have you trailing behind me like a bodyguard. People will notice.”

A muscle in Dylan’s jaw ticked. Avery knew his mate wanted to remind him of all the times he’d needed Dylan’s help—about Victor and his goons, the money, his breakdown when he found out about Joel’s death. Dylan didn’t say a word, but frustration poured from him, sharp and pungent to Avery’s nose. He’d allowed Dylan to play knight in shining armor in one situation too many, and now Dylan felt entitled. Avery knew it maddened him that he couldn’t be there to guard Avery every second of the day. It was part of their mate bond, part of Dylan’s inalterable nature. He could protest from night till dawn. It changed nothing.

Avery had chosen to mate a werewolf; he had to deal with the consequences. Dylan might ease off eventually, but it wouldn’t happen any time soon. Or ever. Avery could accept that, or they could continue having this fight. The very idea exhausted him, and he couldn’t deny a part of him enjoyed having Dylan near, knowing no one could sneak up on him because Dylan would never let it happen. It also made him feel incompetent, as if Dylan didn’t trust him to handle himself. Reid did. Avery wanted his mate to have the same faith in him. But at the end of the day, a wolf was a wolf. Dylan could no more be blamed for his instincts than Avery could for chafing at the idea of being smothered and overprotected. It seemed, as the expression went, they were at an impasse.

Avery waved the white flag and surrendered. For now. “You need to change,” he told Dylan. “Showtime starts at ten.”

Dylan nodded and left the bathroom. Five minutes later, they were in Dylan’s Firebird—he’d refused to drive the Camry—and headed downtown. Avery wouldn’t have minded riding one of Dylan’s bikes, if it wasn’t for the persistent drizzle and how the mandatory helmet would wreck his pompadour.

They made it to Boylesque at quarter after ten. Avery let Dylan enter the club first. He waited in the car for a few minutes, then sent Reid a quick text to check in.

As they’d agreed during the drive, Dylan would find a table and pretend to be a regular customer while Avery sought out the manager Reid was in contact with. The man at the door waived his cover charge when Avery asked for the guy who went by the incongruous name of Wrench.

Avery was directed down a hall and told he could find Wrench in the office on the left. Wrench turned out to be a tall, burly man with tree-trunk arms and a bushy beard that cascaded to the middle of his chest. From what Avery could tell, Wrench was inked from the head down. Avery expected gruffness or maybe the raspy voice of a longtime smoker, but when Wrench spoke, his voice was soft and surprisingly cultured. “I’ll take you to the dressing rooms. You can talk to the boys who are willing. No pressure, though. I told Reid I don’t approve of intimidation tactics.”

Said by the man who
was
an intimidation tactic. Avery eyed Wrench’s brawny arms and nodded, giving him a winning smile. He’d already dialed up his Southern twang. People either loved the accent or heard it and labeled him a stupid country hick. Both options worked in his favor if he played his cards right. He won answers through charm, or he played up the ditzy blond act, and as often happened when people assumed the listener was too dumb to understand, they let things slip.

Chaos reigned in the dressing room. Men rushed around in various stages of makeup and undress. A few surveyed Avery with open interest.

Avery approached the guy who stared hardest. He was dressed in a flimsy police officer costume and gave a slow lick to his plump lower lip as Avery neared. Avery allowed a flirtatious smile in return and held out a hand. “Avery. And you are?”

“Taylor. But if you come home with me after the show, you can call me anything you want.”

Avery pumped as much regret into his expression as he could and pried his hand free of Taylor’s grip. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m on the job tonight. I have a couple of questions, if you wouldn’t mind helping me out.”

Taylor pouted. “You sure? You can come over afterward. I stay up late.”

“Another time, maybe.” Avery wasn’t above outright lying to get some answers. “What do you know about the gifts Mikko has been receiving?”

Mason, the dancer being stalked, performed under the name Mikko Valentine. Reid had spoken to Mason that morning, and Avery would be seeking him out before he left the club, but for now, he had interviews to conduct.

Taylor’s gaze sharpened, and he lost the poutiness. “You’re with that PI. Reid.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Taylor lifted a muscled shoulder. “The first one came in May. I remember ’cuz it was his birthday. Normal stuff at first, you know? Flowers, candy, presents from the wish list on Mikko’s blog. Then it started getting weirder.”

Avery stepped closer. “How so?” He had most of the details from Mason already, but he wanted an idea of how much the other dancers knew.

Taylor shuddered in a way that seemed totally unaffected. “Seriously messed-up shit. Decapitated dolls dressed up in Mikko’s costumes. Moldy, rotten roses. And the last time, they sent a dead bird covered in maggots.” He swallowed hard. “Fuck, I almost puked.”

“What else do you know? Have you seen anyone suspicious watching Mikko?”

Taylor made a scoffing sound. “Do you have any idea the amount of creepers we have coming in here? Most of these guys could cross over into stalker territory at any given time. But usually, all Wrench has to do is glare and they skedaddle.”

Avery just bet they did. Wrench was one scary bastard. “Anything else you think might help us figure out who’s doing this?”

Taylor shrugged. “No. Not really. And I’ve gotta go on in a second, so….”

Avery nodded. “All right. Thanks for the help.”

“Sure.” Taylor started to brush past him and paused. “By the way, the offer of coming to my apartment is still open.” He winked and sauntered off.

Avery cornered a redhead next. The guy had freckles in interesting places and introduced himself as Gingersnap, which made Avery grin.

“I can’t help much,” Gingersnap said as he checked his reflection and adjusted his scarlet corset. “I saw some of the presents Mikko got here, and I know sometimes they come to his apartment. I heard the last few had letters inside, but I don’t know what they said. Mikko seemed really upset, though, after the last one. I think that’s when he really started getting scared.”

Avery bobbed his head. He knew about the letters. He’d seen the copies Mason gave to Reid. The contents were seriously disturbing. He still shuddered remembering one of the lines about how the stalker wanted to choke Mason on his cock until he vomited. And the paragraph about feces had triggered Avery’s gag reflex. Whoever this guy was, he was twisted. Avery didn’t blame Mason for his fear. It seemed like the gifts and threats were escalating. Soon the situation would come to a head, and they were all hoping they could identify the stalker before then.

Once Avery had spoken to everyone who wasn’t too busy to talk, he went back out into the main bar area. No one had given him any information that Mason hadn’t already provided. He spoke to the waiters and the two bartenders before giving up on the pretense of being there alone and going to find Dylan. It was nearing midnight when he joined Dylan at a table. He knew Mason was set to go on any minute.

Avery ordered a drink and settled in to watch. Mason came onto the stage wearing a saucy sailor costume, but he wasn’t alone. A guy Avery hadn’t seen in the dressing rooms accompanied him. It took Avery a few moments to place the other performer—good-looking, slender build, platinum hair, porcelain skin. It was the guy he’d seen Dylan with at Wolfhound all those months ago, the same night Josiah had broken Avery’s wrist.

Dylan seemed to recognize him at the same moment. “Chance.” He sounded surprised. Pleasantly so. His gaze remained glued to the stage.

Avery stiffened despite himself. Dylan had looked mighty cozy with Chance last fall, and now Chance was up there, shaking his ass and showing off his lean muscles and long, lithe limbs. Avery knew the Boylesque dancers didn’t get completely naked, but the corset and skimpy thong Chance revealed once he’d stripped the outer layers of his costume didn’t leave much to the imagination. Avery wanted to hiss and shield Dylan’s eyes. Had Dylan fucked Chance? Had they dated? He and Avery had never discussed it. Was Dylan imagining the things they’d done in bed together as Chance proved his flexibility with a pose that left even Avery grudgingly impressed?

Avery reached into Dylan’s line of sight and snapped his fingers. “Stare a little harder, why don’t you? I don’t think he can feel the eye-fucking you’re giving him just yet.”

Dylan turned to him, confusion flashing across his features. “What?”

Avery crossed his arms and huffed. “Enjoying the show?” he asked, voice thick with sarcasm. “Bringing back some fond memories?”

Dylan blinked. He scrutinized Avery for a long moment. Then his mouth broke into a grin. “You’re jealous.” He laughed and reached for Avery, but Avery swayed out of reach.

“It’s just you had a bit of drool dripping from your chin. Might want to clean that up.” Avery nudged a cocktail napkin toward Dylan with what he hoped was a casual air. He knew he’d missed by a mile when Dylan’s grin broadened.

“You know you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Avery gave a half-shrug. “Who said I was worried?”

Dylan laughed again, and Avery’s skin prickled in irritation. He stood from his chair. “I’m going to go see if I missed anyone. You can leave if you want to. I can make my own way home.” He walked away, not pausing when Dylan called his name, amusement in his tone.

He returned to the dressing room and spoke to the performers who’d been on stage when he’d been there earlier. If anyone had information beyond what Reid and Avery already knew, they weren’t talking.

Commandeering one of the chairs, he waited for Mason to come offstage. Mason spotted him immediately and waved him into a small restroom.

“Did you find anything out?” Mason asked as he closed the door.

Avery frowned. “No.”

Mason sighed and raked a hand through his messy, glitter-decorated hair. At a quick glance, with his androgynous features, he could pass for either a man or a woman. Avery had been struck by his appearance from their first meeting. Even sweaty and distraught, Mason’s beauty shone through.

“Any packages or letters since this morning?” Avery asked.

Mason shook his head. “Nothing. But it’s only a matter of time. I know it.” He exhaled a shaky breath, distress obvious in the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Avery couldn’t resist giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Reid is staked out across the street from your apartment building. If you like, I can walk you out and follow you home too. I know I don’t look like much of a bodyguard, but safety in numbers, right?”