Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(99)

“Is something going to be done about—”

But his deep voice was cut off by the wail of sirens and the marching band-like clatter of police officers as they thundered into the building. They spread out, corralling us as crime scene techs surrounded the body and studied the scene.

“We’re going to need to clear the premises.” The police officer didn’t look at us as he said it, but no one dared challenge him. “But don’t go far. We need to take statements.”

Emerson, Felipe, Pike, and I stumbled out into the hallway, keeping our distance from the flurry of activity flowing in and out of Reginald’s apartment. Felipe was quiet, nose a heady red, cheeks chapped from the constant flow of tears. I patted his shoulder awkwardly. He sniffled and shook like a wet Chihuahua.

“I’m really sorry, man,” Pike said slowly.

Felipe continued to stare straight ahead, teeth chattering, but otherwise catatonic.

I heard Pike suck in a sharp breath and jam his hands in his pockets. As a dead man was hanging not thirty feet away, I shouldn’t have noticed the way that motion—hands in pockets—pulled Pike’s jeans just a little tighter over his ass, exposing his perfect, peach-shaped bottom, but I did.

I remembered the sweet, juicy taste of peaches and licked my lips, savoring the memory on my tongue.

Then Pike turned those mesmerizing cozy brown eyes of his on me. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. You must be Nina, right? I’m Pike.” He held a hand out—a big, wonderful hand that made me think of the old adage about big hands and feet—and I slipped my hand into his feeling dainty and demure—which was refreshing when I’m most often referred to as any variant of “soulless bloodsucker.”

I brushed my long, black hair over one shoulder and pulled back my shoulders—or stuck out my br**sts, depending on how you looked at it—and pasted on my most beguiling smile. I may be a little short in the soul/life department, but when it came to flirting, I was a star student and Pike warmed to my gaze.

“Yes, I’m Nina LaShay. And this,” I said, touching Felipe lightly on the shoulder. “This is Felipe. He is—was . . .” I choked on the word and Felipe’s eyes went round and heart-breakingly big. “He was with Reginald.”

“Dios mio!” Felipe started again, huffing and tearing at his hair. “Mi osito de peluche es muerte! Muerte!”

One of the paramedics came toward us and snaked an arm around Felipe, talking in a low, soothing voice and leading him away.

Pike shook his head. “Poor guy.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and I briefly thought of Googling “How to flirt at a murder scene.” I decided to go with the tried and true.

“So you’re—Pike?” I could feel my eyebrows scrunching together unattractively and Pike offered a small smile, his eyes completely transfixed on mine. It was like we were speaking our own incredibly sexy language.

I had every intention of making that language clothing optional.

“It’s short for Paikea.”

Well sure, that was better.

“It’s Maori, but I’m actually Hawaiian.”

I was thinking of my Pike, greased up in suntan oil and smelling like coconuts.

“You have quite a strong grip, don’t you?”

I snatched my hand back, embarrassed, wishing for once that I had an ounce of blood to wash a cute crimson blush across my cheeks. Instead I just smiled demurely, glancing at my soulmate through lowered lashes.

“You could probably get out of here, Pike. There’s not going to be any photo shoot. At least I’m not doing one.” Emerson turned on her heel and disappeared into her apartment, slamming the door behind her.

“Ah, Emerson,” Pike said. “A regular breath of vile air.”

He leaned back against the wall, looking very Diesel-commercial chic. His eyes went over my head, scanning the activity in Reginald’s apartment, and I took a quick moment to revel, taking in every inch of this man who should have been a calendar model.

For every month of the year.

I swallowed back the inappropriate desire to engage him in some sultry dirty talk and instead leaned against the wall across from him. I was about to open my mouth, was working up the perfect post-suicide sentence when Pike hitched his shoulder at me and silently walked away.

I fought the urge to growl and then the urge to crawl under my bed and hide. I wasn’t used to people walking away from me—especially not male people. I was working up a reason to follow Pike when Emerson stopped behind me, close enough that her patchouli scent wafted off her and stuck to me. I grimaced, then immediately pasted on an appropriately demure smile.

“This is awful, isn’t it?”

She actually shrugged. “Hate to speak ill of the dead, but the coward was obviously too scared to show his face after he stole my fabric.”

My voice was a hissing whisper. “Are you kidding me? A man is dead, and you’re still focused on your fabric? God, even Pike,” I said, jutting my chin toward him, desperate to feel his name on my tongue again. “A complete stranger feels more for Reginald than you do.”

Emerson shook her head, that gnat-in-her-ear expression on her face. “Pike is no stranger.” She waved her hand in his general direction. “He’s an ex.”

I hoped to God that Emerson meant an ex to Reginald or Felipe because even finding out that the love of my life was g*y was preferable to finding out that he may have once been attracted to someone like Emerson. “He hangs around a lot. Kind of can’t get the message.”