"The cab got shunted off the road by a truck." I shrugged. "I'm okay, the driver's okay, so it doesn't really matter anymore."

"You should have contacted me—"

"So you can do what?" I interrupted, and saw the annoyance flair in his eyes. Not wanting an argument, I quickly added, "I would have rung you if it was anything serious. You want to go out for lunch?"

"Unfortunately, I'm crazy here at the moment." He shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and withdrew the keys. "Consider my home your home. I'll be up there as soon as I can."

"Your home might soon be my home, so it goes without saying that I'll make myself comfortable there."

"There's no might about that, woman," he said, tone a growl but eyes glinting with amusement.

I grinned, then grabbed his shirt and dragged him to me, kissing him long and hard, right there in his office, in front of everyone. "Don't be long."

I released him and did a sexy walk on out of there. He didn't follow, nor did I expect him to. But I was betting he'd be upstairs sooner rather than later.

I stripped down once I'd reached his apartment, then poured myself a luxurious bath, sprinkling the water with the lemongrass scented salts I found in the bath cabinet. At least they'd help erase the lingering aroma of death and blood from my skin. I shoved several new age CDs onto the player, relaxing a little as the ambient beats and melodious singing filled the apartment, then climbed into the rich-smelling hot water.

And there I stayed until all the underlying aches from the accident had been washed away, and my skin began to resemble a prune.

Once dried and dressed, I wandered out to the kitchen and made myself a coffee. It was two in the afternoon, which meant my earlier assumption about Kellen's appearance had been totally wrong. Work was more problematic than I'd figured, obviously.

But given there wasn't a whole lot I could do about that—other than hope he got up here before nighttime—I made myself a sandwich then headed over to his computer. I typed up my report and sent it to Jack, then cruised the Net for a while, checking out my favorite music sites to see what was new. Finally, with nothing better to do, I decided to print out the file Blake had sent me, and read that again.

Only to discover that Adrienne had shared an apartment with another woman. Blake hadn't said anything about the woman, but it was briefly mentioned in one of the police reports. Yet no one seemed to have interrogated her, which was odd. I placed the file on the desk and went to the white pages to find a phone number. None listed. Either the number was private, or both women used their cell phones rather than having a landline, which was certainly a cheaper option these days. I went back online and signed into the Directorate's database. Nothing major had happened at Adrienne's address beyond a large number of break-ins. But then, while St. Kilda was considered a trendy suburb, it still hadn't shaken its darker past. Prostitutes and druggies still haunted the streets, and break-ins were often a side effect of at least one of those elements. Had to feed the habit somehow.

I drummed my fingers on the desk for several seconds, wondering if I had time enough to go out before Kellen came back up.

Which was unlike me. I'd never run my life to suit a man, and it was stupid to start doing so now. I cared for Kellen, there was no doubting that, but we weren't yet a committed couple. Even if we were, I had no intention of tailoring every moment of my life to someone else's time clock. That just wasn't my idea of married bliss.

And if it was his, then he was in for a huge shock. This was not likely to be the last time I was in his bad books.

So I wrote him a brief note, picked up my purse and his keys, and headed out. I caught a cab and headed to Adrienne's address.

Rather unsurprisingly, her apartment was on the Esplanade, one of St. Kilda's main streets and only a stone's throw away from the beach, Luna Park, and the Ackland Street nightlife. The pack's finances had certainly improved more than I'd imagined—either that, or my grandfather had been more of a skinflint than I'd figured. Certainly when we'd been there, a luxury apartment in the middle of a thriving hot spot like St. Kilda was an unlikely acquisition. And the pack did own it, not Adrienne or the woman she shared with.

I paid the driver, then hopped out of the cab and stared up at the building. It was one of those modern structures that really didn't have any distinct style of its own—a slab-sided, low-profiled affair that at least didn't look too incongruous against the more elegant buildings next to it.

I pressed the security buzzer. A thinnish, bored-looking man in his mid-fifties looked at me for several seconds from behind the safety of his desk, then said through the intercom buzzer, "What can I do for you, miss?"

His voice had that it's-all-too-much-effort tone that guaranteed instant annoyance. At least to me.

I pulled out my ID and slapped it against the glass. "I need to talk to the occupants of apartment 303."

"Jodie Carr and Adrienne Jenson? I don't believe either is in at the moment."

"I don't care what you believe. I intend to go up there and discover for myself. Now, let me in."

He did, I strode over to the desk, my heels echoing sharply against the highly polished marble tiles.

"Have you got the master key for the apartment?"

"Have you got a. warrant?"

His bored, somewhat condescending tones had my temper rising a little further, but I somehow managed to keep my voice even as I said, "I don't need one. I'm Directorate. Now, am I going to have to throw your ass in jail for being a pain, or are you just going to give me the key?"

"Hey, I was only doing my job, you know?"

"If you were doing your job, this building would not have such a high rate of break-ins." I gave him my sweetest smile, "Someone with a suspicious mind might think there was inside information being sold."

He muttered something under his breath, and somewhat sullenly handed me the keys.

When I got up to the apartment, I knocked on the door and waited patiently for an answer. But there was none—and no sign of body heat in the front room under infrared. The apartment itself seemed deathly quiet. I tried again, just in case someone was in the bathroom. Then I slipped the master key into the lock and opened the door.

The thick, flowery scent of perfume hit me almost straightaway, but underneath was a sour aroma I couldn't quite place. I wrinkled my nose, and wondered how any wolf could live with a smell like that. It was awful.

Trying not to breathe through my nose, I stepped past the door and into a surprisingly large living space. Although perhaps that feeling was enhanced by the white of carpets, walls, and ceiling, and the careful but sparse placement of furniture. All that white could have made the place feel sterile, but there were bold splashes of color in the form of cushions, flowers, and thick, thick rugs that had me wanting to rip off my shoes and run my toes through them. The overall feel of the place was surprisingly warm—though it was a feeling that was undoubtedly helped by the sunshine splashing through the huge wall of windows.

I ripped my gaze away from the million dollar view, and said, "Hello?"

The sound echoed, filling the warm silence with sound. Trepidation tripped across my skin and I shivered a little. Though why I suddenly felt something was out of place, I couldn't really say. My clairvoyance tended not to give out juicy little details like that.

I walked across the living room, my footsteps ringing on the shiny wooden floorboards. The kitchen was small but functional, the fridge filled with fruit, vegetables, meat, and wine. But there wasn't a piece of chocolate or a cookie in sight. How on earth did they cope with the midnight hungers?