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The name clicked. Ben was Shadow, a big, black wolf who managed Nonpareil, a stripper business that catered - as both strippers and studs - to human and nonhuman parties alike. I'd met him briefly while investigating a case a few months ago, and while we'd shared an attraction, I'd been with Kellen at the time and had promised to remain faithful to him.
Fat lot of good it had done me, too.
I blew out a breath, pushed away the lingering remnants of heartache, and said, "Did he leave a phone number?"
"He did. But this is the last time I'm relaying personal messages."
"It's not personal. It's business." Which wasn't exactly a lie, because I actually had no idea what Ben wanted. I doubted if it would be personal, though. Not after all this time.
She grunted. "Not believing that for an instant, wolf girl." She rattled off a phone number. "He also said you can contact him via the office if there's no answer on his cell."
"You're such a sweetie, Sal."
"You know where you can shove being a sweetie," she said and hung up.
I chuckled softly. Jack had told me numerous times to stop being such a bitch around Sal, but baiting that woman was just too much fun to let it go.
I dialed the number she'd given me. It rang several times, then a deep voice said, "Ben Wilson speaking."
"Ben, it's Riley Jenson, returning your call."
"Thank you for calling back." There was more than a touch of relief in his rich tones. "I know you don't know me or anything, but I'm in need of some help, and you're the only guardian I know."
Well, at least I'd been right before. It was business. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, then wanted to smack myself for even thinking the latter.
"What sort of help?" I said, perhaps a touch more sharply than I'd intended.
He hesitated. "One of our strippers has just been murdered."
"Then call the police."
"I have. They're treating it as low priority."
"Why?"
"Because Denny was a known participant in the BDSM scene, and his death looks like sex-play gone wrong."
"And if he was into that scene, they might just be right."
"Except for the fact that Denny only dabbled in BDSM. What really got his rocks off was asphyxiophilia."
I frowned. "Which is?"
"Erotic asphyxiation. Only he wasn't found hanging from his neck, he was found hanging by his wrists, with his back and stomach stripped."
"He got off by trying to kill himself?" That didn't sound like very much fun to me. There again, neither did having my back and stomach beaten so badly that the flesh peeled away.
"He didn't do autoerotic asphyxiation. He was always - always - with a partner."
Something Ben couldn't actually be sure of, unless he was there each and every time. And as frank and as open as wolves were about sex, most of us didn't go blathering to all and sundry about each and every sexual exploit. "Did police find any indication of a partner in the apartment?"
"No, although there had to be one given the state of his body."
"So what do you want me to do? Try and find the partner?"
"I want the truth of what happened. Finding the partner would be a good start, yes."
"I'll need to get in his apartment." Smell the smells, see if his soul was hanging about for a chat. Though not all souls did, as evidenced by Gerard.
