Blurb: John
Tilney--praeternatural pyrokinetic and mystery author--has noticed the
bottom dropping out of the market for his usual gothic fare, so he goes
to Lowell Kanaan, PI, for a crash course in noir. Lowell, the cranky
wolf-shifter detective, isn't sure why he agrees to let John shadow
him--though it might have something to do with John's weirdly endearing
honesty... and pretty lips. John thinks he's found the perfect detective
novel hero in Lowell, but it isn't long before he realizes he doesn't
want Lowell for his book, but for himself.
As
they become entangled in a supernatural whodunnit involving the Zombie
Mafia, black market body parts, and shady insurance deals, their
partnership grows closer--and hotter. But when it comes down to the
wire, Lowell's wolfy protective side threatens to drive John around the
bend, or at least out of the office. Good thing John's as much sunshine
as he is fire; hopefully it's enough to help them catch a murderer
before they end up in literal pieces, too.
Excerpt:
John finished ordering a couple of coffees when Lowell appeared at the door of the
diner. Looking dead cool, as usual: battered leather jacket, jeans (showed off
his assets nicely, John had occasion to notice now and then, but far from his own
preferred skinny cut), black shitkickers. Plus that serious expression of his,
which might’ve ruined the sculpted prettiness of his face somewhat if it didn’t
suit him so well.
Oh,
that was good stuff. John pulled out his notebook and was already scribbling
the description when Lowell got to the table. He did manage to say, “Hello,
there.”
“Hey.”
Lowell slid into the booth across from him.
“I’m
glad you didn’t try to talk your way out of it,” John said, all cheerful. He
punctuated his last sentence with a flourish, then cocked an eyebrow in a
mockery of suspicion. “No, wait. You haven’t come to tell me we’re not going to
see Ms. Quintus, have you? Or that you expect me to go it alone?”
“You’ve
got me pegged, don’t you?” Lowell pulled a menu over. “We’re going.” There was another
one of those tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Surprised?”
“Only
very slightly.” John made a note, saying out loud as he wrote, “Susceptible to
guilt and begging. Good to know.”
And
then, before Lowell could do more than frown, John said, “I ordered coffee. So
what’s our plan with Ms. Quintus?”
“Thanks,”
Lowell said. Then without looking up from the menu, added, “Besides question
her?”
John
shoved his notebook back into his weathered leather messenger bag—a souvenir of
a research trip to El Paso when he was sixteen—and didn’t bother to close it up
again. It seemed far more important to purse his lips at Lowell. At least, as
long as he could before he broke it with a chuckle. The grouchiness worked too;
John could definitely use that in the book. “You know what I mean! What’s the
order of operations? You talked to her. You said she seemed surprised no one
had heard from or seen him. So do we start by asking her when the last time she
saw him was? The police will have been all over her about it already. Will she
be annoyed with us for asking again? And what then? Ask her about friends,
other people to talk to? What’s your method?”
“I’ll—”
Lowell stopped, then made John smile when he corrected himself to, “We’ll ask
her if there’s anything she can tell us and then just let her talk. I like to
let people talk first. It helps them get their thoughts in order. Then we ask
questions. Cover anything she might have missed or that we want clarified or
anything we find suspicious. A lie can be unraveled pretty quickly if you ask
the right questions.”
Normally
John liked to take notes about this kind of thing, but since he was about to
see it in action, he’d just let it all congeal. Try living in the moment,
getting the full Lowell Kanaan picture rather than trying to keep track of
pieces. It was his first opportunity, maybe his last if this was the wild-goose
chase Lowell expected. John had no intention of wasting it. “Start it out; then
play it by ear, is what you’re saying. Keenly developed detective senses and all
that.”
Lowell
huffed a laugh, which made John rather proud. Lowell said, “Yeah, I guess that
is what I’m saying.”
“Then
I will take the opportunity to observe them at long last.” John looked up as
the server brought the coffees, and gave her a smiling thank-you. After both
men placed lunch orders, she disappeared. As in, literally. “Nice,” John said.
“Not every day you get to see apportation in action either.”
“Full
day for you,” Lowell said with a dryness John was starting to realize was
humor.
John
pointed at him, grinning. “And we’re just getting started.
“So,
okay, we can’t plot and plan for this little meeting. Tell me something else.
Tell me if there’s anything I absolutely should not do. Because you may not
have noticed, but things tend to just sort of fly from my brain out of my
mouth.”
Lowell
swallowed a mouthful of black coffee and then said, “Be selective of how much
you let on you know. It’s important to know when to withhold information and
when not to. The same goes for any suspicions you might have. Know when to say
something to them; know when not to.”
“Like
writing a mystery.” John gestured with his spoon. “I always think that mystery
and horror are the art of knowing what not to say, fantasy is the art of
knowing how to say everything without sounding like an infomercial, and romance
is the art of putting it all on the line.”
Lowell
stared at John a moment. Not in a bad way, precisely, more what John would’ve
called inscrutable. “Something like that,” Lowell said finally. “So maybe you
know more about not letting things fly from your brain to your mouth than you
think.”
John
nodded. “I’ll put on my Man of Mystery persona. Never really had to do it in
person before, but writing’s a lot like acting.” Much more exhausting in real
life than on the page, probably because John had never been a very good liar on
the few occasions he’d tried. Rather, the few occasions his mother had put him
up to it, because he’d much rather expend his efforts elsewhere, given the
option. But this, this was for the author in him. He could do it and get inside
his hero’s head in the process.
Method
writing. Excellent.
But
now Lowell was arching an eyebrow at him, so John decided to move on with,
“Right. So that covered, I was thinking the other day, and there’s one
potential flaw in this case.”
“Just
one?”
John
pursed his lips. “Yes. One. I’m not entirely sure why Jones— What was his name
again, really?”
“Jankowski.”
“Right,
him. Well, I’m not sure why he’d pay us to find his missing neighbor. Which
leads me to wonder if we’re getting paid at all.”
Lowell
folded his arms across his chest. “Why would you wonder that?”
“Well.”
Not much liking the physical barriers going up—a sure sign Lowell was trying to
get out of talking—John leaned forward. “Going through your files, I couldn’t
help but notice that you don’t always get paid. Or if you do, you’re getting it
under the table. Which is totally not your style.” Not that John was against
tax dodging, obviously, but Lowell didn’t seem the type.
Sitting
back, Lowell replied, “I don’t do it for me. Some people who come to me need
help but can’t afford it.” A single shoulder lifted in a shrug. “So I do it pro
bono or at half the cost.”
John
settled his elbows on the table, attention rapt. “It’s not that I didn’t expect
that answer, truth be told, but hearing you say it is somehow…” It was rare
that John was at a loss for words, but this one was giving him trouble.
It
was exciting, but that word seemed wrong somehow. He’d been excited about
stories or characters before. And that’s what Lowell was—the perfect hero. The
more John squeezed out of him, the more it became obvious. Grouchy on the
surface, sharp-witted, clever, and careful at his job, and now more concerned
about helping people than he was about paying the rent on his crappy office.
Throw in the dark good looks against the bright grayish-blue eyes, and Lowell
Kanaan was his biggest find in, well, forever.
Maybe
that was it, then. Maybe that was why the excited sensation of fluttering had
turned up in his stomach this time, as opposed to just his hands tingling to
write and his brain revving hard, as usual.
Lowell’s
brow knit. “Somehow…?” he offered, sounding like he wasn’t sure where John was
going with this.
Which
was fine, really, since John wasn’t either. He squeezed his shoulders forward
in a kind of happy shrug. “Exciting. Exciting enough that the author can’t come
up with a better word.”
Lowell
looked away, then picked up his coffee and took a swig. “Yeah, well, don’t get
used to it.”
John
grinned. He had Lowell’s pattern now, though: say something sort of nice, but
make sure to downplay it; say something bordering on rude when that was
disallowed. All that remained was for Lowell to change the subject entirely.
The man was absurdly charming, wasn’t he? If nothing else, this method of his
explained how he’d managed to keep his life such a solitary one in spite of
said charm. “Your clients have. I found a few records of payment plans too—”
“You
know, if you want the people we question to take you serious as a PI, you
probably don’t want to be flashing that around,” Lowell said, indicating the
bright yellow Private Investigation for
Dummies sticking out of his bag.
John
cackled. “There it is!” Which probably didn’t make much sense to Lowell, who
had no way of knowing John had predicted this tactic only seconds ago. John saw
no reason to let him in on the joke; he’d got what he needed and was still
remarkably excited, even for him, in the best possible way. “I’ll keep it in
the car, then.”
The
server reappeared with a magical pop and set their plates down in front of
them. Lowell pulled his plate closer to himself, said, “That’d be a smart
idea,” and tucked in.
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