Free Nocturnal Urges (Nocturnal Urges, Book One) by Elizabeth Donald Page A

worried about Duane finding out was a clear sign that Ryan was a lot more than a marital aid with teeth, and if her own confusion wasn’t enough of a deterrent, Duane’s irritability since the night of her bite should be. He had not been directly cross with her, but he had been jumpy, easily frustrated and sometimes she saw him looking at her in a funny way.
    I can’t see Ryan again, not for any reason , she thought.
    A sharp knock at the door, and she jumped nearly out of her skin. It’s Ryan, he’s come back , she thought, and went to the door, prepared to be firm.
    She opened the door, and Duane leaped forward, sweeping her up into his arms. “Duane!” she cried out, half in surprise, half in relief. “You scared me to death!”
    “I got the night off,” he said, setting her back down.
    “I see that,” Isabel replied. “Jeez, you know how to give a girl a heart attack. Come in, I should have enough stroganoff for two.”
    * * * * *
    “Mmm,” Isabel said.
    “That’s an encouraging mmm,” Duane said. His fingers pressed against the muscles of her shoulders, massaging and relaxing.
    “That’s an I’m-tired-and-don’t-want-to-do-the-dishes mmm,” Isabel hinted.
    “Don’t do them,” Duane said. “They’ll wait till morning.”
    “You got a lot to learn about what turns a woman on,” she teased.
    “Oh yeah?” Duane said, trailing his fingers down her back to the places on either side that tickled. “Rubber gloves, huh? That’s what you like?”
    Isabel giggled helplessly as he tickled her sides. “Stop, no more,” she gasped. “No fair.”
    “Not my fault I’m not ticklish,” Duane said. “Be at my mercy, wench.”
    “Never,” Isabel declared, and he kept tickling her until she scrambled away. “Mitts off, evil one.”
    “Come now, wench, sit by my foot like a good woman should,” Duane said.
    Isabel rolled her eyes. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d smack you for that one,” she said.
    Just as she sat next to him on the couch, the doorbell rang.
    “Lord, what now?” Isabel groaned. She got up and walked over to the door, muttering, “This better be good” to herself.
    Freitas was at the door, in her work suit and waving her badge. “Sorry to disturb you, Isabel,” she said. “Official stuff.”
    “Detective,” Duane said from behind Isabel, and she made a mental note that this time he’d remembered Anne’s rank. “What can we do for you?”
    “It’s just the two of you?” Freitas asked.
    “Yes,” Isabel said. “Why? What’s going on?”
    “Any visitors tonight?” Freitas’ eyes were doing the cop stare again, and Isabel felt herself withering.
    “No, just Duane here,” Isabel lied. She felt the lie as if it pasted a banner over her head, as if neon lie detectors glared over her, and certainly Freitas was picking up on it. I’ll come to your office and tell you all about it tomorrow , she pleaded mentally with Freitas. But somehow, she knew Duane would go ballistic if he knew Ryan had been there.
    “What’s going on, Detective?” Duane asked.
    Freitas leveled her gaze on him for a moment, and then put away the badge, as though she had forgotten she was holding it. “A man was just found murdered in the alley two blocks from here,” she said. “He had been to Nocturnal Urges tonight.”
    Isabel gasped. “Again,” she said. “That’s…”
    “Five,” Freitas said. “You didn’t see anything, hear anything?”
    “No,” Isabel said. “Why me?”
    Freitas shook her head. “Two blocks from here, you’re patrons of Nocturnal Urges, I took a shot,” she said. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”
    “Of course,” Isabel said. “I’ll see you later.”
    Freitas nodded, and suddenly seemed much older in the few seconds before she turned to walk away down the hallway. Isabel closed the door slowly, suddenly saddened by the death of some man whose name she didn’t even know.
    “Wow,” Duane said. “Some crazy killing people—that shit