Read Online Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel by Ronda Thompson - Free Book Online Page A

us, but the fact that he’s seen me mostly naked and has possibly thought about that a time or two. As hot as he is, I don’t want him sniffing around me any more than necessary.
    â€œShe’s a little out there,” I agree. “I’ve known her since kindergarten.” That’s all I’m giving him concerning Cindy. “Shouldn’t we get back to business so you can leave?”
    Shay nods, easily switching back to business. “The murder took place shortly before two A.M. It happened across town. You couldn’t have been there and gotten back home, removed your makeup, and changed your clothes before Cindy Emerson came over. That is, if she’s telling the truth.”
    I suppose it’s his job to be suspicious. I let the remark about Cindy’s credibility slide. “And it was a sex crime, right? I also couldn’t have had sex with her before I ripped her throat out.”
    Coffee cup raised halfway to his mouth, Shay suddenly sets it back down. “I never told you that.”
    Oops again. “I’m assuming it was the same as Sally Preston’s murder. Am I right?”
    Eyeing me with the baby blues, he nods. “Yeah, it was the same guy. No semen samples to confirm it, but everything else was the same. I just find it odd that you automatically assumed that.”
    Shay has worn out his welcome. “Is it your normal first reaction to mistrust everyone you meet, or is it just models or women in general you have a problem with?”
    â€œYes,” he answers. He rises. “Look, I don’t believe in psychics. If you want to convince me you have special abilities, tell me something we don’t already know about this guy.”
    I’m not falling for any tricks. “I need to touch the photo again because the karma has faded.”
    He stops himself before he can do a complete eye roll and removes the photo. I don’t want to look at it, at her, not knowing what I now know. I close my eyes and hold the photo in my hands.
    There is something I know that no one else knows. Something I should not mention. Something that will send Terry Shay running, never to darken my door again. I open my eyes and look at him. “The man who killed both women is a werewolf.”
    I get nothing from him. No widening of the baby blues. No frown. No laugh. Nothing. Shay takes the photo and stuffs it back into his pocket. All delicious six feet two of him turns and walks away. I hear the door close a moment later. He thinks I am totally whacked. Well, that’s one way to end a forbidden relationship before it gets started.
    *   *   *
    Call me a glutton for punishment because the next day I make the short ride downtown to the dilapidated building housing one Morgan Kane. I don’t hear music blaring from behind his closed door. All is quiet. I test the knob. I know most people would simply knock, but if the door’s open and Kane isn’t around, I might do some snooping of my own.
    The office is not empty. Kane sits in the chair behind his messy desk, head leaned back, eyes closed, cowboy boots propped up on his desktop … sleeping. I’d say he looks innocent in sleep, but he doesn’t. I stalk across the room, surprised I can be quiet in high heels—surprised I’m stalking, period.
    I’m pretty good at it. I come up behind Kane and stare down at him. At least he doesn’t snore. I get close … real close. His breath smells like peppermint. I had expected tobacco and liquor. He still needs a shave. He does shave his neck, I note. He’s groomed to look like he needs to be groomed.
    Having Kane’s neck so close puts thoughts in my head. If I can will the fangs to come, maybe I can just kill him instead of being forced to hire him. As tempting as the idea is, I know that, deep down, like Cindy believes, I am not a killer. Or at least I sincerely hope not.
    â€œEither kiss me or slit my