Catnip Crazy

The club was thumping busy. The tacky neon pink-and-black leopard printed booths glowed, the dancing kitties were all thirsty enough to keep the bartenders running, and the volume of talk and laughter drowned out anything Layla had to say to him.

That worked for Cole. In spades.

"So, are you happy about the take tonight, honey?" Layla shouted the question above the music, her cream-licking smile telling him she knew he really didn't want to talk.

"Of course. You know me, honey. I'm all about the bottom line." Layla might be about matchmaking and happiness and feng whatever, but Cole was all about the profit. That was the whole reason their partnership at the Cat House was a success. He handled the cash. Layla handled the customers.

Her nose wrinkled at him ever so slightly. If she'd had her cat whiskers and her tail they would have twitched. "I have someone I want you to meet, Cole. I think you'll like her."

Cole rolled his eyes, trying hard not to make rude noises. "Uh-huh. I saw what your matchmaking did to Bay. Almost got him killed."

His friend Bay, who was a decent guy even if he was a werewolf, had taken on some serious trouble with the two werekitties that Layla had hooked him up with. If Cole had ever pondered letting her fix him up, Bay's situation had cured him of the notion.

"They're very happy now," Layla shot back, sniffing.

"Sure they are. Too bad he had to go through kidnapping and shit to get there. I can find my own fun."

"You never have any fun, love. That's the problem."

"Just let me.... What the hell is that?" Cole stood, slipping into the crowd, leaving Layla demanding to know what was going on. He'd swear he'd seen a flash of tail in the crowd, and he didn't mean the kind covered in Spandex or lace. While pretty much everyone who came to the club was a little more, or less, than human, everyone knew they had to be as normal as possible inside the main bar.

He reached the section of the dance floor he was aiming for in about three seconds, but there was no spotted tail, no one furry. The dancers ignored him, and no one had their hackles up, so maybe he'd imagined it. Cole wasn't really given to flights of fancy though, so he kept looking.

There. Just by the corridor that led to the bathrooms. There was a flash of brown and black, waving like a little flag. Cole shook off Layla who had caught up with him, growling at her a little. "Get up to security and watch the monitors for the hall."

Without waiting to see if she obeyed, Cole headed back to the restrooms, trying to work through the scents there to find something off. It wasn't an easy job.

It was all over but the shouting by the time he got to the men's room. He knew the moment he opened the door that something was terribly wrong. The acrid stench of blood hit him, the quantity huge to make that much of a stink. Cole's foot slipped in something, his shoe sliding along the tile.

Shit.

The lights flickered to life when he flipped the switch, and he saw the body, feet sticking out from under the door of the one stall, a trail of blood all the way across the floor under the urinals and sinks. The only exit was a high window, and it flapped open, the lock broken, the paint seal around the edge cracked.

Cole pulled out his cell phone to call 911. They'd close the club down for at least one night to pull evidence.

Damn it. So much for his bottom line.

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