LEITMOTIF

"Good evening, Detective Knight," Cohen greeted the tardy police officer. "So glad you could join us."

He followed the Captain into her office. From his seat in front of the desk, Don Schanke grinned. "Howdy, Partner!"

Nick smiled faintly and turned to Cohen. "I stopped by the Coroners' Building on my way in tonight."

"Good. Maybe you can enlighten us on this." She handed each detective a manila folder. "Harold Nice. He was found dead in an alley earlier this afternoon."

"Nat said it looked like a strangling," Nick informed her, "but the actual cause of death was an overdose of barbiturate."

"It sounds as though you two have a case." As Schanke stood to leave, Cohen waved them on their way. "Good luck, gentlemen."

Nick followed his partner out to the bullpen as he studied the folder. Tossing the file next to his computer, he grabbed his keys. "Let's go, shall we?"

"What's the first stop?" Schanke asked.

"The Leitmotif. The body was found in the alley behind the club."

"'Nuff said. Let's get!"

Music blared. Bright lights strobed across the stage. The two detectives picked their way across the crowded floor to the back of the club. Nick knocked on the office door while Schanke glanced around. A handsome young man, dressed as a doctor, caught his eye as he strutted out onto the stage. He began to slowly gyrate to the music. Unwrapping a stethoscope from around his neck and twirling it over his head, he tossed it out into the audience. The crowd, mainly young to middle-aged women, screamed and jostled to grab the trinket.

"Hey, get a load of this," Schanke said, nudging his partner. "What do you make of that?"

Nick turned in time to see the dancer lose his lab coat, exposing impressive pecs to the appreciative hoots of the audience.

A voice sounded behind the detectives. "May I help you?"

Turning, they held out their badges for inspection. "Metro Homicide," Nick told the woman. "We need to speak to the owner of the club."

"You're looking at her. Terri Black. What do you need?"

"A man was killed outside your club," Schanke informed her. "Did you know a Mr. Harold Nice?"

"Harold?" Ms. Black looked shocked. "Harold worked here."

"In what capacity?" Nick asked.

"As a dancer, of course. Harold was 'The Fireman'. He was extremely popular. What happened?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Schanke's attention was split between the woman and the spectacle on stage.

The "Doctor" ripped off his pants, exposing an abundantly filled G-string. The crowd went wild as the dancer thrust his hips toward them, making his way down from the stage and into the audience. A blush rose up the back of Schanke's neck as the bare backside of the dancer disappeared into the crowd.

"Was he known to associate with any of the customers?" Nick asked.

"We have a strict policy of not allowing the dancers to date customers."

"But it happens anyway, doesn't it?" Schanke prodded.

"Not to my knowledge, it doesn't." Ms. Black sniffed disdainfully. "Any dancer caught fraternizing loses his job."

"That's a pretty tough policy," Nick commented.

"Exactly. This is not an establishment for prostitution, gentlemen. We run a legitimate business, and I don't intend to lose my license."

"What's in that room?" Schanke indicated a closed door, guarded by a hulking bouncer.

"That's our private lounge. For a fee, a customer can take the dancer of her choice there for a private show."

"How much?" Schanke asked.

"Two hundred dollars."

"That must be quite a show."

"I assure you, Detective, there is no prostitution. Our dancers are well aware of the consequences."

"Did Mr. Nice dance privately?" Nick inquired.

"He was extremely popular, as I said," Ms. Black sniffed.

"How about last night?"

"Let me check the records." She turned and entered her office. The detectives followed. Quickly tapping some commands into her computer, she studied the screen. "Yes, he had two private shows last night. I told you he was extremely popular."

"Can you give us the names?" Nick asked.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but our client list is confidential. You understand."

"We'll get a warrant," Schanke threatened.

"Bring me the paper, I'll give you the list. Good-night, detectives." Ms. Black ushered the men from her office.

"What do you make of that?" Schanke hitched his thumb over a shoulder as they exited the club.

"Make of what?"

"Male strippers!" Schanke's face was a study in apoplexy.

"Make you a little uncomfortable?" Nick chuckled.

"Doesn't it make you uncomfortable?"

"Not particularly." Slipping behind the wheel of the Caddy, he started the engine.

"Not particularly? Geez, Nick! Naked men! That doesn't give you the creeps?"

"They weren't naked. . . ."

"Close enough! Do you suppose some love-sick chick killed our Mr. 'Nice'?"

"It's pronounced 'Neese', and it's too early to tell. We need to do more research and get that warrant."

"But doesn't it make you just a little upset?"

"What? What should make me upset?"

"NAKED MEN!"

"Drop it, Schank, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Like you see naked men everyday. . . ."

"And you don't? Ever look in a mirror, Partner?"

"Not when I'm naked!"

A chuckle erupted from deep within Nick's chest.

It had been a long shift. After returning to the precinct and telling Captain Cohen they'd need a warrant to obtain the client list from the Leitmotif, they'd gone out on another case. Schanke hadn't been able to let go of what he'd seen at the club. Nick had had to listen to his partner's outrage the rest of the shift.

Dropping his jacket onto the nearest chair, he headed straight for the refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle from the shelf, upended it and drank greedily. Tossing the empty into the trash, he took another bottle along with a glass, and headed for the couch. A touch of the remote lit the fireplace. Pouring a glass of cow's blood, he settled back to sip and watch the flames. He had finally begun to relax when he heard the elevator grind to a stop.

With fluid grace, Nick rose. "Hi, Nat." Walking across the large room, he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Mmmm . . . that was nice." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close.

Leaning down and capturing her lips, he kissed her deeply with a passion he rarely unleashed. As he ground his crotch against her hips, she could feel his arousal. A growl erupted from his throat, then he pulled away, staring at her with golden eyes.

Nick stepped back a few feet. "I'm sorry, Nat. That shouldn't have happened." He closed his eyes, fighting for control. When he opened them, they were again deep blue.

"It's all right." She started to move toward him.

"Don't. I'm tired and I don't trust my control."

"I trust you. You wouldn't hurt me. Before we can relax together, you're going to need relief." She took a bold step forward. Like a deer caught in headlights, Nick froze, watching her approach. She reached out for his zipper, tugging it down. Deft fingers released the button of his waistband. Nick sighed with relief as the pressure on his erection from the confining denim vanished.

A warm hand caressed his silk-enshrouded organ. He leaned into the touch, rubbing himself against her, feeling the tension of the past night drain from his body. His hand slipped beneath her blouse and kneaded a firm, round breast. Through the lacy fabric of Natalie's bra, he could feel the hard nubs of her desire. Burying his face beneath her jaw, he drank in her fragrance, vanilla and cinnamon. Sweet. Sensual. Arousing. . ..

Shoving her away, he ran for the bathroom, slamming the door and throwing the lock. Flipping up the toilet seat, he grabbed his penis and rubbed it vigorously while biting savagely into his wrist. He directed his ejaculation into the toilet, continuing to stroke himself until the last pulsing rhythms of his orgasm ceased.

He cleaned himself and straightened his clothes before meekly opening the door to confront Natalie. She had settled herself on the couch, VCR remote in hand.

"Better?" she asked.

"Maybe you ought to go," he said softly.

"Not until I get an explanation."

"Tomorrow, Nat. I promise."

"No. Tonight. I want to know what happened." She patted the cushion next to her. "Come. Tell me all about it."

Nick cautiously sat in the chair next to the couch. Scooting across the cushions, Natalie moved next to him.

"It brought back memories," he began slowly. "That club. The strippers. Schanke wouldn't let it go all night."

"What kind of memories?"

"Isn't she lovely?" Lacroix smiled lustfully as the young woman disrobed in a graceful dance for the two men.

"Yes," Nick agreed. "Very lovely indeed." Part of him felt uncomfortable. It wasn't like he'd never seen this before, or participated in sexual liaisons, but this "woman" was no more than a child.

She bared her breasts. The twin peaks were firm and round, tipped with dark areolas whose nipples hardened in the cool air of the room. Lacroix rose and circled the young woman.

"Look, Nicholas." He cupped the fullness of her bosom. "Warm flesh. Firm. Ripe for the picking." Leaning in, he captured a nipple and suckled. The woman-child threw back her head in abandon, wantonly enjoying the stimulation.

Lacroix bit, drawing blood. The girl yelped in pain and tried to pull away. The vampire suckled all the more greedily, holding her tightly in his grasp. When she attempted to scream, he caught her eyes. Synchronizing with her heartbeat, he mesmerized her.

"Don't you wish a taste of this fresh nectar?" Lacroix taunted.

Nick turned his back in disgust. . . .

"Don't blame yourself." Natalie captured Nick's hand between hers.

"But I do. I couldn't help myself. Despite how I felt, I still found myself aroused. I should've called and told you not to come."

"And I probably would have come anyway to see what was wrong. Nothing would have been any different. I trust you. You wouldn't hurt me."

"I nearly killed you, Nat! Don't you realize that? Your scent. Your blood. I was barely able to leave in time."

"But you did."

"This time." He looked down at their clasped hands.

"I love you." Nick's head snapped up at the simple statement. He stared in amazement. "What? You didn't know? You couldn't tell?" She was amused at his obvious discomfort.

"I know all too well." His voice took on a low, husky note as he struggled with the vampire. "We can't do this. We can't."

"Why not?" She seemed genuinely confused.

"There are things you don't know, that I can't explain without endangering you. I'm sorry, Nat. I think maybe you'd better go." He removed his hand from hers reluctantly. Standing, he helped her to her feet.

Natalie sighed as she made her way toward the elevator. Nick followed at a safe distance, standing several feet away as she opened the door. Turning, she gave him one last glance, noting the growing bulge in his pants. "Good-night, Nick. We'll talk about this again."

The door closed, and she was gone. He rubbed the ache in his groin as he headed back to the couch and his bottle of blood.

"Another day, another dollar, eh, Partner?" Schanke dropped into the chair at his desk. "You look like hell. Didn't you sleep?"

"Not very well. Did the warrant come in?"

"Got it right here. Ready to make tracks?" The two men stood.

"Just a minute, gentlemen." Capt. Cohen stopped the pair. "I've got another case for you. Same M.O., different side of town. Coroner's there now. I'd like you to check it out."

"Sure, Cap." Nick took the folder, glancing at the address.

A short while later, the detectives were on the scene. Natalie was stripping off her gloves in preparation to leave. The techs were loading the body into the transport van.

"What've we got, Nat?" Nick said as he walked toward her.

"Young male, 20 to 25, apparent strangulation. He was found in bed . . . naked. There were signs of recent intercourse."

"What about puncture marks?" Schanke asked.

"Oh yeah. I've got no doubts the blood work will show an overdose of barbiturate."

"Looks like we have a serial killer on our hands," the stout detective commented.

"Did you check for recent sexual activity on Nice?" Nick asked.

"No, but I was planning to as soon as I get back to the morgue." She turned to go, pausing at the door. "Talk with you later?"

"Yeah, later."

"What was that about?" Schanke asked once the coroner had left.

"It's possible we have a sexual predator on our hands," Nick explained.

"That's not what I meant. What's with you and Nat?"

"What about me and Nat?" he snapped.

"You've got some tension going between you."

"It's just this case. It's nothing." Nick spun on his heel, exiting the room.

"'Nothing', my arse," Schanke mumbled, following his partner to the Caddy.

"Come on, 'fess up," Schanke pestered once the pair had returned to the precinct. "There's something going on between you and Nat, isn't there? What? Did you have a fight?"

"I said it's nothing, Schank. Just drop it!"

"Myra and I have fights all the time. It's nothing! Trust me, the making up is worth it!" he chuckled and slapped his partner on the back.

"I said . . . drop it!" Nick snarled.

"Man, what's got your knickers in such a twist?" Schanke took his mug and walked off in search of coffee.

Nick sighed as he settled himself at his desk. It really was nothing, wasn't it? Nothing had happened between himself and Natalie the night before. Nothing that couldn't be pushed aside and forgotten. So why did he suddenly feel frightened? And why did his groin throb to the beat of her heart when she was near? He opened the folder on his desk and picked up the phone. Perhaps keeping busy would help.

"Ms. Black? Yes, this is Detective Knight, Metro Homicide. We've had another murder. Did you know Marcus Gann?" There was a gasp on the other end of the line.

"Yes, he worked at the club . . . as a dancer."

"Did he dance privately?"

"Yes, just last night. You don't think. . . ?" Terri Black was shocked at the thought.

"We'll need your records again."

"He only danced once last night. The customer was Angie Davis. Do you think she could have done it?"

"I can't say, but we'll look into it. Thank you." He hung up the phone and compared the name he'd just been given with the two women Nice had danced for just a couple of nights before. Angie Davis. They now had a suspect.

Ms. Davis was brought in for questioning the following day. Unfortunately, she appeared to have air-tight alibis for both evenings. Yes, she had purchased private time with the dancers, but she had stayed at the club until closing and gone home with a friend both nights. Subsequent talks with her friend appeared to corroborate her story. With nothing on which to hold her, they were forced to let her go.

When Nick arrived on shift that evening, Cohen called him into her office. Schanke was seated in front of the captain's desk, waiting for his partner's arrival.

"What's up, Cap?" He took a seat.

"We had Angie Davis in for questioning earlier today. She had an alibi. We couldn't hold her."

"But she's our most likely suspect!"

"Yes, and everything we've got is circumstantial. We need something more concrete. Something we can use to nail her."

"Hey, how about we send Nick undercover?" Schanke chuckled at the thought.

"Not a bad idea, Detective," Cohen agreed.

"Now wait just a minute. . . ." Nick sputtered, waving his hands.

"Think about it, Nick," Schanke said, warming to the idea. "Ms. Davis doesn't know you. She hasn't seen you. If anyone could pull this off, you could."

"No. No, I can't do that. Captain? Isn't there another way?"

"We could wait for her to kill again, Nick. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"But STRIP? No. No. I can't do that. Besides, what makes you think she'd want me to do a private show?"

"You're just her type, Partner," Schanke teased. "Tall, blond . . . built."

"I'm not that 'built'! Look, Captain, can't we find someone else to do this? How about Schwartz from Vice?" Nick was desperate, and it showed in every line on his face.

"We need someone who knows the case. This is homicide, not vice. You're the best man for the job." When he opened his mouth to protest again, Cohen silenced him. "Look, Nick. This is your assignment. I want this killer caught. Now go out and get us some hard evidence."

"But Cap. . . ."

"Go." Cohen shooed the two detectives from her office. "Don't come back without a conviction."

Schanke wrapped an arm around Nick's shoulder as the pair walked back to their desks. "This is going to be great," he chuckled. His partner scowled.

"Don't you DARE tell Natalie about this."

"Aw, come on. Don't you think she'd enjoy it?"

"DON'T . . . tell her," he growled. "It's bad enough I have to do this at all."

"What's your character going to be?" Schanke just couldn't let go of such a juicy topic. Teasing his straight-laced partner had always been high on his "to-do" list.

"I haven't decided yet. Look, Schank. I gotta go, okay? I'll talk to you later--and don't . . . tell . . . Nat!"

Nick made his way through the crowded club to the back office where he was greeted by the owner. "Hello again, Detective Knight. What can I do for you?"

"Well, uh, in order to get hard evidence to convict our suspect, I'm going to have to go undercover as one of your dancers." If vampires could blush, Nick would have been beet red.

"Have you ever done exotic dancing before?" She eyed him from head to toe.

"I've done stage work--acting."

"But have you ever stripped?"

"No," he admitted with an embarrassed grin.

"Come on in my office." She shut the door behind him and turned to stare appreciatively. "Strip."

"What?"

"Take your clothes off."

"But. . . ."

"Look, if you can't strip in front of me, how are you going to do it in front of an audience? Just down to your shorts will do."

Reluctantly, Nick began to undress. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

"Come on, Detective Knight, do it with a little class." Ms. Black stood with her arms crossed, looking for all the world like a disgruntled schoolmarm. "There's more to exotic dancing than just taking off your clothes. If you want to work here, you're going to have to show me your stuff."

Nick closed his eyes and composed himself. If he had to do this, he was going to do it right. Sliding out of his shirt, he swung the garment through the air, draping it across the owner's shoulder. Thrusting his hips toward her, he unbuckled his belt and slowly removed it. Closing the gap between them, he wrapped the belt around her waist, pulling her close then ground his hips against her before letting her go. Still standing near, he unbuttoned his slacks.

"How am I doing, Ms. Black?" he asked in a husky voice as he slipped off his shoes and socks.

"Call me Terri," she breathed into his ear, running her hands down the silken softness of his chest. She tangled her fingers in the sparse, tawny hair and brushed against his hard nipples. "You're doing just fine."

Backing away, he slid the zipper of his slacks down slowly, revealing a bulge under blue silk. With a slight push, his pants fell to the floor. Except for the thin material covering his obvious erection, he stood naked before her. Entranced, she reached out to fondle him. He backed away quickly.

"Look, Nick. I can call you Nick, can't I? The women in the club are going to want to touch you. A G-string is a lot less clothing than what you currently have on. You'd better get used to it."

"I understand, but not now. Not now." He picked up his slacks and began to dress. "Do I pass?"

"Oh, you'll do just fine. Have you given any thought to what kind of character you'd like to play?" Terri took one last opportunity to glide a hand across his chest before Nick buttoned up his shirt.

"How about a vampire?"

"Oooh, that would be wonderful! Very popular. Very sensual. Let's see . . . we'll call you 'The Count'. I'll get you a costume. I'm assuming you'll want to start tomorrow night?"

"As soon as possible, yes."

"Very good. Report at 4:00 PM tomorrow and we'll get you fitted."

"That's going to be a problem. . . . I've got an allergy to UV rays and can't go out while the sun is up."

"Hmmm . . . a real vampire-type." She grinned. "All right. Come in as early as you can." Nick turned to leave. "Don't forget this." Terri held out the silver-buckle belt. Sheepishly, he took it and left.

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