Prologue
Second Scents
Few things in this world turn my stomach the way a large city does. The undertones of fried food and urine are the perfect pairing to the overwhelming scent of garbage and body odor. My fragile nose hates cities, but my job requires my presence in them.
No one in the sticks hires private investigators. There are not enough paranoid rich wives, or jealous rich husbands, not to mention the absolute absence of corporate espionage.
I’m what you call a scent hound. My ability makes it possible for me to smell not only the garbage in the dumpsters, but the place that serves fried chicken a mile away. My biggest advantage in this business is that I can actually smell your secrets.
Every emotion gives of a certain smell. Only gifted people, or creatures I should say, are capable of distinguishing the subtle differences. Just like perfume can smell differently on two people so too can a particular feeling.
Envy for instance, is a pungent odor so sour it’s almost dripping with lemon. It is almost identical to hate. I am one of few hounds that can tell the difference. I’m sort of a connoisseur of scent. I can smell your lies, your fears, and your deepest and darkest desires.
If you have something to hide, I’m your worst nightmare. I’m a living, breathing, and walking lie detector. I can smell you down to the type of soap you use, your morning ritual, and the last time you took a hand and stroked your favorite body part. Everything leaves behind a scent…Everything.
