BAYOU NOËL (6 page)

Not that he was being sexist.

He couldn’t afford a damned tool shed in this
frou-frou neighborhood. Even if his old da chipped in every penny
he made driving a cab.

He continued to size up the bold black and
white furnishings as a uniformed officer handed him a file with the
pertinent details of the case. A beat later another officer arrived
to lead him to the back of the house to a sunny kitchen with a
perfect view of the pool.

He grimaced as the late spring sunlight sent
a stab of agony through his throbbing brain, then lowered his gaze
to the female who was laying naked in the middle of the tiled
floor.

He wasn’t surprised that she was beautiful.
Stunningly beautiful with long hair that glistened with chestnut
highlights, pretty features, and a slender body that was tight with
the muscles of an athlete.

What did surprise him was the lack of any
sort of violence.

She looked like she’d simply lain down in the
middle of the floor and quietly passed away.

In his experience, lovely young women who
were killed on Sunday morning were beaten to death by a jealous
boyfriend or raped and killed by a passing psycho.

Not...what?

His brows jerked together as he took a swift
inventory of the kitchen, noting everything was in pristine place,
not so much as a coffee mug left in the sink.

It could be the female never used the
kitchen, preferring to eat out, or at her lover’s place. It could
be she was OCD and her kitchen was always spotless.

But his gut was telling him that she hadn’t
lived here long enough to stop caring if the place was a mess.

“
Hola
, O’Conner.
Looking a little rough around the edges,” the silver-haired coroner
drawled, unfolding a white sheet to drape it over the body. “Heard
that Susan found herself a decent man to make an honest woman of
her.”

Yeah, so decent he was banging her in
Duncan’s own bed.

Flipping off his companion, Duncan opened the
file and glanced through the meager info that had been gathered on
the female.

“Who found the body?”

“A silent alarm was tripped.”

“Cause of death?”

“She’s missing her heart.”

Duncan froze, his gaze searching the victim’s
unmarred skin and the obvious lack of blood.

“How the hell could she be missing her
heart?”

“I don’t know,” Frank Sanchez admitted, the
bite in his raspy voice expressing his opinion of ‘I don’t know’.
“But I ran the portable MRI over her three times to be sure.”

The older man could be a pain in the ass to
work with, but he knew his shit. Nothing got past his eagle gaze.
If he said the female was missing her heart, then she was missing
her heart.

Crap. He hated mysteries.

“No DNA?”

“It’s clean.” Another growl as Frank gathered
the tools of his trade to pack them in a black leather bag. “Too
clean.”

“So a freak?”

“That would be my guess.”

Confused, Duncan read through the file.

Leah Meadows.

Twenty six.

Single, originally from Little Rock.

Current occupation, dancer at the RABBIT
HUTCH.

That would explain her location, he cynically
concluded. Her salary as a dancer wouldn’t cover the rent, but the
clients who frequented the high-end strip club would easily be able
to afford this place to keep his current mistress.

It didn’t, however, explain why she was lying
naked in her kitchen without her heart.

Lifting his head, he met Frank’s troubled
gaze. “You made the call?”

The older man grimaced, not needing any
further explanation.

When there was a murder that didn’t have an
eyewitness or a legitimate suspect, it was protocol to call in one
of the mutants. And when it might involve another mutant, they were
called ASAP.

“Yep. She should be—”

On cue one of the uniforms stepped into the
kitchen. “The necro is here.”

“Perfect timing,” Duncan muttered. “Show her
in.” For whatever reason, necros were always females.

The young man nodded, disappearing back down
the hallway while Frank snapped shut his black bag.

“That’s my cue for a quick exit.”

Duncan grinned. “Scared?”

“Damned straight,” the older man said without
apology. “Freaks give me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t know how you
can be in the same room with one.”

A bitter smile touched Duncan’s lips.

Like draws to like
...

No. He grimly crushed the mocking words in
the back of his aching head. He wasn’t like those mutants from
Valhalla.

Lots of people could see the souls of
others, couldn’t they?

He swallowed his grim urge to laugh, tilting
his head towards the sheet on the floor.

“You can be in the same room with a corpse,
but not a necro?”

Frank shrugged. “I respect the dead. No one
should be screwing around with their heads.”

“Even if it takes a murderer off the
streets?”

“I like getting my criminals the
old-fashioned way. Necros should be abolished along with the rest
of the—”

“I prefer the term ‘diviner’ if you don’t
mind,” a soft, compelling voice whispered through the room, turning
both men toward the door like a magnet.

Even prepared, Duncan felt the air being
jerked from his lungs at the sight of Callie Brown.

It wasn’t just that she was a stunning beauty
with her short, spiky hair that was so dark red it shimmered like
fire in the sunlight. Her pale features were perfectly carved with
a sensual invitation for a mouth and a proud nose.

And her body...hell, it was slender with just
enough curves to make a man think of black silk sheets and long
weekends. Today it was displayed to perfection in a pair of black
spandex pants and a white stretchy top.

But for Duncan it was the white aura that
flickered around her diminutive body that made his blood burn.

So pure. So completely and utterly
innocent.

And like any bastard, he ached to be the one
who debauched that wholesomeness even as he savored the rare beauty
of her soul.

“Shit,” Frank muttered, headed for the door
leading to the back patio. “Adios, amigo.”

Duncan barely noticed the hasty departure of
the coroner, his entire body vibrating with an awareness that went
way beyond sexual attraction. Not that he wouldn’t have her flat on
her back and her legs wrapped around his waist with the least hint
of encouragement.

It was a sensation that should have scared
the hell out of him. Instead a wicked smile curved his lips.

“Hello, Callie.”

She turned her head, regarding him through
the reflective sunglasses that hid her eyes, her expression
unreadable.

On the half dozen occasions Duncan had worked
with Callie, he’d never seen her be anything but serene. Which, of
course, only encouraged him to try and provoke a response from her.
Anything to know there was a flesh and blood woman beneath that
image of calm.

Why it was so important to find that woman
was another one of those things he put on the list of ‘don’t
fucking care’.

“Sergeant O’Conner,” she said, moving with an
unearthly grace to stand beside the sheet.

“Duncan,” he insisted, shifting to stand
across the body, his gaze never leaving her pale face.

“Has the body been processed?”

“As much as can be done in the field. You’re
free to do your thing.”

“Time of death?”

“At least an hour ago.”

“Then I should have time.” She knelt down,
reaching for the edge of the sheet. “The spark—”

“Yeah, no need explain.” He held up a
restraining hand. He might not share the prejudices of most of
society against the freaks, but that didn’t mean he wanted an
insider’s guide to necromancy. Christ. The mere thought made his
stomach clench. “Just see what you can do.”

“Fine.” Cool, indifferent. Then her body
tensed. “So young,” she murmured softly.

“Twenty six.” He crouched down, studying her
silken skin unmarred by wrinkles. “Older than you?”

“A woman never shares that information.”

“You share nothing.”

“Do you blame me?”

His lips twisted at the smooth thrust. Most
people went out of their way to avoid freaks, but there were others
who thought the only good freak was a dead freak. There were even a
handful of cults where people trained to kill them. Mostly
simple-minded idiots who needed someone to tell them what to think
and angry outcasts who had nowhere else to go, but that didn’t make
them any less dangerous.

“No, not really.”

“What was her name?”

His jaw tightened. Okay, he was vain. He’d
spent most of his life knowing women found him irresistible. The
fact he wasn’t certain if Callie had even noticed he was a male
annoyed the hell out of him.

Then with a silent curse he shoved aside his
ego and concentrated on the only thing important at the moment.
Finding the son of a bitch who’d killed this woman.

“Leah Meadows.”

“Is that her real name?”

He shrugged. “That’s all I got for now.”

She paused before giving a slow nod. “It
should do.”

“Why do you need her name?” he asked the
question that he’d wondered about more than once.

By law they couldn’t give details of the
death in the fear that the necro might be swayed into naming a
murderer even if the victim couldn’t reveal the truth.

But a necro always asked for a name.

“It helps me to connect with her mind.”

He shuddered. “Christ.”

“You asked,” she reminded him in a low
voice.

“Do you need any other details?”

“I need to touch her.”

“There.” He pointed toward the forearm where
Frank would have prepped the victim. “It’s been sanitized.”

She at last lifted her head. “Would you make
sure—”

“That no one enters?” he finished for
her.

“Yes.”

He abruptly frowned. “Where’s your
Sentinel?”

A necro never left the compound without a
guardian Sentinel. Not only were they capable of opening portals to
travel from place to place (a mysterious talent that was never
discussed among the mundane mortals) but they were also trained
warriors who were covered in intricate tattoos. From what little
Duncan had been able to learn the ceremonial markings protected the
warriors from magic as well as any attempt at mind-control.

And oh yeah, they were capable of killing
with their bare hands.

There were also rumors that there were other
Sentinels.

Hunters who weren’t marked and could travel
among the humans unnoticed, but info on them was kept
top-secret.

“I asked him to wait outside.”

He lifted a brow. “Why?”

“Because you take such pleasure in tormenting
him and he’s too well trained to fight back.”

“Are you saying I’m not well trained?”

She ignored the open invitation to point out
that he was barely civilized and instead returned her attention to
the victim.

“The door, please.”

He slowly straightened, swallowing his groan
as his head gave another protesting throb.

Whiskey was the devil’s brew, just as his ma
had always claimed.

“No one’s coming in,” he muttered, “but I’ll
keep guard at the door if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Duncan.” His headache forgotten, he flashed
a smile of pure challenge. “One day you’ll say it. Hell, one day
you might even scream it.”

No response. With a low growl, Duncan made
his way to the door, leaning in the door-jam to make sure no one
could enter while keeping his attention on the woman kneeling
beside the corpse.

She ignored his unwavering attention, lifting
a hand to remove her sunglasses and setting them aside. At the same
time the slanting sunlight spilled over her, catching in the
sapphire blue of her eyes.

Duncan’s heart forgot how to beat.

He’d seen them before. At a distance. At the
time he’d thought they looked like expensive gems, perfectly
faceted and shimmering with an inner light. Up close they were even
more magnificent.

Christ.

The beauty of those eyes was hypnotizing.

Priceless jewels that revealed this was no
ordinary woman.

* * *

Duncan would be pleased to know that it was
only her years of training that allowed Callie to ignore his raw,
sexual magnetism.

He was the sort of primitive male that should
have infuriated her, not tantalized her deepest fantasies.

Of course, the Mave would tell her that
fantasies were meant to be filled with unsuitable desires. Why not
lust after a bad boy cop? It wasn't as if she was going to do
anything about it. She didn't know if his flirtations were a way to
taunt her or if he were one of those groupies who got off on
sleeping with ‘freaks’ but either way, it had nothing to do with
her as a person.

Still, it was only with an effort that she
managed to crush the tiny tingles of excitement fluttering in the
pit of her stomach and the dampness of her palms.

Now wasn’t the time or place.

Tonight in her dreams...well, that was a
different story.

Clearing her thoughts, she laid her hands on
the victim’s arm and closed her eyes.

It took a second to slip from her own mind
and into the female stretched on the floor. There was always a
strange sense of...floating. As if her consciousness was hovering
between one body and the next. Then, focusing on the feel the
female’s arm beneath her fingers, she murmured her name.

“Leah.”

The soft word was enough.

With hair raising jolt, she was sucked from
her body and into Leah’s mind.

She could easily sense the female soul, just
as she could sense she was fading.