She flashed her gift on only long enough to see that the photographer was dark fae and the detective was a witch. She’d worked with the photographer before but the cop was new to her. He frowned and she knew he saw her eyes glow for the split second she used her gift.
“Detective Taft,” she said as she stepped in front of him, “I’m Walker Norris. I understand you’ve been waiting for me.”
His posture visibly relaxed when she gave her name. He held out a hand and she shook it. “Walker Norris, it’s an honor.”
She arched her brows in surprise but said nothing.
The detective cleared his throat. “I thought you might want to see the scene before we moved anything. We took pictures, obviously, but I know it’s not the same.”
“May I ask why?”
“Excuse me?” He looked confused and she took pity on him.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but I’m Agency. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be here until you’ve finished your work and moved on. We’re consulting only, remember?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. “Would you excuse us for a moment, Joe?” he said without glancing up. The photographer stepped away to stand with Jeremiah on the other side of the clearing. Taft met her eye. “Phipps is an asshole. Not accepting help from the Agency on this is like a drowning man not getting on the boat because it’s the wrong color.”
She grinned. “Well, it’s nice to see we’re in agreement on something. Phipps is an asshole.” Not that it was an unpopular sentiment, it was just rare to hear one of the cops admit it. Phipps had ears everywhere.
He gestured to the victims behind her. “Shall we?”
Juliana held out a hand when she reached Jeremiah and he slapped a pair of gloves against her palm. She snapped them into place and stepped back to observe the scene. A bed of white feathers had been laid on the ground—a nest surrounding the children like angel wings. Their pale skin and white-blond hair betrayed their light fae heritage. Specifically, descendants of the cloud fae who lived high in the mountains and were the basis for many children’s fairytales before those tales became reality.
They lay facing each other, their hands folded together, their eyes closed as if in slumber. The thin strands of their hair wove together until it was impossible to tell where one child’s started and the other’s ended. Despite the brisk breeze, not one of those hairs stirred, nor did one feather ruffle. She slid on her sunglasses and fired up her gift.
The muddy brown of the stasis spells flooded her vision. One spell had been laid on the clearing itself, the other on the children. The killer wanted to ensure his tableau wouldn’t be disturbed by the natural world or decay. He wanted them to appreciate his work as he’d intended.
“I need the photographer,” she said, knowing either Jeremiah or the detective would fetch him for her. She stayed where she was, her eyes locked on the little bodies in front of her. The colors from the spell overlaying them made it easier to look at them, to forget they’d just begun their long lives. Given their heritage, they could easily have had another one hundred and fifty years or more ahead of them.
And then some bastard decided he has the right to
...No, best not to let her thoughts go there or she’d never get through this. As it was, her chest was already tight, as her throat and eyes burned with unshed tears.
“What do you need?” the photographer said from beside her.
She didn’t even glance at him. To do so would mean taking her eyes from the scene in front of her and she felt oddly reluctant to do so. She held up a hand. “Hold on.”
Why was it she didn’t want to look away? As soon as she had the thought, she found it easier to do so. Some compulsion spells behaved that way. They only worked if you didn’t know about them. The moment you realized you were being influenced, the spell quit working. She looked around the perimeter of the clearing, shutting down her gift so she could see the faces of those around her. She wasn’t the only one who found herself compelled to look at the murderer’s handiwork. It was a spell. Damn it.
“Jeremiah.”
“Yeah,” he answered, not looking at her.
“Jeremiah,” she said again, more insistent this time. “Look at me, not them.”
Finally, he glanced at her. He frowned when she didn’t say anything right away. She was trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation. “Tell everyone that there’s a compulsion spell on the bodies to draw their attention, the killer wants them to admire his work. It seems to be easier to ignore once you’re aware of it.”
His eyes widened and he moved to do as she asked. She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Tell them to put their masks on, too. The smell is about to get unpleasant.”
Detective Taft watched with narrowed eyes. Probably trying to figure out if she was crazy or if she actually knew what she was talking about. She wondered herself most days. She ignored him and crouched next to the bodies. “I’m going to try to remove the spell on the bodies. The photographer will have to be fast if he wants to catch it all. You both might want to put a mask on before I start.”
The photographer sniffed the air. “I don’t smell nothin’.”
“You will,” she assured him and slipped on her own mask. She inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the menthol aroma that accompanied the masks.
She fired her gift back up, ignoring the flash of pain that shot up the back of her skull. She’d flipped it on and off too many times during the day, but she needed it for what she was about to do.
Her hand touched the earth-colored shimmer hovering over the nearest body. She pinched the sheen between two fingers and pulled away from the body. As the spell detached, it faded from sight.
The smell hit her almost instantly, even through the mask. Her eyes watered and she held the back of her hand against her nose as she struggled to hold onto the little food she had in her stomach. She was grateful she’d received this call before Thomas could feed her.
“By all the gods,” Detective Taft breathed beside her. The steady
click
of the camera came from her other side.
She shut down her gift and the pain faded with it. The victims now looked horrific rather than angelic. Their white-blond hair whipped in a frenzy around their suddenly dark skin. “What do you think?” she asked the medical examiner who came over to stand across from her.
“Best guess without an exam? Ten days, maybe two weeks.”
She dropped her head. That meant the witch had killed them just over a week after he took them. How long would it be before they found the next body?
“Take them to the morgue. Do a full workup,” Taft ordered.
“Hold on a minute.” The M.E.’s soft whisper had her looking up. He knelt by the twins’ heads. His gloved hand reached out and spread the eyelids on one eye. An empty void yawned behind it. He quickly checked the others and looked up at them, distress marring his features.
The bastard had taken their eyes.
Chapter Three
Juliana stepped through the doors of the Roma hotel and ran her gaze over the lavish interior. Marble and granite gleamed everywhere, chandeliers hung from the ceiling and huge bouquets of fresh flowers adorned nearly every surface. Light fairies flitted and laughed among the blossoms like ethereal hummingbirds. Occasionally they stopped to sip at the small, unobtrusive bowls of honey that had been left for them around the bases of the flowers.
The corner of her mouth curled up in a smile. She couldn’t have been more out of place if she tried. After leaving the crime scene, she popped into the Agency to make her report. Wrinkles marred her shirt and dirt stained the knees of her jeans where she’d knelt in the grass. It had been many long hours since her hair had last seen anything resembling a comb or brush. She ran her fingers through it in a desperate attempt to bring some sort of order.
Since she wasn’t there on official business, she tucked her badge into her top. No use freaking out the clientele any more than necessary. At least she was carrying her gun and not her sword. It was much harder to conceal. A handful of guests glanced at her, but just as quickly dismissed her. They were rich and practiced at ignoring those beneath them. The concierge however, had eyes for no one else. She nodded as she stepped past him to the small private elevator partially hidden behind a large potted plant at the end of the front desk. She hadn’t been here in years, but elevators didn’t move. At least, not normally.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he said as he stepped around the plant and between her and the elevator. He wore a gray three-piece suit and an air of elegance. He was also about half a foot shorter than she was, but carried himself as if his lack of height didn’t concern him in the slightest.
“No. I think I’ve got it under control.” She stepped to the side to go around him, but he mirrored the movement.
“I’m sorry, madam, but are you here to see one of our guests?”
She ignored the tendril of irritation she felt. Surely, she was young enough still to warrant a “miss.” Since Thomas had moved from the house to his rooms at the top of the hotel, this intrusion was an inconvenience she’d have to get used to. “Of a sort. I’m here to see Thomas Kendrick.”
The man didn’t even twitch at the mention of the name. “And is Mr. Kendrick expecting you?”
She sighed. “No, actually. But I’m sure if you call him—”
“Mr. Kendrick does not pay me to call and inquire about his visitors. He informs me they are coming so it is not necessary and I assure you that he has informed me of no expected visitors today.”
For some reason she felt oddly reluctant to call Thomas and ask permission to visit in front of the help. She dropped the shield that kept her mind mostly separated from his. Their Union connected them in such a way that, without the proper precautions, they could know each other’s every thought should they so desire. And Juliana most certainly did not. There were few things left in the world that were solely hers. She could at least hold onto the privacy of her thoughts and emotions.
She felt her mate’s surprise at their sudden connection. The phone rang at the front desk and she put the shield back in place even though she could feel Thomas’s desire that she leave it down. She felt too exposed that way. Too open.
“Sir? Sir,” the young man who answered the phone called to the concierge.
He glanced over.
The young man held the phone up as he looked between the two of them. “You might want to take this.”
The older man turned back to her with an arched brow. “You will wait right here.”
“Wouldn’t dream of moving.” She slid her hands into her pockets and rocked back on her heels.
He looked her over from head to toe and sniffed in dismissal. Moments later he stood in front of her once again, hands clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed. “I apologize, Ms. Norris. Of course, you may go right up. Do you need me to enter the code?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks.” She stepped past him and punched her personal code into the keypad hoping like hell it worked. She would look like a real idiot if she had to ask the concierge for his at this point.
With relief, the elevator started up. The door slid open, and she stepped into the empty box. There were no buttons to push. The car only traveled between the lobby and Thomas’s suite on the top floor. It stayed there unless someone punched in a working code in the lobby. She slumped against the back wall, resting her head against it, and waited for the elevator to finish its journey of the twenty-plus floors.
It finally came to a smooth stop and the doors opened to reveal one of the sweetest sights she’d ever seen. Thomas leaned against the wall across from her, shoes off, shirt open and he held a scotch in each hand.
* * *
Thomas held one of the glasses out to Juliana and she moved across the floor to take it. She looked utterly exhausted. Unfortunately, it was a look he’d seen her wear far too often. Her skin was drawn, pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes. He wondered how long it had been since she’d slept. As it was, he was certain she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, if then. She tended to undervalue the importance of a good meal. Or any meal for that matter.
He’d been stunned when she dropped the shielding between them. It so rarely happened that he had forgotten how strong their bond was. For that moment, however brief, he’d known precisely where she was, what she was thinking, what she was feeling. It had been glorious. Now if he could just get the stubborn woman to see it should always be that way between them, everything would be fine.
She stood in front of him, clasping the drink. Lost in her own thoughts, she’d said nothing, not even a greeting. He stepped away from the wall. “That bad, huh?”
He walked down the hall toward the kitchen, relieved when she followed behind without any hassle. His mate could make the simplest of tasks incredibly trying.
“I didn’t say anything,” she said.
“You didn’t need to,
Joya
. You bear your fatigue like an open wound. Besides, you came to see me. You haven’t been here since I moved from the house.” The house he’d never sleep in again now that he knew what had been done to her there. This would be their new home. Until they found something more permanent, anyway. He had yet to begin looking as he hoped she’d have as much say in the decision as he. Thomas walked over to the fridge without looking at her, afraid she’d be able to see his thoughts on his face. He pulled out food and set it on the counter.
“I wasn’t likely to come visit when I thought you weren’t talking to me.”
The irritation in her voice made him smile. Fortunately for him, his back was still to her or he was certain she’d have something to say about that smile. He shrugged as if her words made no difference. And they didn’t. It wasn’t his fault she assumed he wasn’t speaking to her. If she’d drop that cursed shield between them, she would have known that wasn’t the case.
She slammed her glass down on the counter and he twitched. It was so much fun to tease her until that temper of hers got in the way. That crystal was a hundred years old. The least she could do was show it a modicum of respect. He didn’t say anything. If he did, she’d doubtless throw it against a wall just to spite him.
He made a sandwich with ham, cheese and mustard and put it on a plate.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Feeding you.” He added some chips to the plate.
“Why?”
He sat the plate in front of her. “Because you never eat.”
“I eat,” she said and took a large bite of the sandwich as if to prove her point.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and watched her. “Before that sandwich, what have you consumed today besides coffee and scotch?”
* * *
Maybe he’d take her silence as a proclamation that she wasn’t getting involved in the conversation. Knowing him though, he’d see it as the confession it was. Curse him. She finished her sandwich and started on the chips. Barbecue. Her favorite. He hated them. That meant he was keeping food in his home just for her.
She looked up and locked eyes with him. He stared right back, unwilling to back down, to let her ignore this thing between them that needed to be addressed. Just because she was his mate didn’t mean she was ready for the intensity of a real relationship. Truth be told, she was terrified. Terrified that she’d let him in and he’d destroy her heart again. She wouldn’t recover from a second round. She also was coming to the realization that she wanted, no, needed him in her life. Sometimes, love really sucked.
Finally, she shifted her focus back to her plate and, after a moment, he turned and started putting things away. She took the opportunity to look around. Last time she was here the place had looked like a typical hotel suite. Mass-produced furniture and neutral colors had dominated the space. And the kitchen had been little more than a minifridge and microwave.
The entire thing had been redone. Recently from the looks of it. Each section of the suite had the walls painted a different color to give the illusion of separate rooms. The furniture had been replaced with pieces much more suited to Thomas’s style. And the suite now boasted a full kitchen complete with breakfast bar. Photographs of Thomas’s sister and her family decorated the walls and shelves. There were even a few shots of her scattered amongst them. It was obvious Thomas planned to stay awhile.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She stood and pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Jeremiah. Time to get back to work. “Norris.”
“You better turn on the TV.”
Shit. Nothing good ever came from those words. “What channel?”
“Pick one.”
She walked to the living room, picked up the remote and flipped the TV onto a local channel. The commissioner’s pasty, fleshy face filled the screen as he stepped up to a podium amongst microphones and flashbulbs. A growl escaped her before she could stop it. She snapped her phone shut and shoved it back in her pocket.
Commissioner Dickhead, or Phipps, as he preferred to be called, tapped the center microphone and cleared his throat. “Good citizens of New Hope, I stand before you today a grieving man. It is with a heavy heart that I tell you Joshua and Lily Hunter, the twins abducted from the New Hope Mall just over three weeks ago, have been found brutally murdered.” There was a discernible murmur among the reporters in the audience.
“As you all know, it has been widely thought these children were the first to be taken by the Thief. Recent evidence has come to light that suggests this is not the case, that the Thief’s reach is far longer than previously thought. The Agency’s scope has been limited and they have failed to look at the bigger picture.”
Son of a bitch. She knew they were going to take the blame for this from the moment she saw the bodies. And here was Phipps, on the frigging television nonetheless, acting as if he had nothing to do with the case when the Agency practically had to beg to be involved. If she were a lesser person, she’d send a gremlin to live in his house. She stored the idea for later.
“I see the good commissioner is being his usual charming self,” Thomas said behind her, reminding her he was still there.
She glanced over her shoulder. “If that asshole kept information from us to make himself look better, I’ll hang him up by his own balls.”
Thomas didn’t respond because Phipps started talking again.
“My department has uncovered evidence that the Thief has been operation for perhaps as long as six months.” The murmur in the pressroom turned into a dull roar and Phipps held up his hands for silence. “I make a solemn vow to the people of New Hope that I will personally see to it that the Agency works cooperatively with our department to ensure that no more children go missing. That no more children die because of jurisdictional politics. Thank you.”
She sank into a chair and let out a long breath. The bastard not only set up the Agency to take the blame, he made himself the hero if the children quit disappearing. Not that she saw that happening anytime soon.
“Nice of him to take the blame if any more of them die,” Thomas said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
She snorted. “Yeah, right. He’ll talk his way out of that, too.”
“Did you see the detective on stage with him?”
She shook her head. Her focus had been on the man who had always been more politician than cop. She hadn’t even noticed the other people on the stage. Thomas snatched up the remote and rewound the live feed. Technology was a wondrous thing.
“There,” he said. “To the right.”
Standing just behind Phipps was a plainclothes officer, his detective’s shield visible against his white dress shirt. He also looked very familiar. “Taft.”
Thomas looked at her in surprise. “You know him?”
“He was the lead at the scene with the twins.”
He nodded once. “Well, keep an eye on him.” He pushed play. Taft shook his head through Phipps’s whole speech. It was subtle and would go unnoticed by most of the populace, but not her vampire.
The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks Phipps is full of shit.”
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out already, knowing what was coming and dreading every moment of it. “Norris.”
“I want you in my office in five minutes,” Ben ordered, his words clipped.
“I’m in the middle of something. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“No. You’ll take a portal and you’ll come in now.”
She clenched her teeth together until her jaw ached. Her boss’s latest mission in life seemed to be to make hers a miserable existence. “Technically, I’m off duty. I understand you want to see me. If you witnessed what I just did, I even understand why, but you are going to have to give a little on this.” She kept her voice calm, cool, revealing none of her irritation.
He was quiet a moment, then sighed. “Thirty minutes. Not one second longer.”
She snapped her phone shut and slid it back into her pocket.
“I take it he’s still upset with you,” Thomas said.
She looked at him. He leaned in the doorway leading into his bedroom, his shirt buttoned, shoes on his feet. One benefit of being involved with a vampire was never having to repeat a phone conversation. They could hear both sides just fine if they tried. “That’s one way of putting it. He’ll get over it eventually. I hope.”