Love is Murder (16 page)

Jo was hiding from something or someone.

She walked over to him, hand extended, offering the watch. “I would never use the dark arts. Just wanted you to know I
could
have.”

His chest eased with relief. He took the watch from her and shoved it in his jacket pocket. “Fair enough. Lambert’s yours.”

Her voice lit with suspicion. “What about VIPER?”

“I contacted Tzader last night.”

That narrowed her eyes. “Figures.”

He shrugged. “My duty to protect comes first. I’m telling Tzader that you single-handedly got the Noirre spell back and once I had that in hand, your bounty took precedence.”

Surprise brightened her exotic gaze. “Why would you…?”

“Not bring in VIPER? Because then I’d have to tell them about your powers.” He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Appreciation relaxed the delicate muscles in her face until she paused. “So you’re going to let me just walk away with Lambert?”

“Not exactly.” Devon stepped closer and slipped his fingers into her hair. He gave her a chance to back off as he lowered his head, but she lifted up and met him halfway with a kiss of pure torment.

Sinfully sweet and without a chance of satisfaction.

She nipped his lip before stepping back, eyes sparking with challenge. “You think giving me Lambert pays off saving your hide from that demon.”

“I know better.” He didn’t want to wipe out that debt too quickly or he might not see her again. “There’s always next time.”

* * * * *

HOT NOTE

A Detective Shelley Caldwell Story

Patricia Rosemoor

Rosemoor seamlessly packs a lot of information into the first paragraph, effectively setting the stage, then plunges the reader straight into this captivating story. ~SB

Though the night’s storm abated, wind still blew in powerful gusts, chopping waves of lake water over the corpse facedown on Oak Street Beach. Dawn had barely broken when an early-morning jogger had called it in. I hadn’t been sleeping, but—worse—my cell phone blasting had torn me out of Jake’s arms…and he’d been using his best vampire moves on me. Now as Detective Mike Norelli and I surveyed the scene, an evidence technician snapped photos.

“Nifty swimsuit,” my partner said of the dead man’s charcoal-striped suit. “Gotta get me one of them.”

“Yeah, Norelli, as if someone could pry open your wallet.”

“So I’m thrifty.”

I snorted and crouched down near the corpse. “No wound that I can see.”

“Just like the other two.”

I was thinking the same thing. Earlier in the year, two other men had washed up on beaches, the first on the south side of Chicago, the second farther north. I shot my gaze to the corpse’s feet. I could still see an indentation where his body had disturbed the sand as waves off Lake Michigan had pushed it to shore.

The evidence tech backed off, so I searched the dead man’s pockets and produced keys and a wallet, which I handed to Norelli.

“Just like the others,” he repeated as I stood. “Not a robbery.”

“What are the chances of three fully dressed men walking into the lake and drowning?”

I didn’t believe in coincidence.

Furthermore, I was getting bad vibes. My inner alarms clanged.

Not again. No reason to believe anything woo-woo was involved.

As Norelli checked the wallet, I signaled the team. The EMTs rolled the corpse onto a stretcher, giving me a clear shot at the dead man’s face, which was contorted with what looked like ecstacy.

I gasped.

“Neil Larson,” Norelli and I said in unison.

He looked up from the driver’s license. “You psychic or do you have X-ray vision?”

Actually, I
was
psychic, at least with my twin, Silke, and recently with Jake, but no way was I going to admit that. Not
another
departmental evaluation for me, thank you.

“Yeah, Norelli. Like I know you recently had pasta with marinara sauce.”

He narrowed his gaze at me. “Last night. How did you know really?”

“The tomato stain on your lapel.”

“I meant the victim.”

“I recognize him,” I said. “Larson Gallery, River North. He’s the owner.
Was
the owner.”

“You travel in those circles?”

“Not everyone parks in front of the television with a beer.”

I’d met Neil Larson through Jake. The gallery represented Jake’s photographs, and he and Neil had become friends. But the last thing I wanted was to bring Jake into this. If Norelli started investigating
his
background…

Sensing an observer, I whipped around to see a thin, elderly black woman in cropped pants and a T-shirt too big for her, feet in sandals repaired with duct tape. Clutching a full black plastic garbage bag, she was all wide-eyed. I wondered if she’d been on the beach the night before. She ducked her head and started to shuffle away, but I quickly caught up to her.

“Wait a minute. I’m Detective Shelley Caldwell.” I flashed my star. “Do you know the man who drowned?”

She shook her head and avoided my eyes. I sensed strong emotion.

Fear.

“If you saw something, you need to tell me. What’s your name?”

“Harriet.”

“Well, Harriet, can I buy you breakfast? All you have to do is tell me what you saw.”

Harriet considered the offer. Hunger trumped fear because she pointed to a bench. “I was sleeping there until the noise woke me.”

“What kind of noise?”

“Singing.”

“The victim?”

“No, a woman. Scary, that one.” Her attention shifted to the body bag being loaded into the ambulance. “He be walking into the lake after her.”

My pulse thrummed. Now we were getting somewhere. “Did the victim say anything to the woman?”

“Nope. Acted real weird. All happy but weird.”

My mouth went dry. “Tell me more about the woman.”

She did.

Chills crawled straight up my spine.

* * *

“Neil is dead?”

Jake wore a stunned expression, the black diamond in his right ear and nothing else. He’d gone back to sleep while I’d been on the job. Mornings weren’t his thing unless a little something-something was involved as it had been when my cell phone had gone off. We spent our nights together not sleeping when I wasn’t held hostage working a homicide.

“It’s another woo-woo case,” I added.

“How so?” He pulled on a pair of very brief briefs.

No more eye candy for me.

I told him about the homeless woman’s story. “When she said Neil was acting weird, that’s when my alarms went off.”

“Neil didn’t do drugs. He didn’t even drink other than an occasional beer.”

“Harriet said a woman standing in the shallows was singing seductively and it lured Neil into the lake. They both went under, but only she came back out.”

“Hunh.”

Jake’s intent expression made me reach out and run a fingertip over the scar that was nearly hidden by beard stubble. But when the gleam in his eyes spelled sexual interest, I pulled my hand away and went into the kitchen to open a can of tuna for the cats. Sarge and Cadet came running at the sound of the can opener.

Swiping a hand down their backs, I left them to find Jake getting dressed. Triple-time speed. Normal for him.

He asked, “What about those other men who drowned?”

“We never found witnesses and the M.E. declared both suicides.”

“Someone must have seen something. We need to find them.”

My blood pressure crept up. “
We?
This is
my
case, Jake.
I’m
the cop here.”

“Neil was my friend.”

“You can’t get involved. You’re not a cop.”

“Don’t you mean I am a vampire?”

“No!”

He wasn’t exactly a vampire anyway, though he’d inherited certain abilities—his mother had been turned by a vampire while pregnant with him.

“Bull. You don’t want me involved in your life—”

My irritation was growing by the moment. “What are you talking about? You
are
in my life!”

“When it’s convenient for you.”

A variation on a familiar argument. I cared for Jake and he knew it. I wanted to protect him. Jake wasn’t one to hide his abilities— increased speed, strength, vision, hearing. And a psychic connection with me that had saved my life. He’d never taken anyone’s blood, but if others knew about his abilities, they might try to destroy him out of fear.

“I don’t want to argue, Jake.”

“Neil was my friend. Did you get a description of the woman?”

“Harriet said she had long blond hair that looked silver in the moonlight, and real feathers covered the shoulders and arms of her gown so that it looked like she had wings.”

“Sirena.”

“You know her?”

“Neil started seeing her several weeks ago. Took me once.”

“Saw her where?”

Ducking my question, Jake said, “I got weird vibes, couldn’t figure out what bothered me, but something did.”

“When this Sirena came out of the water, Harriet closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep for protection. She peeked a minute later. No woman, but a big bird was flying away. That killed her credibility as a witness for Norelli, but I got real bad vibes myself. So…Sirena what? Her last name.”

He shrugged. “No clue. But I know where to find her tonight. I’ll take you.”

I wanted to tell him to stay out of this, to give me the information and leave the investigation to me, but from past experience, I knew it was no use. When Jake’s mind was set on something, even I couldn’t change it. In the meantime, I had to get my butt to the office before Norelli sent the bloodhounds after me.

“I wanted to let you know about Neil myself, but I have to—”

“Go back to work,” he finished for me, stepping closer. “I know.”

My pulse flickered to life as did various other parts of my body. I placed a flat hand in the middle of his chest. He smiled in response. A knowing, hot, come-hither smile.

And yet, he said, “I’m not trying to stop you.”

“The hell you aren’t.”

The way he looked at me played havoc with my insides, made them melt a little.

He picked up a lock of my hair, twirled the mahogany strands. “Wear something sexy tonight.”

“To interview a suspect?”

“To keep me happy.”

Keeping Jake happy was essential if I didn’t want to lose him.

But right now murder was my priority.

And so for the next ten hours, I kept my mind off Jake and on the potential victims. I worked with Norelli, did whatever he asked me to do, tried not to feel guilty about keeping what I knew from him. Telling him about Neil’s link with Sirena meant telling him about Jake, something I wouldn’t do.

At least not yet.

For once the hours dragged. I brought up the reports of the other victims. I studied their photos. A Northwestern professor, Bobby Russo, sat in a wingback chair, silver-trimmed pipe in hand. Cal Kruger sat on the hull of his speedboat, arm dangling over one knee, wrist decorated by Rolex. In the photos taken by the evidence tech after they’d washed up on the beaches, both wore expressions of ecstacy as had Neil. Both had been as young and virile, but that seemed to be the only thing the three men had in common.

If Sirena was guilty, what had she gained from their deaths?

Then the M.E. report came in. No sign of foul play. No drugs or booze in his system. Another suicide.

“I don’t get it,” Norelli said. “My gut says murder. All three of them.”

Without the M.E. backing up his gut, he had to let it go. At least officially. When you got down to it, Mike Norelli might be impossible sometimes, but he was great at his job. He was like a bulldog, wouldn’t let something go until he had the truth.

Which meant I had to beat him to it before he unearthed the truth about Jake.

But for now, I got to leave.

So I was ready when Jake arrived home at eight. Unlike my theatrical twin, I’m a no-fuss kind of woman, who prefers simple clothes, an easy hairstyle and a touch of lipstick. And a Glock holstered to my back. Not that a gun was defense against the supernatural, but carrying it made me feel better. When I opened the door to Jake, his dark eyes glittered, devouring me, sliding over the sheer black dolman-sleeved blouse, stopping at the V at my breasts. I felt myself flush.

“Happy?”

“You decide.”

As he kissed me, he took one of my hands and pressed it to the front of his trousers. Despite the cloth barrier, I felt him pulse against my palm. My heart thumped louder. I didn’t know whether it was one of those unnatural abilities of his, but he sure could keep a sexual high going. If we started now, he probably wouldn’t let me sleep until daybreak.

Moaning, I ripped my lips and hand away. “Let’s get out of here while I still can.”

In one of his lightning-fast moves, Jake was at the door by the time I turned to it. I patted the cats before leaving. Jake patted them, too. Sarge and Cadet used to be afraid of him—animals feared vampires, even half vampires—but the cats had warmed up to him when they realized he meant them no harm.

We took my red Camaro, top down, but he drove. Soon we were on Lake Shore Drive headed south.

“So what’s our destination?” I asked.

“Northerly Island.”

Land that used to be home to Chicago’s third airport for small planes. Now it was home to restaurants, a concert venue and a casino boat called The Ark.

“Where exactly?”

“Persephone’s Den.” While I’d heard of the raw bar and seafood restaurant, I’d never been there. I’d never been to Northerly Island other than to investigate a murder at a concert.

We parked and went inside. The sophisticated interior of the place surprised me. Tanks of tropical fish. An aviary with tropical birds. Sea glass tile dressed up the entire back wall. People were dressed up, too. A young man in a tux played a baby grand piano.

Jake took me to the bar where he placed our drink orders—beer for him, seltzer and lime for me.

Already looking around for an exotic blonde, I asked, “So does Sirena work here or is she a regular?”

“Owner. And entertainer. She sings.”

His answer immediately put me on edge.

A feeling that intensified a few minutes later when Sirena entered and stopped before the piano. She wore a diaphanous flesh-colored gown, the bodice and sleeves covered with feathers. No introductions. She simply began a low-throated come-hither song.

The noise in the room lowered a notch.

“Does she always wear feathers?” I whispered, remembering Harriet’s tale.

Jake didn’t answer.

“Jake?”

He frowned. Seemed distracted. “Yeah?”

But he only looked at me for a second before turning back to Sirena.

About to poke him, I stopped when I realized something weird was going on. The hair on the back of my neck rose. The men all seemed mesmerized. Uncomfortable, too. They were shifting in their seats as if they were being seduced.
All
the men, including Jake.

The birds in the aviary had quieted, too. They all seemed focused on the songstress.

The only ones unaffected were the women, most of whom appeared annoyed.

I was simply frightened. A woman with such power over men…displaying it in public. I went on woo-woo warning.

Sirena ended the song with an extended high note that vibrated through me. The whole room went silent as if holding its breath.

With each song, the same thing happened. My head swirled and my gut tightened with the certainty that I was dealing with something beyond human. The men continued to be affected. Enough to send them to their deaths if Sirena so chose? Why? What kind of creature had that power?