Shattered Souls (6 page)

“I thought…you were under a lot of stress. Might have gotten a bit disoriented and remembered things out of order.”

“To hell with that. You thought I’d been drinking.”

Sam had never been good at masking his expression. He wasn’t starting now, even if it hurt her. If he expected her to tell the truth, he had to do the same. “Yeah, I thought you’d been drinking, too.”

A fist slammed on her thigh. “I never drank on the job.”

“So you said. But you do now, don’t you?”

Cait took a deep breath and looked away.

He wished like hell she’d take off the sunglasses, because he could always read her green eyes for what she was thinking. “Tell me again, Cait. Why do you drink?”

“I’m mostly Irish,” she muttered.

“Cait…”

Her breath left in a huff, and he wondered if she even knew that she was feeling better already. Anger always put color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye. “I drink because I hear voices.”

His lips twisted. “And there I thought you heard voices because you drank.”

“I never hallucinate. I don’t have a vivid imagination.” Her chin jerked up. “And the psychiatrist ruled out schizophrenia.”

“So that just leaves what?”

“I hear the voices of the dead.” He’d already taken a leap of faith when he’d accepted the cause of Henry’s death. “Ghosts or wraiths?” he asked, remembering Morin’s explanation.

“Ghosts…now.”

“You used to hear wraiths?”

She nodded. “My mother cast a spell to mute the wraiths.”

Sam blew out a breath, his cheeks billowing. Ghosts were one thing; now she was talking about witches? “Your mother was a witch?”

“Part Romany, that’s gypsy, and part Irish tinker—both peoples known for their psychic skills.” Her lips curled in a snarl. “You should see your face. You look like you just swallowed something sour.”

Grabbing tight to the steering wheel, he shook his head. “I’m just realizing I didn’t know a damn thing about you.”

“You knew all I wanted you to know. I tried to forget that part of myself as well.”

“Why?”

“Long story.”

“Morin part of that long story?” he growled.

Her head jerked up and down before facing the passenger-side window. “I do have another job, you know.”

Sam bit back his frustration. The flatness of her tone was his cue. She’d said all she was willing to for now.

“I haven’t checked in with Jason. And we’re done here for now, aren’t we?”

He ground his teeth. “You’re right. I’ll have the team go through Henry’s things to try and figure out what he was doing here. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. Whatever. Just get me to the office.”

Ten minutes later, he stopped the car at the curb outside the nondescript office building housing the Delta Detective Agency. Sam kept the car running while she unbuckled and opened the door. “Cait—”

She glanced back, her face a blank mask.

“I’ll see you later.”

The obstinate set of her chin eased. “You do realize that we both looked into that mirror. We both saw Henry.”

Sam nodded, not knowing where she was going, but not liking the shadow that crossed her face.

“We saw Henry…and the wraith saw us.”

“You think that matters? It’s not like it’s afraid we’ll stick it in a lineup.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just something to think about.” Drawing in a deep breath, she wagged the water bottle. “Thanks, by the way.”

Sam gave her a grudging smile. “Anytime.”

“Gonna check up on me, make sure I don’t welsh on our deal?”

“We do need to review what we know.”

She flashed a quick grin, then pulled the door latch and climbed out. “You’ll find me at O’Malley’s,” she said over her shoulder.

“Dammit.” He’d have to get there before her, just to make sure she didn’t hit the hard stuff. Might have to swing by her place too to make sure she didn’t have anything to drink there either.

Her house key was still parked on top of the door ledge.

Cait watched through the tinted glass until Sam drove away, then let out a deep breath. The morning had been a freaking roller-coaster ride, and she was badly in need of time to recoup. Hopefully Jason didn’t have anything going on that couldn’t wait. She’d kick up her feet and think for a while about what had happened and what the next steps should be in their investigation.

First thing, though, she needed to get hold of Henry’s housemate in Florida and see if he had a clue about what the old codger had been doing there in Memphis.

Cait chucked the water bottle into a trash can inside the door and jogged up the steps to the second floor that housed their offices. She still felt bolstered by Morin’s brew, and her head wasn’t muzzy and pounding as was par for the course every day when she arrived.

She thought about Morin and Sam, both facing off like pit bulls ready to do battle over a meaty bone. A sharp gust of laughter caught her by surprise. She’d enjoyed the interplay between the two men. Sam’s brittle tension had made her feel feminine and desired—and sent heat creeping into her cheeks and across the tops of her breasts.

Morin’s steady, amused stare had reminded her of their own tawdry past—something she’d just as soon forget. No way would she ever go there again. Morin had overwhelmed her senses as a young woman. Now, knowing what she did about her own body and preferences, she thought he might completely consume her. The man had mad skills when it came to making love.

More sane to contemplate sex with Sam. She had no doubts they’d wind up between the sheets before this case was done. But his brand of fierce, fast loving wouldn’t leave her with a mystical, insatiable craving for more.

His loving she could handle. Their embrace back in the alleyway had been incendiary. When his hand had slipped beneath her hair, she’d shivered, her nipples prickling instantly into awareness. When he’d turned her, she hadn’t been able to resist. As always, their bodies slid together naturally—hers yielding, opening, his pressing relentlessly, forcing her surrender.

And although she still ached from unfulfilled lust, she was glad her stomach had interrupted their little reunion. She wasn’t ready. Still felt too raw emotionally from the wild-ass morning. Sam didn’t trust her. Hell, she didn’t trust herself.

Chapter Six

As soon as she pushed open the agency door, voices dashed her hopes for a little “me” time. Not the dead kind of voices. These voices drifted from her partner’s office. One feminine, spoke in hushed sobs. The other, male and deeper than Jason’s, filled the spaces between the woman’s choked mutterings.

Cait thought about backing away, but footsteps pattered toward the closed office door.

Jason Crawford stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him. “Glad you’re here,” he said, hazel eyes darkening with irritation. “What kept you? We have a new case. Something your old friend laid on our doorstep.”

Old friend? That caught her interest. “Fill me in.”

“Uh-uh, you first. Tried to reach you at home but you’d already left. Where’ve you been?” He studied her face. His eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes were soft and concerned. More than once he’d shown up at her apartment on mornings she’d slept through her alarm.

She gave him a mock frown. “Since when are you my keeper?”

“Just curious.” His head canted, eyes narrowing as his gaze raked her face. “You’re blushing.”

“For your information, I was working on another case—also new. Something that might actually pay the bills.”

His blond brows rose. “Looks like we’ll be busy. Better come meet the Farmingtons first. Later, you’ll fill me in on your new project.”

Cait ran fingers through her hair. “Got any coffee? I’ve been dying for a cup all morning.”

“Sure, get yourself one, and then come join us.”

In the kitchenette she poured a cup, took a fortifying sip, and returned to Jason’s office, letting herself inside the door. The Farmingtons, a well-dressed, middle-aged couple, sat side by side in straight-back armchairs across from Jason’s desk. Both of their expressions were haggard; deep half moons like purple bruises cupped their lower lids. Cait’s chest tightened. People only ever looked like that when a child was missing.

Jason made the introductions, and she slid into a chair beside his desk.

“The Farmingtons,” he said, facing her directly, “haven’t heard from their daughter in a week. Bill here called an old friend of his who used to be on the force, Henry Prudoe.”

Cait’s heart stuttered, and she stiffened, realizing instantly this situation was what had brought Henry to Memphis.

“Henry mentioned you to them,” Jason continued. “Said he’d be getting with you to do some of the groundwork.”

A numbing chill crept up her spine. “Your daughter lives here?” she asked, breaking with Jason’s stare to meet the parents’ troubled gazes.

“Lisa’s a student at the University of Memphis,” Mrs. Farmington said, slipping a photo from her wallet and extending it.

Cait glimpsed a pretty girl with long blonde hair. “Have you contacted her friends and the school?”

“We did that days ago. They’re worried too.”

She sipped at her coffee. “What about the police?”

“They took the report, but we know they can’t give her all of their attention. That’s why we called Henry. Only now we can’t reach him either, and we’re worried.”

Cait didn’t figure it would be a good time to tell them Henry was dead—not before the police released the information. Besides, she detested notifications, could never shake the memories of her own parents’ deaths, which inevitably arose when she had to deliver similar bad news. Better she leave it for Jason, later. “I’ll need her address and a key to her apartment, if you have it.”

“We’ve been through her apartment,” the father said, a sharper edge to his voice. “And nothing seemed out of order. Her day planner had listed a class and a dig here in Memphis this weekend, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“A dig?” Cait asked.

Bill Farmington raked a hand through the stiff bristles of his short gray hair. “She’s an anthropology student. There’s a Civil War site the university is excavating.”

Cait nodded. “I’m sure you were thorough, but we’d still like to take our own look around. Another set of eyes and all…”

Bill dug into his pocket for his key chain and slid a key off the ring. “Whatever you need,” he said, sighing. “We’re staying at the Peabody for the duration.”

Jason made more notes—the name of the officer who’d taken the report, of the friends they’d already called—then he herded the couple out of the office with assurances they’d be in touch again that night. He turned and fisted his hands on his hips. “What’s up, Cait? You turned white as a ghost when I mentioned Henry.”

Cait gripped the wooden arms of her chair. “You’re not gonna believe it, but I’m assisting the Memphis PD in investigating the murder of Henry Prudoe.”

Jason whistled silently and strode to his desk. He sat on the edge and peered down, studying her face. “And you didn’t want to mention this to our clients. Why?”

“Because it’ll take time for DNA testing to come back and prove all the blood in his hotel room was Henry’s—and to match prints with the thumb we found at the crime lab.” At the sudden rise of his eyebrows, she added, “There was an explosion. It’ll be all over the news. Besides, I wanted to make sure both incidents are related first. Why add to their worries now?”

“Because they’re gonna find out sooner or later. Fuck. What a goddamn mess.” He moved to his chair and tugged at his tie, loosening it. He only wore it when meeting a client for the first time. Jason was the face of the agency.

Cait never bothered to dress the part of a successful PI, whatever the hell one was supposed to look like. Jason came from money and knew how to project the right image even though he hadn’t followed his father into the family’s law firm. A street cop, he’d advanced to vice until his career had been preempted by a shooting. He’d rushed into a dark alley after a drug dealer who shot toward him, and Jason fired into the darkness—unfortunately, hitting a high school kid necking with his girlfriend.

Sam had put her in touch with Jason, one disgraced cop to another, and they’d hit it off instantly. Jason had seen past her surly demeanor and sensed her need to keep doing the kind of work she’d been destined for, even if she didn’t wear a badge and refused to carry a weapon.

They’d fumbled their way through their first cases until they’d discovered each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Now they hummed along like a well-oiled machine. Except for those rare mornings she couldn’t drag her butt out of bed due to a late-night bender.

Jason was her friend, understanding her weakness if not the cause.

“Sorry about Henry,” he murmured.

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “You’re the first one to say that to me today.”

“Sam on the case?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d he drag you in?”

“Because I left a message for Henry at his hotel. I called him last night to arrange a meeting.”

“You make it?” he asked, arching a brow.

Cait closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t even remember making the call.”