Succubus Lost (Files from the Otherworlder Enforcement Agency, #2) (4 page)

“Are you guys ready to order yet?” Lisa rematerialized next to me and I barely covered a little jump by reaching for my teacup.

My stomach rolled at the idea of food, but I forced myself to say, “Salad with chicken, please.” Costa grimaced at my order. “Southwest burger.

Fries.”

The waitress jotted down our order and slipped her pen into a pocket at the front of her smock.

Silence overtook us for a few brief moments after the waitress left. Costa’s eyes burned into me, far more intensely than they should. I was tempted to meet his stare, if only to pinpoint the exact shade of his eyes. Surely they were just deep brown? They seemed so dark that they verged on black, but that had to be because of the lighting.

I cleared my throat with a light cough and kept my gaze firmly affixed to my tea. “Tell me more about the other cases.”

He inhaled deeply, and then let the air out in a whoosh.

“That could take a long time.”

I gave him a sharp look. “Summarize.”

“Fine. Over the last couple of years, succubi have been disappearing from around the country. A connection between the disappearances wasn’t made until recently.”

“Why did it take so long?”

He shrugged. “They took place in large cities, usually no more than one or two per city. Succubi aren’t rare…as you know. And the women weren’t connected by anything but species—aside from being young and attractive. Of course, that’s hardly a rare trait in succubi. Not much else connects them.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. “So they all just disappeared without a trace. Any sign of any other connected OW disappearances, like Wendy’s?”

“No, and we haven’t connected any other disappearances to those of the succubi.” He grimaced.

“But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. We should look into other oh-dub disappearances around the same timeframe in the same cities as the succubi who have gone missing.” He pulled out a small notepad and scribbled something on it.

We sat in awkward silence, me pretending to check important e-mails on my cell phone, and Costa going through his notes, until Lisa dropped off our food.

“So none of them have turned up dead. Do you have any evidence that…” I paused. I didn’t really want to know, but I had to. “Do you have any evidence that they are still alive—other than not finding any bodies?” He hesitated. “A psychic. One of the best in the OWEA. She’s touched several of the victims’ personal items. Some haven’t been in contact with the items for long enough, so she couldn’t get anything clear off of them. But some of the more recent ones she’s gotten images…I don’t know. Whatever they get. She says they’re alive.”

“Touched them, huh? A psychometrist, then?” Psychometrists were one of the rarer forms of psychics, able to glean information from touching objects. I hadn’t seen many used in cases; Chicago PD didn’t have one on the squad and Vasquez wasn’t too keen on them. They were useless with cases most of the time unless we had a murder weapon. And even then, their visions weren’t always clear. And unclear evidence didn’t make it to court.

“One with a bit of clairvoyance. My partner.” My mouth dropped and I snapped it shut before Costa could comment on my surprise. Clairvoyants were especially rare. They didn’t just get information about the past and present of objects and their owners, they occasionally got visions of likely events in the future. A psychometrist with a touch of clairvoyance was a stunning combination.

The fact that he had proof beyond a lack of bodies settled in, and a weight moved from my chest. She was alive, then. Almost definitely alive. That meant I could save her. I could get her back. I could bring my sister home.

Worry flitted in the back of my mind. What if she wasn’t the same? What if they did something to break her? No. She was strong. She’d been through a lot. And she wasn’t that easy to break. I could still see her face the night she’d killed that boy. She’d stumbled in from the cool night, hair a mess of twigs and leaves and dirt. Mascara ran down her cheeks, carried by long, hopeless tears. And her eyes—they carried a look of haunted horror that broke something in me.

Ever since, I’d struggled to help her get her life back.

It had taken a few years—no wonder, considering the psychic damage on top of the mental and physical—but she’d recovered. She’d regained her confidence. She’d started living her life again.

I was going to get her back.

“Hello. You with me?” Costa waved a hand at my face.

“Just thinking. What else have you learned?”

“Not much. The kidnappers take one or two per city, usually a week or so apart. They move onto the next city after a month or two, same M.O. We’ve found no physical evidence, no unusual circumstances leading to their disappearances. They’ve all just seemed to be heading to work or to school.” He took a drink of his water, and I did my best not to tap my nails on the table. “Like I said, the only thing they’ve had in common other than their species is their age.”

“Look, just get me the summary. And the files. Okay?” I took a couple of bites of my salad and then grabbed my jacket. “We need to get moving.”

He nodded and took a couple of huge bites of his burger, and half the sandwich disappeared. I tossed some cash on the table while he struggled to chew and keep his mouth closed.

We made it to the front door before he’d swallowed enough of the burger to mumble, “Where are we going?”

“The library.”

The library, with its imposing dark brick facade, towered over us as we approached the main entrance. Intimidating, it stole my breath and made my stomach clench, and I wondered if it had made Elaine feel the same way.

“You all right?” Costa paused at the entrance.

No, I’m far from all right
. “I’m fine.” I pushed past him and went through the door.

Washed-out neutral colors coated the floors and walls, covering the fabrics and hard surfaces of the room.

Students lounged on couches with books, or at tables—

leaning across to consult their friends on math problems or their love lives. A few sat in front of library computers.

Several stood in line, waiting for a librarian to check out their books, fidgeting and antsy, probably wishing they were anywhere but the library.

I made my way to the checkout desk, cutting in front of the next girl in line. She made a rude noise and turned to gesture to her friends, who were already checked out and waiting for her near the front entrance.

The librarian gave me a disapproving look when I stepped up to the counter, but her annoyance faded when I flashed my badge.

“I’m Detective Marisol Whitman. This is Agent Costa.” I nodded toward him. He stood behind me, a wall between me and the students. Almost as if he watched my back—protected me. Something inside my chest softened at the thought. “We need to speak with whoever is in charge of security.”

The gray-haired woman nodded and picked up a phone from the counter. She hissed in what was no doubt her library voice, “Yes, there are some police officers here.

Yes. I’ll send them over.”

I tapped my fingernails on the counter as she finished up her conversation and caught Costa watching my nervous twitch. Frowning, I drew my hand back and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Well, then,” the librarian announced, voice losing all semblance of its library tone. “One building over. The head of security is the corner office, last door on the left.” She gestured toward what I could only guess was the other building and watched us expectantly. I had no doubt she’d be gossiping about us and the disappearance to every student who ventured into her line the moment we were out of earshot.

The head of security’s office proved as easy to find as the librarian promised, and Jonathan Donovan was etched in bold black letters, dark against the light shining behind the glass. I stopped in front of the door and tugged my hair loose from the carefully styled chignon and fluffed it around my face. Then I took off my blazer. With the jacket on, my skirt suit looked perfectly appropriate. But removing the blazer revealed an undershirt that looked positively sinful. Thin sleeves did nothing to cover my shoulders, and the just-shy-of-plunging neckline revealed quite a bit of cleavage. The soft fabric looked thinner than it actually was, and the ensemble clung to my body.

For the purposes of interrogation, the showy blouse was my armor. My disguise.

“Nice shirt,” Costa said dryly. Then he leaned in from behind me, arm brushing my shoulder, and rapped on the door. He was too close again; I could feel him, smell his spicy scent. I resisted the urge to lean back, just a couple of inches, to touch his hard chest.

The door opened to reveal a balding man. Wearing my three-inch work heels, I stood only a hairbreadth under six feet tall. The top of Mr. Donovan’s shiny head barely reached my chin. Eyes peered out at me through thick glasses, which he pushed up as he examined me. My worry over how Costa would feel about my outfit faded at the look of blatant interest on Donovan’s face.

“I’ve already spoken with the police this morning.

They just left, in fact,” he said briskly. “I’m afraid I don’t have all day to talk to you people.”

“You’re going to have to free more time in your schedule, Mr. Donovan.” Costa’s voice came out rough behind me.

Mr. Donovan frowned but gestured for us to come inside. A small bit of sweat beaded on his brow, and I wondered how such a thin man could be hot in this chilly office. The room resembled a closet more than a proper office, and the space felt too small for the three of us. I glanced at Costa. He didn’t look uncomfortable. Maybe it was just me.

“We’re sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Donovan.

I’m sure that you have very important duties to attend to,” I said smoothly, pasting my professional yet slightly flirty smile on my face. Despite Costa’s heavy-handedness, I was confident that honey would, in this case, net us far more information than his rougher methods.

Donovan relaxed and gave me a small smile in return.

“I don’t mind, Detective…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! You can call me Marisol.” His smile grew then dimmed slightly as he shot Costa a less friendly glance.

“This is Agent Costa from the OWEA,” I explained, keeping my attention fully on the head of security. I tossed my hair behind my shoulder and Donovan’s eyes fixed back on me. Good. “Anyway, did you know either of the missing girls?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have much contact with the students.” He sat straighter in his chair. “I’m quite busy.”

“Of course. Can you find out who was working in the library yesterday afternoon?” I pulled a small notebook and pen out of my inside jacket pocket.

“Well, you met Barbara Fuller. She was working the checkout desk yesterday, too. We didn’t have any other full-time staff during the afternoon and evening, just students hired through the work assistance program. I gave their names to the other officers.”

“Do you routinely keep track of who is working the library, Mr. Donovan?” I asked.

A nervous laugh escaped him. “The officers who were here earlier had me call down and check.” I suppressed a grimace. We might well be just repeating what other cops had already done, but I couldn’t risk not going through the steps, just in case they’d missed something. “If you wouldn’t mind, it would really help me out to get the student staff’s names as well.”

“Of course.”

“We’d also like to speak with Ms. Fuller,” I added.

He frowned. “Well, she’s off in a couple of hours. She said she didn’t have anyone to cover the desk until then.”

“Could you figure something out so we could speak to her? Maybe a student who works in the library could cover for her? I’d
really
appreciate it.” My perfected expression eased into something work appropriate, but it was close to being inappropriate.

Red splotches crept up Donovan’s thin neck. “If it would help, of course I’ll see if there’s someone here who could cover for her.”

He picked up the phone, but before he could dial, I asked, “What about security cameras?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have cameras in the library.

No budget for it.” He shrugged and Costa and I got up from our chairs.

I gave the man a small wave as we exited the office and suppressed a smile as he stumbled over his words into the phone.

I put my blazer back on when the cool fall air surrounded me, and I walked in front of Costa to the sidewalk that led down into the library. As I approached the door, he grabbed my arm, just under my shoulder, and pulled me to a stop. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm.

“What?” I asked, angling my shoulder away from him so he’d release me.

He let go, and his arm grazed my breast as his hand fell away. I took in a quick breath and glared at him.

“What the hell was that?” His voice was cold, but not void of emotion.

“Excuse me?” My mouth dropped open and I snapped it shut, ignored the way my pulse skipped faster under his gaze.

“Do you really think flirting while on the job is appropriate?” Anger coated his tone, giving it a hard edge.

“I’d think you could feed your desires on your own time.” Heat flared in my chest and rushed up to my face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on, any idiot could tell that you were coming on to that little weasel.”

“An
idiot
might think that, yes,” I hissed. I spun around and marched down the sidewalk. What the hell? Did he really think I was desperate enough for a lay that I’d flirt on the job, the day after my sister was kidnapped, with a guy as unattractive as Donovan? Asshole. He probably didn’t know any way to get information out of people that didn’t involve strong-arming.

Swallowing my anger and ignoring Costa trailing behind me, I stomped back to the checkout desk. Barbara Fuller gave me a small wave. As Costa moved into her view, her eyes widened and then she snapped them back to the next person in line, obviously unnerved by whatever expression I’d put on the OWEA agent’s face. She helped the student, and then moved away from her post as a young woman came to replace her.

I tapped my foot and motioned toward Ms. Fuller. She walked up to us, hesitant, and I plastered on my pleasant smile.