Trace of Magic (7 page)

“Well, crap on a cracker. Why don’t you just bring the whole neighborhood to my bath? Maybe a marching band while you’re at it? Can’t I get any privacy at all?”

“Just checking to make sure you haven’t escaped.”

He grinned and holy crap, but he was handsome. My thighs about melted.
Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid . . .

“Like you wouldn’t have known. You tabbed me, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. How could I have forgotten?” He didn’t move. “I have some news for both of you about Josh.”

“Can it wait til I get out?” I said, and at the same time Taylor practically shouted, “What?”

“Feel free to get out anytime,” Price said to me as he went to lean against the counter near Taylor. “I won’t mind. Nice tattoo, by the way.”

“What did you find out?” Taylor demanded before I could call him an asshole.

At least he couldn’t see me blush. The only tattoo I had was around my belly button in the shape of calla lily drawn in shades of violet and purple. At least—it was my only visible one. I had another done in white ink up on my scalp. Both were nulls. It wasn’t all that smart to make part of your body a null—someone might cut it out. But I liked the idea of having one around when I was stark naked. The scalp one was a backup in case the stomach one didn’t work, for whatever reason.

If he saw my tattoo, then—

Well, now he knew the carpet matched the drapes and I had been known to wax a little. Oh hell. Twenty-four hours ago Tyet-enforcer and Detective Clay Price had barely known who I was. Now he’d tabbed me
and
seen me naked. Could the day get any worse?

Famous last words. Of course it could.

“I talked to one of my friends in the FBI,” Price said. “Seems Josh is wanted for several counts of embezzling, fraud, and money laundering. Plus there seems to be some connection to the Sparkle Dust trade.”

Sparkle Dust? That didn’t make sense at all. Josh despised the stuff. I rubbed my forehead. This didn’t feel right at all. Then the implications hit me. Oh fuck. He was a dead man.

“What? That’s not possible! He’d never do anything like that!” Taylor said. She must have realized that I’d gone deathly quiet. She looked at me. “What does it mean?” she demanded.

“It means that he’s as good as dead. The Tyet won’t put up with anyone bringing the FBI down on their territory, and if he’s involved in Sparkle Dust, he’s in way over his head.” I looked at Price. “And it means that you can’t help us get him back. The Tyet will have your balls in a jelly jar.”

Taylor looked at me and then him. “Is that true?”

He nodded. “Except they’d not take my balls; they’d put all of me in a jar.”

“But—you said Riley was wrong. You said you were going to help us get him back.”

That’s my sister. She’s doesn’t give up easy on what she wants. Tenacious as a pit bull when she wants to be. Probably why she was still with Josh when I’d have kicked him to Timbuktu and been done with him.

“I am going to help you get him back.”

I sat upright, furious. “Why would you lie straight to our faces? That’s just downright cruel. My sister doesn’t need that kind of crap. Can’t you see how bad she’s hurting?”

I’d hit the point where I was too mad too care who got a look at my pubic hair or any other part of me. I stood up and sloshed out of the tub, grabbing a terry cloth robe off the back of the door and wrapping it around myself. I tied the belt like I was tying a knot in a safety line. I’d probably have to cut myself out of it later.

I put my hands on my hips, already thinking of ways to take him out. I could hit him over the head with one of the many vases Taylor kept around the house. Maybe she had drugs that would put him to sleep. I could put those in his mashed potatoes or pudding or whatever was for dinner. If he could stomach eating after that pack of lies he just spewed out.

“I’m not lying,” he said, beginning to look annoyed.

“Really? You’re going to help us get back Josh, thereby getting yourself killed, if not tortured and killed? Why do I find that just a tiny bit hard to believe?”

Taylor had begun to cry. The sound sent my blood pressure rocketing. I did not like it when my family was hurt.

“I’ve got my reasons, and I don’t intend to get killed or tortured. There’s a way out of this for everyone.”

“Like hell there is.”

He smiled, and there was menace in every line of his face. This man was more than dangerous; he was walking death. “Trust me. I’m good at this sort of thing. It’s what I do. I will help you get Josh back, then all you have to do is help me with my little problem and then we can forget we ever met.”

I shook my head. “No way we can trust you.”

“Do you have a choice?”

“Riley—please?” Taylor looked at me, blue eyes pleading.

The truth was, I could find Josh, but not rescue him, not without help. Someone like Price was the best kind of help, if he didn’t throw me to the wolves first. But there was a better than decent chance he was going to find out what I was, what I could do. If he did—

There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he was ever going to forget me. I’d never be free of him or the Tyet.

“Fine,” I said. Look at that. I thought signing my own death warrant would be harder.

“Thank you!” Taylor threw herself into my arms and hugged me tight. She drew back and wiped her face with the back of her hands. “I’ll be downstairs. My closet is yours. Wear anything you want.”

She ran off, leaving me with Price.

“There’s something else wrong. Something you aren’t telling me,” he said, all too accurately.

“Yep.”

I pushed past him and headed for the closet. I hoped my sister would have something decent to wear, but she didn’t really believe in anything that wasn’t designer.

My mistake was in hoping that Price wouldn’t follow me. His filled the doorway, trapping me inside. I swear he could be a football player with those shoulders. I ignored him, or tried to. He wasn’t making it easy. He drifted inside to the dresser that was also an island (what kind of closet needs a freaking island, anyhow?) and pulled open a drawer. He fished out a pair of lacy thong underwear, holding them up between two fingers.

“Perhaps I can help?”

I stomped around in front of him and grabbed the pair of panties. “Really? You’re flirting? You don’t even like me. Stop it. It’s confusing and weird and I hate it when men lie to me.”

I threw the panties back into the drawer and shoved it closed with a bang, then instantly thought better of it. I was going to have to wear
something
under my clothes. I wasn’t going commando.
Please, God, let Taylor have at least one pair of underwear that wouldn’t end up flossing my ass.
I yanked the drawer back open and began searching. Price was standing so close I could feel the heat of him through my robe. I glared at him, but he was staring down at me with a curious look.

“How am I lying if I flirt with you?”

“Don’t act stupid. You don’t like me. You aren’t attracted to me. Therefore, flirting with me is a lie of action.”

He folded his arms and propped his hip against the island, watching me intently. “And what if I am attracted you?”

I scowled at him. “What is the point of even going there? You aren’t. End of story.” I couldn’t imagine he was. I was pretty sure I was the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to him.

I found a pair of underwear and went around to the other side of the closet to flip through the jeans dangling from hangers. I found a pair that could fit and probably cost a good five hundred dollars on sale. There wasn’t a tee shirt of any variety to be found, but Taylor had some long-sleeved Patagonia shirts that weren’t too bad. I picked out a dark green one that would set off my hair—

Oh, hell, was I losing it or what? Josh had been tortured and kidnapped, and I was thinking about looking good? For
Price
?

Sometime in the day, I must have gotten a concussion. Brain damage. There was no other explanation.

Having collected my wardrobe, I faced Price again. He hadn’t moved. He was watching me like I was dinner.

“What?”

He stepped forward until there wasn’t much between us but my robe and his clothes. I shivered all the way down to my heels.

He bent so that his lips were a millimeter from mine. He held himself there, unmoving, until I thought I’d have to kick him in the shins. Given I was barefoot, I’m pretty sure which one of us would regret it most. Then quietly, he said, “I like your hair.”

He straightened and flashed a wicked grin at me before disappearing out of the bedroom. I stared after him, my stomach melting into ribbons of hot taffy.

He liked my hair.

He wasn’t talking about the stuff on my head.

Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck
. I would not,
could
not, be stupid enough to even contemplate getting into bed with Detective-Asshole Clay Price.

If only my idiot body agreed, but it definitely had other ideas, and they all involved getting sweaty with Price.

I was so screwed.

Chapter 7

BY MORNING I’D managed to get my libido under control. Or so I told myself firmly as I rolled out of bed.

I looked out the window. The world was white. A few flakes of snow still floated down over what looked like a German fairytale setting. Buildings were frosted thick, their edges soft and rounded. The streets hadn’t been cleared. Everything looked still and silent.

We had to get out there, through this snow somehow, and find Josh. Who knew how long they’d keep him alive? He might already be dead. The thought spurred me.

I yanked off my borrowed nightgown and pulled on my borrowed clothes. I ran downstairs to find Price drinking a mug of coffee while flipping through pages on the computer.

“That smells good,” I said. “Where’s Taylor?”

“Still asleep, which is good. You and I need to talk.”

“Are we breaking up so soon?” I asked, putting a hand over my heart. “Oh no! Whatever shall I do? My heart is shattered.”

“You’re an idiot,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen and filling a mug with coffee. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Both,” I said. “Plenty of them.”

He made a face at the mixture. I sipped it with a grateful groan. “Oh, my sweet, sweet delicious coffee. How I’ve missed you.”

He watched me lick my lips.
Oh, there you are little libido
, I thought as heat zinged through my belly.
I thought I told you to stop this.

“We need to go back to the apartment and see if you can trace Josh,” Price said, jumping right to business.

I could live with that. Much better than imagining me and him wrestling around in bed.

Heat spiraled up from my toes to the crown of my head.
Hell
. Focus.

“We aren’t going to find him that way,” I said, pointing out what he already should have known. “Whoever took him knocked out Josh’s house wards and hid their trace on the way out.”

“Then we’ll follow him backward and try to figure out who might have taken him. We know he’s involved with something.”

“Do we? Just because the FBI thinks so, doesn’t make it true.”

“We do because he’s been tortured and kidnapped, and because he broke his engagement with your sister even though he was still in love with her.”

“He might just be using her. A convenient sex buddy.” I didn’t believe it, but I had to see what Price would say. After all, he was a detective; reading suspects, reading people, was what he did.

“He had pictures of her all over his apartment, including his bedroom,” Price said, as if that settled the matter.

Maybe it did. What sort of player kept pictures of his ex-fiancée everywhere if he wasn’t still in love with her?

“All right. I’m in. One small problem, how do we get there?”

“Snowmobiles.”

I lifted a brow. “Keep a pair of those in your pocket, do you? Or maybe you’ve got them stashed in your trunk.”

“I called the precinct. There are a couple sleds registered nearby. We’ll go borrow one on police authority.”

“The owners will be thrilled, I’m sure.”

“I don’t particularly care how they feel. The faster we find Josh, the faster you can get back on my case. Don’t think, by the way, that this diversion will come off my bill.”

Ah, back to practical matters. Thank whatever gods might have a hand in it. This Price made it a lot easier not to want to screw him senseless. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I wrote a note for Taylor, who wasn’t awake when we left. I’d managed to get a fair amount of wine into her last night. I laced on my now-dry boots. At some point Taylor—ever the good hostess—had slid them onto a pair of dryers. I was more than grateful. Nothing worse than stuffing your feet into wet boots. I thought of the blood splashed around Josh’s floor. Okay, there was a lot worse. Perspective is a useful thing.

I dug my jacket out of the coat closet—one of those light as air things that will keep you warm on Everest—a gift from Taylor. I checked my pockets, taking inventory. I had nulls tucked into various pockets, along with my lockpicks, some lip balm, sunglasses, my house keys, my wallet, my pocketknife, and my phone. I took my baton off the hall table and shoved it up my sleeve before tucking my holstered gun in my rear waistband.

Price led the way out the door and down the steps. We slogged through the snow. In some places it had drifted over my head. That’s the way it snows here. One day it’s bare ground, the next you’re drowning in the stuff. Before I’d gone fifty yards, I was panting.

“You could come back and pick me up,” I suggested to Price, who was ahead. Even with him breaking the trail, I wasn’t keeping up. “I don’t mind waiting.”

He looked over his shoulder, then reached back and grabbed my hand, towing me along. He didn’t slow down. Pretty soon my arm felt like it was going to fall off. I didn’t complain. If Josh was alive, hurrying was imperative.

Price was following the GPS on his phone. It took us up a few blocks and then had us zigzagging through various odd-sized lots to find the right house. It was a take on a log cabin, if Paul Bunyan had built a house for his entire giant family and maybe half a town besides. It was anchored by one central building that reminded me of a church, with three or four wings prodding outward. Wood smoke curled from at least five chimneys pricking from a slate roof.

I sucked in a deep breath. “I love that smell. Gas fireplaces seem so pointless.”

Price looked at me. “The point is that they put out heat.”

I gave him a disgusted look. “Some people just don’t get it.”

Someone had attacked the sidewalks and driveway with a snowblower, but another four or five inches had fallen since to ruin their hard work.

Price finally let go of me and marched up to the front door. He stabbed the doorbell a couple of times and then banged the knocker. After a few minutes, a stout redheaded man carrying a mug of coffee opened the door.

“I’m Detective Clay Price from Diamond City PD.” Price flashed his badge and ID. “Are you Barney Peltier?” The man nodded, looking worried. “There’s been an emergency and I need to requisition two of your snowmobiles. They’ll be returned to you.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Peltier stepped into the doorway and glanced at me and then around the yard. “Kelvin put you up to this, didn’t he? Where is the bastard?”

“It’s not a prank, sir,” Price said, his voice turning cool and hard. It was his don’t-fuck-with-me cop voice, and enough to make Peltier jerk to attention. “Please show me where you keep them.”

“Uh—you’re really serious? But—you’re just going to take them?”

“Yes, sir. It’s an emergency. Federal, state, and local law all grant that in an emergency, an officer of the law may requisition civilian goods, subject to return or reimbursement.” He rattled off some code numbers.

Peltier wilted. “Gimme a minute.” He set his mug down inside and disappeared. He came back a minute later. He’d grabbed a jacket and shoved his feet into a pair of boots. He stomped down the walk, protesting all the while. But the words bounced off Price like he was teflon.

Outside the garage, Peltier typed in a code on an electronic pad, and the door rolled up. Inside was a candy store of boy toys. Quads, snowmobiles, boats—you name it and he had it. Price looked a little glassy-eyed as he took inventory.

“They’re over here,” Peltier said, pressing a button.

A rack rotated downward. He actually had seven snowmobiles. I couldn’t tell one from another, but apparently Price could. He let the rack rotate around until he could offload one he wanted. The key was in the ignition. He started it and guided it down the runners built into the floor and out onto the snow.

He looked at me. “You can ride one of these, can’t you?”

Not even. “Sure, why not? Just like riding a bicycle, right?”

I think it took every ounce of strength he had not to roll his eyes. He turned back to Peltier. “We’ll just need the one then.” He pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket and scribbled out a quick note. “This is a receipt. Take it to the impound lot on Sixth and Dutch in a couple of days. It will be gassed up and waiting for you.”

He grabbed a couple helmets off another rack and jammed one on my head before pulling his on. Mine was pink. Seriously, sparkly pink. I looked like a Barbie matchstick. His was a midnight blue. On the rack were a wide variety of helmets in dark colors. Mine was the only ridiculous one.

Jerk.

He climbed on and beckoned me to get on behind. Snuggle up with him? Crap. I should have pretended harder that I could drive one of these things. On the other hand, I didn’t like the idea of accidentally driving off the edge of the crater, and as deep as the snow was, the guardrails weren’t going to be much help in preventing my accidental suicide.

With a sigh, I flung my leg over the seat and slid on behind him.

“Hold on,” Price said, and gunned the motor.

The snowmobile leaped forward, and I lurched back. I snatched wildly at his coat, pulling myself back up and locking my arms around his waist. His chest jerked like he was laughing. I resisted the urge to bite him. Hard.

He took us back out to the road. Cold air and snowflakes nipped my skin. After a few minutes I was forced to tuck down behind his shoulder to keep my face from freezing off.

We got to Josh’s place way too fast. I itched to try driving. I know, we were on a dangerous mission that was likely to get me killed, but it was a hell of a fun way to go. I was sorry when Price started to pull up in front of Josh’s, but then he sped up again and went by.

“Where are you going?” I shouted over the engine.

“FBI,” was his only reply.

I twisted to look back. I didn’t see a damned thing.

He drove down a couple of streets and turned and turned again, coming back along the back of Josh’s building. I sat there a moment until I figured out I was the one who was supposed to get off first. I dismounted and instantly regretted it. My thighs and chest missed his heat.

He set his helmet on the back rack and I did the same. He deposited the key into his pocket and slogged across the street. The snow came up over my knees, higher where it drifted. I should have taken some of Taylor’s ski pants to keep me dry. The building’s back door was locked. It opened out anyhow. We would have needed a shovel to get it open.

We went around front. I finally figured out what had tipped Price off. A guy in an overcoat, soaked loafers, and a bad suit stood outside under the awning. He was smoking a cigarette. Price didn’t acknowledge him, but simply walked in. I followed, ducking my head to avoid FBI guy’s curious gaze.

We both headed for the stairs. Nobody got in our way until we got to Josh’s apartment. The door was open, and two goons stood outside. Really, goons. As in, ape arms, bull necks, thighs like trees. Both wore sunglasses—because it was so bright, what with the lead skies and snow. The wall window on the side of the stairwell might as well have been made of concrete for all the light that came through. They each had earpieces with little coily wires that disappeared into their collars, plus matching shaved heads and blue suits. They could have been brothers. Goon brothers.

Price made to push between them while I hung back where I could run like hell. I don’t trust Price; I trust the FBI less. Price will stab you in the chest so at least you can see him coming. He’s honest about it. The FBI has someone else slip you some poison at your favorite restaurant so you never know it was them. You don’t even know you’re dead until you’re standing at the pearly gates. Or the doors to hell, whatever they are called. I’m guessing I should figure that out, since that’s where I’m likely to end up.

“I’m DCPD. This is my crime scene,” Price said, flashing his ID again. “Let me through.”

“Can’t do that, sir,” said goon one. “It’s FBI jurisdiction now.”

Goon two was saying something to his wrist.

“Since when?” Price demanded.

“Since early this morning,” came a crisp female voice from inside. I recognized it. Special Agent Sandra Arnow.

The sound of her shoes heralded her arrival. The two goons parted to let her through. She stopped in the doorway, looking smug. Her hair was pulled up in a smooth chignon. She wore a charcoal pencil skirt with a tailored blazer and a cream-colored blouse. Her shoes were stiletto platforms that gave her another five or six inches in height. She looked Price in the eyes. Overcompensating much? Next to her, I felt a lot like a wadded-up piece of paper someone had tossed in the gutter.

“Judge Moralez of the forty-second district court kindly granted it.”

“On what grounds?”

She handed a piece of paper to Price. He glanced at it, his face turning to stone. “This is crap.”

“You said yourself it was a kidnapping.”

“Not across state lines.”

She smiled, her full red lips looking like she’d been drinking blood. I bet she had raw meat for breakfast. If she ate. She looked like she wore about a size negative four. “You have no way of knowing that.”

“The case should be ours until there’s proof he was taken out of state.”

“Take it up with the judge.” She turned to pin me in place with her pale blue stare. “You’re back. The innocent bystander, if I recall. However, you are also Taylor Hollis’s sister, are you not? Riley Hollis? I have some questions for you and your sister.”

Oh crap. She knew my name. The fucking FBI knew my name. I opened my mouth. I had no idea what I was going to say. Probably “fuck off and die,” but it’s possible I would have been polite. Before I could speak, Price reached out and took my arm, pushing me down the stairs ahead of him.