by S. J. Day
Alec nodded and continued to eat his now tasteless food, his thoughts occupied by the Nix. He listened to the multiple locks disengage, then the door opening. Perhaps talking to Raguel alone was the best way to go. Separating himself from Eve might help to alter the image of them as an indivisible team. Their paths would eventually diverge; they had to for her sake. Then he would need to continue on his present course alone. That would be difficult if it was perceived that he was useful only in regards to his association with her.
Of course, part of him wondered how useful he could possibly be without her.
As Eve exited to the hallway, she left her front door open. Her gaze returned to Alec against her will, her stride faltering just past the threshold. The sight of him in her kitchen—completely at ease and half dressed in only T-shirt and boxers—was as bizarre as being attacked by the tengu. The incongruity of his presence in her life after a ten-year absence brought home a possibility she hadn’t considered before—perhaps his return and the marking weren’t the detours in her life. Perhaps the last ten years were.
It was a crazy thought, but how else could she explain why she wasn’t a shell-shocked wreck at this point? Or why this new skin she wore felt so much more comfortable than the one she’d been born with?
And her sexual advances toward Alec . . . she could say that was an expected aftereffect of a near-death experience or blame her super libido. But she’d be lying to herself, and as screwed up as the rest of her life was, she needed her head on straight more than ever.
Eve stopped before Mrs. Basso’s door and knocked. As she waited, she tightened the belt on her robe. She looked up and down the hallway, admiring the sunshine coming in through the window on the other side of her door. She spread her arms out and stretched, briefly wondering if she should have dressed before stepping out of her house. Luckily it was a workday and most of the residents weren’t home.
She rang the doorbell, knowing that a knock was sometimes difficult to hear from the rear bedrooms. Her mark began to tingle, then burn, as it did when she took the Lord’s name in vain. Frowning, she rubbed at it. Why the hell would the damn thing start bothering her now?
“Mrs. Basso?” she called out, just in case her neighbor wasn’t answering in avoidance of solicitors. Sales-people weren’t supposed to come into the building. Anyone caught putting up solicitations was quickly booted out, but often the easiest way to get rid of them was simply to ignore them.
Her mark throbbed something fierce. Aggravated energy pumped hard and fast through her veins, spreading outward from her arm until it inundated her body with restless anticipation. Eve’s nostrils flared, scents intensifying with startling immediacy. Her eyesight sharpened, magnifying minute details such as the scrapes left by keys around the dead-bolt lock.
Before she fully comprehended what she was doing, Eve crashed into Mrs. Basso’s door shoulder first. The door locks shattered through the jamb, spraying splinters through the air and filling the hallway with an echoing boom.
“Mrs. Basso!” Eve searched the living room with a sweeping glance.
The mark continued to pulse, pushing a steady stream of adrenaline through her body. Her super senses were functioning in high gear. The doors and windows were closed, but she heard the crashing of waves against the shore and the screams of seagulls as if they were directly in front of her.
“Eve.”
Alec. She pivoted. Met his gaze. He stood on the threshold, barefoot but sporting hastily donned jeans.
“The mark,” she explained. “It’s freaking me out.”
He entered. “Mrs. Basso?” he called out, his voice strong and steady.
“Maybe she’s at the restaurant?”
The sheer lack of emotion on his face said more than words could.
Mrs. Basso’s floor plan was the mirror image of Eve’s, but the decor made the homes entirely dissimilar. While Eve’s pad had a modern, minimalist style, the Basso residence was traditional Italian elegance. Faux painted walls and heavy leather furniture invited guests to linger in warmth and comfort. Yet Eve was chilled by the silence, broken only by the ticking of the beautiful clock on the living room wall.
She stared at its oversized numbers and wrought-iron scrollwork, marveling at the steadiness of her breathing and the rhythmic beating of her heat. Mentally she was panicking, but physically she could be visiting for espresso and tiramisu for all the stress her body felt. There was a brutal primitiveness to the combination of physical calm, coursing adrenaline, and super sensitivity. It was entirely inelegant . . . and seductive.
“Eve.”
Eve froze at the sound of her name, spoken softer than a whisper but heard louder than a gunshot.
“Mrs. Basso?” She moved down the hall, first tentatively, then faster.
“Eve.”
“Mrs. Basso!”
Bursting into the master bedroom at a run, Eve gasped in relief to find Mrs. Basso standing by the bed. Dressed in white slacks and a pale pink shirt, she looked lovely and ready for the day. Turning with a smile, Mrs. Basso eyed her from head to toe. “Cute pajamas.”
Eve gave a breathy laugh, feeling silly for her overreaction. Her mark enhancements were obviously still whacky. “You scared me when you didn’t answer.”
“It’s been an . . . odd morning.”
Wincing, Eve recalled her abrupt entry. “About your door . . .”
“Is that what the ruckus was?” Mrs. Basso smiled. “You have so much energy.”
Eve frowned. “I wanted to see if you’d like to catch that movie you mentioned.”
“I would love to, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
Alec’s hand touched Eve’s back. She looked at him. His lips were thin and tight.
Mrs. Basso smiled at Alec. “Take good care of her, Cain.”
“I will.”
“I can take a rain check,” Eve offered. “I won’t go without you.”
“You might think about keeping him, Evie,” Mrs. Basso said, gesturing to Alec with a gentle jerk of her chin. “Especially if he masters that recipe I gave him.”
Mrs. Basso turned back to the bed, affording Eve a view of the nightstand. A clear glass bowl waited there. It was half filled with water and showcased a lovely white water lily.
Eve’s wide eyes shot back to her neighbor, who was leaning over the mattress. She was tucking in the frail figure lying peacefully amid the pillows—a figure easily seen through the gradually increasing translucence of Mrs. Basso.
Two of them. One ghostly, one . . . dead.
A sob escaped Eve, shattering the quiet. She covered her mouth.
The silver hair that fanned out on the pillow was wet, as was Mrs. Basso’s skin, yet she appeared to be sleeping.
She looked so peaceful, so serene.
So lifeless.
CHAPTER 15
Eve accepted the sweater Alec handed to her and shrugged into it. She was frozen to the bone, her blood icy with grief, fury, and fear. They stood just outside her front door, staying out of the way of the paramedics and police detectives who swarmed around the Basso apartment.
“Now, let’s run through this again,” the detective said in a tone of voice that told her he didn’t believe a word she said. Detective Jones, he’d said his name was. He was a nondescript man in a cheap suit dyed a shade of shit brown Eve was certain had been discontinued in the seventies. His partner was Detective Ingram. He had better taste in clothes, but was taller, fatter, and boasted a handlebar mustache.
For some reason, the two men offended Eve. They were so drab and worn, their voices monotonous and their eyes flat. Beaten down by the dregs of society and completely unaware of what they were really dealing with every day.
“What condition was the Basso door in when you found it?” Jones asked.
“It was locked,” she said, wondering why she had to go over this so many times. She’d already told the story to two other detectives.
“Who broke in?”
“I did.”
“Through two dead bolts?” Ingram was clearly disbelieving.
“Yes.”
“Can you demonstrate how,” Jones asked, “using your door?”
Eve exhaled harshly and turned around. She closed her door, then grabbed the knob with one hand and bumped the portal with her shoulder. “I used a little more force, of course.”
“Of course.” He wrote something in his notepad.
“You don’t have to believe me,” she said. “Just look at the security tapes.”
“We will.” His smile was tight. “Did you move the body?”
“I didn’t move anything.”
“The medical examiner says the body is wet,” Ingram informed, “but the bed isn’t. Someone moved the deceased to the bed. Then they tucked her in.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Did Mrs. Basso have any family nearby? Or close friends?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Any children?”
She shook her head.
“The act of moving her and arranging her so nicely suggests that the person felt close to her. Do you know anyone who might fit that bill?”
Eve’s lower lip quivered and tears welled. “No.”
Thoughts of what the last minutes of Mrs. Basso’s life must have been like made her sick. Eve swiped at the tears that coursed down her cheeks.
Alec altered his stance, moving from beside her to slightly in front of her. It was a protective pose and she was grateful for it. His hand reached back for her and she clasped it. “Ms. Hollis has been through enough today,” he said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave her alone for now.”
Both detectives narrowed their eyes, then nodded in near unison. Ingram reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card, which he held out to Eve. “If you think of anything that might help, please give us a call in addition to the other detectives you spoke with earlier.”
Eve frowned as she read the information imprinted on the card. “Anaheim Police Department? A bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”
Then something more disturbing caught her eye. “Homicide?”
Alec’s fingers tightened on hers. “You think this is a murder?”
“That’s all we need for now,” Jones said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Why do you think this is a murder, Detective?” Alec repeated, this time with an oddly resonant tone to his voice.
Persuasive. Eve watched the two detectives in silent fascination, wondering if the Jedi mind trick would work on them.
Ingram and Jones stood silently for a long moment, then Jones said, “Water lilies.”
Eve’s mark tingled and she released Alec’s hand to rub at it. He glanced at her, then asked, “What’s significant about water lilies?”
“It’s an unusual flower to keep inside the house,” the detective said.
“Explain.”
“The lily is a calling card.”
“How many have you found?” Alec prodded.
“A dozen in the last six months.”
Eve leaned heavily into the door. “All in Anaheim?”
“Until today.”
The Nix was a serial killer. In Anaheim. Where her parents lived.
“Detectives!” A young woman in a blue windbreaker jacket leaned out of the Basso apartment. “The M.E. is asking for you.”
“Excuse us,” Ingram said.
“God be with you,” Alec murmured.
Jones smiled grimly. “Thanks.”
Eve was inside her apartment in a flash, racing toward the console where she kept her purse and keys. She heard the door shut.
“What are you doing?” Alec asked.
“My parents live in Anaheim.”
“So?” He stood with arms akimbo before the door, blocking the exit. “You go there now, you might lead him right to your family.”
“It’s not hard to find them, Alec. We have the same last name. Shit, he could have followed my mom home when she left here.”
“Let the mark system do what it’s supposed to.”
“Which is what exactly? Fuck up everyone’s lives?”
Alec came to her and pulled her close. Unfamiliar with relying on a man for emotional support, she resisted at first; then she sank into his strength, too weary to resist. He was so warm and hard. There was no external softness to him, no hint of weakness. Solid as a rock. But he wasn’t truly. Nothing was solid when it was impermanent.
“Let’s go to Gadara Tower,” he suggested. “There we can access the resources needed to keep your family safe.”
“I need to be with them. They can’t fight him off.”
“He’s after you, angel. We can make them safer without you around. Grab what you need and let’s go. If I don’t ease your mind and you still want to be with them, I’ll go with you.”
Eve dug into her purse and withdrew her cell phone. She speed dialed her parent’s number. It rang four times and with every ring, she grew more agitated. Then, finally, it picked up.
“Hi, you’ve reached Darrel and Miyoko Hollis . . .”
The answering machine. A terrible fear gripped her.
Then the line connected. “Hello?”
“Dad?” Eve collapsed into Alec. “Are you all right?”
“I was in the garden with your mother. What’s up?” It took her a moment to reply. “Nothing. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“You don’t sound good. What’s the matter?” Her dad was using the low concerned tone that always made her want to spill her guts. She’d learned to hold her tongue over the years. He was a great listener but a poor doer. It was Miyoko who argued with teachers and principals on her children’s behalf. She was also the one who never let her kids live down mistakes, rehashing them whenever she deemed the time was right.
“My neighbor died this morning.” Eve was croaking like a frog, but she couldn’t help it—her throat was tight as a fist. Alec’s hands stroked up and down her back, which just made it worse.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” her dad said. “I know how much you liked her.”
“I did. Very much.”
“Hang on. Your mother wants the phone.” Her dad couldn’t hide his relief. Dealing with emotions wasn’t his forte.
Eve gave a shaky sigh.
“What happened?” Miyoko demanded in the clipped tone of a seasoned nurse. When a crisis hit, she always became no-nonsense and precise.
“Mrs. Basso died this morning.”
“Heart attack?”
“I don’t think so,” Eve said.
“What did the paramedics say?”
“They haven’t said anything to me.”
“Hmph. Go ask.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Eve grimaced. “Because I can’t, Mom. And does it really matter how she died? She’s gone, and I’m devastated.”
The doorbell rang. Alec pressed his lips to her forehead, then moved to answer the summons.
“I have to go,” Eve said. “I’ll call you back in a bit.”
“Okay. Call back soon.”
She snapped her phone shut and shoved it back into its dedicated pocket in her Coach bag. She wasn’t a designer junkie by any means, but she had to have purses that didn’t fall apart. Period.
“Sorry to trouble you again,” Detective Ingram said.
Alec kept him out in the hall.
Eve rubbed at the space between her brows. She didn’t have an actual headache, but she definitely felt stressed. Making sure her parents were safe was vital, and she wanted it done now.
“I’m sorry, but I am in a hurry, Detective,” she said impatiently.
“I just need to know if you touched anything next door.” He had one hand at his waist while the other stroked the end of his handlebar mustache. “The forensic team will do their job, of course, but it’s always nice to know what you’re going to find.”
“The phone in the living room,” she said. “To
call 911.”
He nodded, his gaze moving past her to sweep across her living room. “Nice place. My partner says you’re an interior designer.”
“Yes.” She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “If you will excuse me.”
Ingram stilled, his gaze narrowing on something beyond her shoulder. Eve turned to see what had caught his eye.
The bowl that had once held the water lily rested empty on the coffee table. Alec had moved it there after she’d ground up the flower in the disposer. Eve cringed inwardly.
“Can I help you with something?” Alec asked, stepping into the detective’s line of sight.
Ingram attempted to peer around Alec’s tall frame. “Where did you get that bowl on your table?”
“I bought it,” she replied tightly.
“Do you have the cups?”
“What?”
He looked at her. His eyes weren’t dull anymore—they were sharp as knives. “The cups that go with that punch bowl.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That is a three-gallon punch bowl from Crate and Barrel. It comes as a set with ten matching cups and a plastic ladle. If you bought the bowl, you must have the cups, too.”
“I didn’t get it at Crate and Barrel.”
“Where did you get it?”
“I don’t know. Salvation Army, maybe?” Eve shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Listen, I really have to get going.”
“Ah, that explains the missing cups.” Ingram tugged on his mustache. “Do you want to know why I know so much about punch bowls, Ms. Hollis?”
“Not really. I—”
“I’ve seen a few of those particular bowls lately,” he continued. “Too many of them. Saw one this morning, actually. Right next door. Did your bowl come with a flower in it?”
“No.” Her mark burned something fierce and her jaw clenched. Like a damned electric dog collar, the mark was acting like a behavior modifier. “Are we done now?”
Ingram’s attention turned to Alec. “What about you, Mr. Cain? Do you have to run out, too? I might have a few questions for you.”
