Costa glanced at me, and though I tried to keep the anger boiling in my stomach off my face, I wasn’t entirely certain I was successful.
“She hasn’t talked to her daughter in more than a week. I’d be surprised if she spoke with her any more often than the occasional birthday or holiday. We weren’t going to get any information out of her.” I tapped my foot and stared at his calm face. “How do you know that? We barely got anything out of the woman.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time.”
I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows at him.
“Been doing this a long time? Can you vague that up a bit more for me?”
A grin touched his lips, and the small expression transformed his face from merely handsome to dangerous.
“All right, if you’re going to demand all my secrets. She was hazy as to when she’d last talked to her daughter.
Not like she was hiding something, but like she wasn’t sure or didn’t want to admit how long it had been. She was practically bathed in guilt. Something has happened in that family to alienate their daughter.”
“Humph,” I said. “Let me guess—given enough time you could have figured out what that was without her saying.”
His grin broke into a full smile, and I found myself smiling in return. “I could probably make a few good guesses now.”
I made a whoop-de-do gesture with my hand and turned to smile at the hostess. I considered telling Costa that I’d gotten the same impressions he had from Mrs.
Larson, but decided against it. Being underestimated was something I was really good at, and it might be my only advantage with the OWEA agent. I’d check Wendy’s phone records, but I imagined it had been quite a long time since she’d talked to her parents.
“It’s probably because she’s in college,” I muttered.
“Excuse me?”
I frowned. I hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “Wendy’s mom. I’ll bet she doesn’t talk to Wendy much because her daughter’s in college.”
His brows drew together like he wanted to ask more, but the hostess interrupted us. “Detective,” she said, “we have a table ready for you and your friend.” She turned her smile to Costa and he nodded at her, his face once again covered by the serious mask that seemed to be his default expression to the world.
She seated us in a booth and the waitress who moved in to take our order was one I knew by sight, if not by name. Bright blue hair spiked on top of her head to form something that reminded me of blue fire. A professional smile was affixed to her face.
“Hi there, I’m Lisa. Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“Water,” Costa said.
“Lemon?”
“No, thank you.”
She turned her attention to me. “And for you?”
“Hot tea, please.” I gave her my practiced smile before looking back to Costa as she hurried away from the table.
“So what you were saying before, about the sirens. I know that they’re supposed to be a bit xenophobic, but do you really think the woman—even though she’s a siren—
would quit talking to her daughter over something like college?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “They aren’t just xenophobic. They believe strongly in not mixing in with normals or even nonsiren otherworlders. It’s self-preservation, and you can hardly blame them for it. They’re powers are unique and powerful. People tend to fear them. How much do you know about sirens?”
“I know that they have the power of suggestion.” That was one way to put it. “If you hear a siren sing, you do what they want. Period. For a time after you hear the song. The amount of time depends on how powerful she is—but it’s generally thought to be short. Only a few minutes if she doesn’t sing you under again.”
“So it’s similar to a succubus thrall,” he said, bitterness lacing his tone.
I grimaced. “No. Not really. What sirens do takes away all willpower for the time you’re influenced, without cost to them. But, once it’s over, it’s over. They can’t control a person or make them forget. That’s why the few sirens who have used their song on victims have almost always been caught and punished.”
“Unlike a succubus, who can ruin your whole life if you let her, without cost.” The bitterness in his tone turned to anger.
I stared at him. “Actually, the succubus takes a big risk using her powers, too, you know. The emotional connection built between a succubus and her mate is lasting, and it affects her just as much as it does him.” He shook his head, as if denying the truth in my words, and then leaned back in the booth and put his hands behind his head. “Surprised that doesn’t hurt after a while.”
“Pardon?”
“Keeping that fake smile on your face all the time.” No amused expression touched his face, and he looked genuinely quizzical.
“It’s not fake.”
“Really? Your kid sister is kidnapped and you have it in you to smile at strangers?”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment.
When I opened them, he was frowning. “I’m able to do what I have to do, act how I have to act, in order to stay on this investigation, no matter how much I want to drop my smiling cop face.” I waved, gesturing around the restaurant.
“Do I feel like breaking down in this restaurant, crying for my sister?”
“Do you?”
I opened my mouth to give him an even bigger piece of my mind, but Lisa approached with our drinks, so I nodded gratefully at her instead.
She pulled out her notepad. “Ready to order?”
“Give us a minute, would you?” Costa asked.
“Sure thing.” She gave him a big smile and sauntered off. The man was far too attractive for his own good. Too bad he was so unfriendly.
“So, do you? Feel like breaking down?” Costa asked.
I took a sip of my tea and studied the strangely cold man across from me. He was handsome and sexy in a way that made my succubus side shriek to get his attention, but there was something off about him. “Do you have any family, Agent Costa?”
“Yes.” His voice held no emotion.
“Then you should understand how I feel right now.
You should understand the lengths I will go to, the compartmentalizing I will do, in order to save my sister.
Besides.” I gave him a big smile. “Acting is something I’m very good at.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Costa leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, and I couldn’t look away from his dark eyes. He opened his mouth, and a small flash of emotion crossed his face—so quickly I couldn’t identify it—then he snapped his lips shut. He shook his head and leaned back in the booth.
“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, usu
ally 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.”
Chapter Four
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.”
Succubus Lost (Files from the Otherworlder Enforcement Agency, #2) Page 3
