The Sin Eater (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 5)

by Jennifer Harlow

  Connor ignores his pleas as Jack reaches over to the nearby table covered with knives, pliers, and other torture instruments, instead picking up the sword. It’s huge, easily five feet long, with a gilded hilt. Strangely, Jack holds it out to me. “What?” I ask.

  “We assumed you would like the honors,” Connor says.

  “Y-you want me to…”

  “You caught him. You wanted justice. Here it is,” Connor says. He grabs the sword himself before thrusting it at me. “Take it.”

  Connor holds out the sword for several seconds, just staring at me. I reach up and take the sword. Jesus, it’s heavy. Thirty pounds maybe. It will do the job, no question. A quick smile crosses my face as I twist around and position the sword over Moon’s neck. His sobs become full wails. “Please, don’t! Please, please, please…” over and over again. I raise the sword, and the bastard gazes up at me, blood dripping from his eyes and cheeks. Pathetic. But suddenly it’s as if someone’s punched me in the gut. I’m nauseous, pained, and a little frightened. What the…?

  He deserves to die. He needs to pay for what he did to those women. The world needs to be protected from the likes of him. Then why can’t I bring the sword down? I know I’d take almost orgasmic satisfaction as the sword slices through his spine knowing I stopped him. I caught him. Me. So just do it, Bea. Kill the bastard.

  But something stops me. I stop me. I lower the sword and take a step back. “What are you doing?” Connor asks curtly.

  “I…can’t kill him.”

  “Why on earth not? I thought this is what you wanted.”

  “It is. But…I think that’s the issue. I want to kill him.”

  “Then do it! What is the problem? You have killed before,” Connor says.

  “But not because I wanted someone dead. It was always in self-defense, never in cold blood.”

  “And this is justice,” he states plainly.

  “No, it’s vengeance, Connor. If I do this, it’s not for Mariah, it’s not for the other girls. I’d be doing it because I want to hurt him, to kill him, because it would make me feel good, and taking a life should never do that. It’s what separates us from…him.”

  “You put this in motion, Beatrice,” Connor says, voice hard. “This was the inevitable outcome. You were correct about him. There is nothing wrong with taking satisfaction in that. In taking pleasure in winning.”

  I stare at my lover, who believes every word he’s said, and get a chill. I have to suppress a shiver. “Is that what it is to you? A game?” I spew out.

  “Of course not,” he says, but I don’t believe him. Another chill. He shakes his head. “Very well. Give me the bloody sword.” He snatches it from my hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, my enraged boyfriend raises the sword and brings it down on Moon’s neck. One slice is all that’s required. The head falls onto the tarp as blood spews from his neck until the rest of him flops to the ground too. They claim the brain’s still conscious seven seconds after beheading, and as Moon’s eyes stare up at me in terror, I believe it. Shuddering, I turn my back on the scene.

  “Are you alright, Beatrice?” Connor asks.

  I can’t look at him either. “I don’t…I think I need to sit down.”

  “Jack, please escort her back to my apartment then return to help Edgar with this mess.”

  “I don’t need any help,” I say, already heading to the door. I push and slide the slab open before taking off running through the garage to the stairwell. I don’t stop running until I’m in the downstairs bathroom with the door shut. Not even splashing cold water on my face cleanses me even one percent. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I flop onto the toilet lid and rest my head in my hands, taking deep breaths to try to calm myself.

  I barely get out three breaths when there’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Beatrice?” Oh, God. Leave me alone. Give me one damn…Connor comes in without an invitation. “Are you alright?” he asks with genuine concern. He kneels in front of me and cups my hands in his. I look up, met with sympathy and concern. I still want to snatch my hands away. “I thought this was what you desired. He deserved his fate, Beatrice. This world is a better place without the likes of Moon Lipmann. You should not feel an ounce of guilt for your part in what occurred tonight. And I am sorry if I caused you distress by asking you to execute him. That was not my intention. Quite the opposite in fact. I thought it would make you happy, and that is all I want to bring you. Happiness. Please forgive me for my behavior tonight and for misjudging you. I am simply not used to being around…the pure hearted. You did my territory a great service catching that fiend. I will find a way to repay you. I promise.”

  I stare into those violet pools of his, and just feel…tired. Weary. I don’t have the strength to push him away as he embraces me. “I think I’m going to get a hotel room tonight.”

  His cold body stiffens before he releases me. “What?”

  “Just for tonight,” I assure him. “We’ve been together every night for over a week. And we keep fighting. I think we’re wearing on each other’s nerves. I’m sure you’ve been neglecting your work, and I…I need to be alone.” I caress his cheek. “Just for tonight. I really think it’ll do us both good.”

  He opens his mouth, probably to protest, but I give him a quick kiss and rise. I sidestep him out of the bathroom into the living room. My suitcases are right where I left them this afternoon in the corner.

  “Or we could fly to London,” Connor says behind me. “We could leave tonight. I could even introduce you to Lord Byron. Then onto Paris. Both are beautiful this time of year.”

  That sounds damn tempting, but I still collect my suitcases. “I thought you said you were too busy for a long vacation.”

  “I make time for what is important,” he says, “and right now there is nothing more important to me than you.”

  Stay strong, Bea. For once don’t give in. Don’t. Stick to your damn guns and get the heck out of here. “It’s just for tonight, Connor. London and Paris will be there tomorrow night. Here.” I set down one of my suitcases. “I’m leaving this here so now I have to come back, okay? And I am coming back.” I think. I walk over to my pouting boyfriend and kiss his frowning lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow night. I promise. This isn’t me walking out. Leave the door unlocked. Will you?”

  “Of course,” he whispers.

  I smile up at him. “Thank you.” I give him another quick peck. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  I keep my smile plastered on until I’m safely in my car and let out a jagged breath. There was a part of me that wasn’t sure he’d let me go. Because we both knew the moment I walked out that door, hell the moment he took that sword from me, things would never be the same between us. Because this isn’t fun anymore. It isn’t easy. My fault probably. I just had to play detective, bring life and death into our little oasis. But I just couldn’t help myself. And I’m actually damn proud of myself that I couldn’t. Maybe Carl’s right. A true detective can never retire even when she has every reason to.

  Why are all my blessings curses?

  Chapter Eleven

  Umbrella

  I’ve always wanted stay at the Hotel Del Coronado. They filmed one of my favorite movies, Some Like it Hot, here. Marilyn, Tony, Jack all graced these halls. I come to the beach nearby all the time, but only set foot inside the hotel to use the bathroom or to buy something to drink. Well, I can cross staying the night off the old bucket list. The only problem is I can’t stand being here. Not the hotel’s fault—my room’s beautiful and room service is wonderful—my fault of course. I managed an hour of alone time before I literally began pacing the room. Every time I stop a flurry of images and thoughts flood in. Mariah’s blood covered purse. Connor’s sneer. The weight of that damn sword in my eager hands. Moon’s decapitated head staring up at me. More than twice I considered returning to Connor’s and screwing our brains out until I haven’t any energy left to think. Maybe then I could stay still. Why the hell don’t I? Something inside
stops me from getting in my car. I need to be alone. I need to sort my head out.

  I always get like this after we close a case. You go, go, go and then when there’s nowhere left to go, it’s hard to shift out of overdrive. Normally Oliver and I would drive around and talk about what we’d been through or hit the mall or go to Dave and Busters to get goofy. Twice we convinced almost the whole squad to come along for that last one, save for Chandler, Will, and Rushmore. Even George joined us for some skeeball and karaoke. Those were good nights. God, I miss them. I—

  My phone buzzes on the charger. Probably Connor. I’m shocked he hasn’t called sooner. I should at least tell him I reached the hotel safely. But the number’s isn’t Connor. It’s a Kansas area code. Shoot, I forgot to call Carl with an update. I pick up. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Agent Alexander,” Oliver says on the other end.

  My stomach clenches at the sound of his melodic voice. I need time to mentally prepare for moments like this. I close my eyes to focus on calming down. “Uh, hi.”

  “I just got off the phone with Carl. He wanted me to check on you. See if you required further assistance in your murder investigation.”

  Of course Carl had to call Oliver. Who isn’t talking about me behind my back? “Actually, no. The matter has been dealt with. I was going to call Carl tomorrow with that update.”

  “It has not been twenty-four hours since I saw you last, and you have solved a murder? That is impressive even for you, Trixie.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Actually, I solved six but who’s counting?”

  “Six?”

  “A vamp named Moon Lipmann was going full Bluebeard on his teenage lovers.”

  “My my. And how precisely did you get involved?”

  I sit in the lounge chair by the window and sigh before laying out the whole tale, starting at Christmas all the way to the beheading. It just pours out, every embarrassing and gruesome detail. The weight of the ordeal lifts as I get it all off my chest. Oliver doesn’t utter a word, even after I stop talking. Several tense, pregnant seconds pass before I ask, “Oliver? Did I lose you?”

  “No, I am here,” he says solemnly. “I am simply in…awe.”

  “What? Why? I screwed up, Oliver. I turned my back on that girl and never gave her a second thought. I was just cleaning up my own mess.”

  “Trixie, you are not the world’s designated sin-eater.”

  “A what?”

  “In some societies, when a loved one died, there would be a ritualistic meal where all the sins of the departed would be infused in the food. A family member would then eat the meal, taking on all the transgressions of the person so the deceased could rest in peace. You did all you could for that girl, more than most ever would. She chose to stay. She chose to ignore the lifeline you threw her. And even still you went above and beyond to bring her justice, to stop other innocents from meeting her fate. How can you feel anything but pride in yourself, is beyond me. So stop flagellating yourself, woman, and take the bloody victory lap you deserve.”

  God there he goes again. Saying the exact right thing at the exact right time. Forget the super-speed, strength, and near immortality, that is his true power. “A victory lap, huh?”

  “It is far better than what I know you are doing now, blaming yourself for all the mistakes others made. Do you recall the pusher case in Mississippi? On the flight home all I bloody heard was how you should have suspected the grandson sooner, even though none of us did either. Even though, in the end, it was you who proved it was him. Even when we landed you paced around the mansion, beating yourself up—”

  “Until you dragged me to the roller rink. We stayed until I could barely breathe, then you sat me down and told me if I didn’t stop torturing myself and finally listen to reason you’d steal all my Hitchcock DVDs and change all my internet passwords.”

  “And you listened and accepted my deserved praise. As you should now. Remember, I still know your Amazon, Netflix, and e-mail passwords, my dear. The threat remains,” he says overdramatically. For the first time in a while I actually laugh. “So, take your victory lap, Trixie. Or else.”

  My smile grows wider. “Okay.”

  There are several seconds of silence before he says, “Would you care for company on our jaunt?” My smile wanes a little. “That is if Connor trusts you enough to loosen his stranglehold on you for an hour or so.”

  “Actually I’m on my own tonight. We decided it was time for a night apart.”

  “We decided or you did?”

  I roll my eyes. “Really? And you were doing so well.”

  “Fine. I will not say word one about your paramour unless prompted. I give my word.” He pauses. “We always venture out together after a case. This may not have been an official F.R.E.A.K.S. investigation but keeping tradition alive is most important.”

  “I’m just the only one who’ll do karaoke with you.”

  “And I have been deprived of my guilty pleasure for three months now. Do not make me suffer a moment longer!”

  This draws another laugh. I never laugh more than I do when I’m around him. I’d forgotten that. “Okay, fine. You win. I’m at the Hotel Del Coronado, room 205. Come pick me up.”

  “I am on my way, Trixie. See you soon.” He hangs up.

  I throw on my black jeans and new silk flowery purple and yellow tunic before slapping on some make-up. Oh I wish there was time to do my hair. A side ponytail will have to do. Cute. Some clunky black jewelry and my black leather motorcycle jacket, and I’m ready. I relax on the bed with the television and wait. Yeah, alone time can be overrated. Guess I just needed away from Connor. Okay, I knew that was the case but how do you tell your boyfriend that? I just hope he doesn’t find out. Although we never said we were exclusive. Not that this is a date. It’s just…tradition. Yet the television can’t fight back the creeping guilt. How would I like it if he were shagging Avril on his desk right now? Okay, not comparable, Bea. There will be no sex tonight. You’re not cheating. You’re hanging out with a friend. Stop the damn guilt. Try to enjoy yourself. Oliver’s right, you’ve damn well earned it.

  About ten minutes after I sit down, there’s a knock on my door. My heart leaps into my throat. He’s here! I shut off the TV and do a quick mirror check. I’m no Heidi Klum but I clean up nicely. Once again, not that it matters. Oliver’s seen me with stitches, covered in blood and gore and once—shudder—in a bathing suit. And this is not a date. I nod to my reflection and walk to the door. Of course compared to my friend here in the looks department I’m a mucous covered troll. Tonight Oliver’s gone casual in black jeans, the buttoned up black and white checkered shirt I bought him, and a cerulean undershirt poking above the collar. Drool. “Hello, my dear,” he says, all smiles. “Are we ready?”

  “As we’ll ever be.” I step into the hotel hallway right beside him. Double drool. He always smells so damn good. Fresh cologne with a hint of lavender.

  “You have a destination in mind?” he asks.

  We start down the hallway side-by-side, our arms grazing one another. “I could go for some air hockey and karaoke.”

  “You read my mind, dearest.”

  When we reach his car, a convertible—the only kind of car you should rent in Southern California—he opens my door like a gentleman, even performing a bow. I chuckle at his ridiculous act and roll my eyes. That bit got old months ago but it gained new life when I pointed that fact out. He does love to annoy me. My friend climbs into the car, locates our destination in his GPS, and off we go for a harmless night of fun. It’s quite hard to get into a fist fight or grind against a guy at Dave & Buster’s even with a few drinks in you. Not that I plan to imbibe tonight. That last hangover is too damn fresh in my memory.

  “I’m not allowed to drink tonight,” I tell Oliver. “No matter how much I beg, you have to stop me.”

  “Hard drugs are fine, though?” he asks, mock serious.

  I scoff. “Of course. I’m not a saint, Oliver,” I say in the sa
me tone. We smile at one another, and I sit back to enjoy the breeze and eighties music he put on especially for me. “Bette Davis Eyes.” The day I get sick of this song is the day I was replaced by a pod person. I lip sync to it as Oliver grins. When the song ends, he even applauds. “Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week.” We ride a little longer just listening to the music. He keeps stealing glances at me. “What?”

  “Just that you look quite fetching tonight, if I am allowed to say so.”

  “The top’s Ralph Lauren. I got it in Vegas,” I say.

  “You went designer shopping without me? I am wounded. I have not been shopping in months.”

  “The student has surpassed the teacher,” I say with flourish. We smile again. “Why haven’t you been shopping? Nancy loved going with us.”

  “She…has not been herself,” he says, the sides of his mouth twitching.

  “Yeah, Carl told me about her running away and…you know. Logan. Did you talk to her about it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Did anyone talk to her? It’s kind of a huge deal, Oliver, losing your virginity.”

  “She is a smart girl. I am sure she knows about contraception,” he says.

  “It’s not just about that. There are emotions involved. A storm of emotion. Fears and guilt and happiness and a billion other thoughts and feelings come up your first time stirs up. And if not you, then who? Out of everyone left, you’re the one she’s closest to except George and he’s like her Dad.”

  “You sound disappointed in me,” he fires back.

  “Damn straight I am! She lost Will. Me. Irie. Apparently Rushmore too. She’s been acting out like a teenager in pain does, and you did nothing? You’re better than that,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

  “As always you give me far too much credit.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, don’t even. You know you are. We both know you’re a good, intelligent, empathetic person no matter how hard you pretend you’re not, so stop putting yourself down. You know it pisses me off.”