The two had been raised by the same foster parents. Which meant she knew that nothing was going to make Serra leave until she’d dug out whatever information she wanted.
“Does that mean you won’t be spending more quality time with your cop?”
Ah. She’d heard that she’d spent the night with Duncan.
Predictable.
Gossip traveled with hyperspeed through Valhalla.
“He’s not mine,” she denied, trying to ignore the tiny pang at the truth of her words.
What would she do with him if he was hers?
Serra moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows as she studied Callie with a knowing gaze. “But you’re not denying the quality time you spent with him?”
Callie tugged off the robe, heat jolting through her body at the memory of Duncan’s demanding touch.
Her previous experiences had been with callow youths.
The cop had been all man.
“It was top-notch quality.”
“You go, girl.”
In the process of pulling on a clean pair of panties and matching bra, Callie regarded her visitor in confusion.
“I thought you didn’t trust him.”
Serra’s lips curled. “I don’t trust any man. They’re all bastards.”
Callie carefully considered her response. Despite their unbreakable bond, they had learned never to discuss Serra’s fierce attraction toward Fane. It wasn’t that Serra was jealous. But she was frustrated by the Sentinel’s refusal to think of anything beyond his duty to Callie.
“Not all,” Callie protested, pulling on a pair of faded jeans. “What about Arel?”
Arel was a hunter Sentinel who was sinfully beautiful with honey brown hair and eyes of pure gold. Serra had dated him the previous year.
“Charming. Beautiful. And a thorough bastard.” Serra paused, studying Callie with a searching gaze. “Still, I haven’t seen that pretty flush on your cheeks for a long time. And if he hurts you I can always kick his ass.”
Callie chose a stretchy top in a bright yellow, pulling it over her head and tucking it into her jeans.
“I can do my own ass-kicking, thank you very much.”
“You could, but you’re far too softhearted,” Serra pointed out. The lovely psychic was three years older than Callie and had appointed herself Callie’s ass-kicker from the day she’d been brought as a baby to Valhalla. “How long is the cop going to be hanging around?”
Callie moved to the attached bathroom to run a comb through the short strands of her hair, pretending she didn’t notice the lingering glow that blushed her cheeks and shimmered in her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
She returned to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of running shoes before turning to meet her friend’s curious gaze.
“He scares me,” she admitted with blunt honesty.
Without warning Serra was on her feet, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to chop off his dick.”
Oh hell. Callie dashed to block the dangerous psychic from leaving the room. “No, Serra.”
“What?”
“What I meant was that he makes me feel things that scare me.”
Serra blinked, startled. Callie was the sensible one. The one who never took risks. Who never tumbled in and out of lust with every cute guy who crossed her path. Who preferred an evening spent with a good book to hitting the nightclubs.
“Are you falling in love with him?”
Callie bit her lower lip. “That’s what concerns me.”
Seeming to wrap her brain around Callie’s startling confession, Serra gave a slow shake of her head. “Why are you concerned?” she asked. “I was only with him for a few minutes, but I can promise that he’s obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed?”
“You’re constantly on his mind.” Serra’s lips twisted in a self-derisive smile. “Something most women would envy.”
Callie reached to lightly touch her friend’s arm, offering an unspoken comfort.
“Whether I’m on his mind or not, we live in two different worlds.” She wrinkled her nose. “And that’s not a cliché. We literally live in two different worlds.”
Serra arched a brow. “Are you so sure?”
“What do ...” Callie made a sound of disapproval. Clearly her friend had used her powers to peek into Duncan’s thoughts. It was the only way she could know that the cop wasn’t entirely normal. “Serra, you know you’re not supposed to be rummaging through the minds of our guests.”
Serra shrugged. “I wanted to make sure he was no threat to you.”
Callie gave her companion’s arm a squeeze. “I love you, too.”
Serra shifted her feet, as always embarrassed by Callie’s open display of affection. She was far more comfortable in her role as bad-ass.
“So he confessed his secret powers to you?”
“After a little prompting.”
“Then you realize you’re not from separate worlds. He’s one of us.”
Callie shook her head. Duncan had been painfully clear.
“Not so long as he chooses to keep his gift secret,” she said. “For now he prefers his life with the norms.”
Serra snorted. “Why?”
“He loves his job as a cop, which he’d never be allowed to keep if it was discovered he is a soul-gazer. Plus, he’s very close to his family.” She heaved a faint sigh. “Both potent reasons to keep the status quo.”
Serra slowly smiled. “Then I suppose you’ll have to give him a more potent reason to switch teams.”
Could she?
More importantly, did she want to?
She hastily shoved aside the question. She wasn’t ready to open that particular can of worms.
Not until she had the time to deal with the consequences.
“Something to consider,” she murmured vaguely. “First, however, I have to survive whatever latest disaster is waiting for me.”
Duncan wasn’t overly fussy.
He had only a handful of items on his “never want to do” list:
Wrestle a gator.
Eat a turnip.
See his wife banging the delivery man.
And share a private tête-à-tête with Fane the pain-in-his-ass Sentinel.
A damned shame that he’d been forced to endure every single item on his list.
Pacing the hall, he did his best to ignore the tattooed bastard who leaned against the wall, standing so still he could have passed as a statue. Well, if a statue had obsidian eyes that held the promise of death and could pump enough heat into the air to make any man sweat.
“You seem nervous, cop,” the Sentinel drawled, folding his arms across his bare, tattooed chest, which was broad enough to put an ox to shame.
Steroids? It’d be nice to think so.
“I doubt we were called here because of good news,” Duncan growled. “Unless you know something I don’t.”
Fane snorted. “What I know that you don’t could fill libraries.”
Duncan ignored the taunt, studying the man’s face. It looked like it had been carved from stone, giving it an ageless quality.
“Just how old are you?” Duncan felt the temperature in the hall amp up another degree.
“That’s not a question you ask a high-blood.”
Yeah, like I give a shit. “There are rumors that the Sentinels are immortal.”
“There are a lot of rumors about Sentinels.”
“At least one of them is true.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You’re all pricks.”
The door to the office opened, revealing the impressive form of the Mave dressed in a white cashmere sweater that was scooped low enough to reveal the shimmering emerald of her witch mark and a black pencil skirt with black pumps. Her hair was pulled into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck to enhance the pale perfection of her face and the slender length of her neck.
&
nbsp; “You two done playing?” she murmured with a lift of her brow.
Fane shoved away from the wall, his gaze never leaving Duncan. “For now.”
She stepped back. “You may come in.”
Duncan frowned. “Callie—”
“I’m here,” Callie announced, rounding the corner on cue.
Well, maybe not on cue. The Mave no doubt had seen her approach on a security monitor. Or perhaps she had witchy powers that warned who was in the vicinity.
Either way, Duncan was far more concerned about the pale strain he could easily detect on Callie’s pretty face.
What the hell had happened? When she’d left his rooms she’d been flushed and sated and delightfully flustered.
Now she could barely meet his gaze.
He reached out, intending to halt her and demand an explanation of what had caused her sudden discomfort with him only to let his hand drop as the Mave sent him a curious glance and Fane gave a low growl, deep in his throat.
Shit.
Any private chat was going to have to wait.
In silence they shuffled into the elegant office, Fane taking his familiar position in the corner so he could keep an eye on the door and window, his large body leaning against the wall even as his muscles remained coiled to attack.
Did the man ever relax?
The Mave settled behind her desk, waving a hand to the two chairs opposite her. “Have a seat.”
A command despite the polite tone. Duncan waited for Callie to perch on the nearest chair before taking his own seat, bracing himself for the latest disaster.
“Has something happened?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
The Mave wasn’t the type to invite people into her office for chitchat.
“I received a message from your chief this morning,” the powerful witch said in tones that revealed nothing.
Duncan frowned. Why hadn’t Molinari contacted him directly?
“What did she say?”
“I think you should view it for yourself.” The Mave reached to pick up a remote lying on her desk and pressed a button.
Immediately the light dimmed and flickering images appeared on the far wall.
At first there was nothing to see but the dim shadows that filled an empty house.
No, not a house.
A mansion.
One of those cold, sprawling places that looked beautiful in photographs, but had to be as uncomfortable as hell to try and live in.
So what was the deal? A big house with a lot of fancy artwork wasn’t that uncommon, even in Kansas City.
About to demand an explanation, he was halted when the security system shifted to a camera displaying the front yard, obviously set on motion detectors.
Duncan sucked in a sharp breath as he watched a woman with long chestnut hair and a slender build boldly striding onto the porch.
She was no longer naked and she was standing upright instead of being sprawled on her kitchen floor, but there was no mistaking that it was Leah Meadows.
“Is that . . .” He shuddered, the name sticking in his throat. He’d heard a hundred victims tell him that their blood ran cold. Until this minute he’d never actually experienced it for himself. “Holy shit.”
“Leah,” Callie breathed for him, her hands clutching the arms of her chair.
He resisted the urge to reach out and lay his hand over her clenched fingers. “Where is she?” he instead demanded.
“Mission Hills.”
That explained the McMansion. The upscale neighborhood was south of the city and populated with the swankiest of the swanky.
Callie leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied Leah placing her hand on a small screen.
“What’s she doing?”
“Disarming the security system,” Duncan absently responded, almost missing the significance as she turned to push open the door and stepped inside the house. Through a fog of horror he watched as the young, beautiful girl walked around as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Christ. Was it possible she was an empty shell being used as a puppet by some psycho necromancer? “That’s it.”
The Mave sent him a small frown. “What?”
“That’s the reason the ...” He struggled for the right word. The bastard wasn’t a diviner like Callie. He was the bogeyman the norms feared. “Necromancer chose Leah.”
“Of course,” Callie gasped as she easily followed his logic. “She could pass through security.”
The Mave nodded, her expression unreadable as they all turned back to the images flickering on the wall. The camera angle shifted to follow Leah as she moved through the house, her movements chillingly fluid considering she was a corpse. She was walking across a long living room when another form, this one a male, entered the room.
“Busted.” Duncan unconsciously leaned forward, taking a swift inventory of the newest player. An aging white male who moved toward Leah like a peacock. Puffed out chest, strutting walk. All he was missing was tail feathers to spread. Pompous dick. “This should be interesting.”
They watched in silence as there was an exchange. There was no sound, but they didn’t need to hear the conversation to know that the man wasn’t happy. At least not at first. There was a short tête-à-tête, then clearly reassured, the man was shoving his hand under Leah’s stretchy little top.
“A little too interesting,” Callie said with a grimace.
“Keep watching,” the Mave coolly commanded.
The zombie-Leah flirted with a disturbing ease before she turned to dash into what looked like an office. There was more flirting. But, even as Duncan felt a burning fury at the thought the mysterious necromancer was going to allow the ultimate defamation of Leah’s body, the young female was moving to stand directly in front of her lover, her necklace beginning to glow.
“What is that?” he muttered.
The words had barely left his mouth when the man jerked backward in shock, his skin ripping open like it was being torn from the inside.
“An amulet with a powerful spell,” the Mave answered.
“This is . . .” Duncan shoved his hand through his hair, his stomach threatening revolt as the man turned gray and began to flake away like a smoked cigar. “Fucking crazy,” he breathed. “Men don’t turn into ash. And dead women aren’t supposed to be walking around town.”
“No, they’re not,” the Mave said, her voice crystal hard with an anger she kept hidden behind her mask of smooth composure. “Which is why we’re going to put a halt to whoever is responsible.”
Yes. Yes he was.
Being a stubborn ass who refused to admit he was in over his head was actually a bonus in his job.
“Who’s the decomposed corpse?”
“A Mr. Calso.”
Duncan frowned. The name was vaguely familiar.
“A high-blood?”
“What’s left of him is being brought to our medical facility,” the Mave said. “We’ll soon know.”
Duncan glanced toward the witch in surprise. “The chief signed off on you taking the remains?”
The Mave shrugged. “Mr. Calso is a prominent figure in the norms’ financial world. She didn’t want to risk the PR disaster of having what’s left of his body disappearing from her morgue.”
Duncan snorted. “Yeah, not to mention the hysteria if a man who is supposed to be dead is seen at the country club.”
“I don’t think he’ll be walking anywhere, but yes, that was a concern,” the woman smoothly agreed.
“What is she stealing?”
Callie’s abrupt question had Duncan returning his attention to watch as Leah turned a stone vessel upside down and allowed a small metal object to fall into her open palm. Copper? Bronze? Impossible to say at a distance.
“A good question,” he muttered. “It looks like a coin.”
“It was locked in a hidden safe so it must be rare,” Callie pointed out.
“Maybe,” Duncan agreed. “But so is the Picasso hiding the safe and t
he Matisse statue on the mantel.” He pointed toward the small bronzed statue of a woman, belatedly realizing that three sets of eyes were regarding him with varying degrees of astonishment. “What? I’m not a complete barbarian. I like art.”
“What’s your point, Sergeant O’Conner?” the Mave prodded.
“The robbery wasn’t about money. Could the coin have powers?”
“Any item can be a focus for magic,” the Mave answered. “But if you desired true power it surely makes more sense to steal a witch.”
Duncan blinked. “Can a witch be stolen?”
“Can the dead walk?” the Mave smoothly countered.
“Touché.” Duncan’s lips twitched. The Mave had a subtle sense of humor. Unexpected and no doubt lethal to the poor fool who ever thought he could claim this woman. “And speaking of the dead, did anyone notice Leah after she left the house?”
“That’s your territory,” she informed him without hesitation.
“I suppose it is.” He pulled out his phone to start making notes. What made him a good cop were his instincts and his hidden talent. What made him a great cop was his acceptance that ninety percent of his job was dull, old-fashioned legwork. “We’ll need to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone noticed how she arrived or left. We also need to find out more about Calso and his mysterious coin.”
“Your chief said to tell you she would meet you at Mr. Calso’s house,” the Mave said, pressing a button to allow the early morning sunlight to return to the room.
Duncan turned to glance toward Callie. “Are you going to join me?”
“Not yet.” She furrowed her brow, clearly debating how she could best use her talents to help. “I think I should try to discover the identity of the necromancer.”
His lips parted in denial only to snap shut as he met the glittering sapphire gaze.
She was clearly waiting for him to make a jackass out of himself and try to forbid her to put herself at risk. Maybe she even wanted him to annoy her so she’d have a legitimate reason to keep him at a distance.
Thankfully, he hadn’t been plagued by a gaggle of older sisters for nothing.
Swallowing his impulsive words, he managed a tight smile. “Where will you start your search?”
Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Page 14
