Lost Souls co-2

by Delilah Devlin

  Cait sucked in a deep breath. Alarm bells rang. If he’d been that forceful in the foyer, anyone might have heard. She could think of at least one entity who wouldn’t be happy about the fact life wasn’t returning to normal in the foreseeable future.

  No sooner had that thought slipped past than the floor beneath their feet began to vibrate. A hum sounded, louder than the one that had sounded right before she’d been electrocuted.

  Her glance went to Sam, still standing in the doorway. His gaze locked with hers, and after another violent shudder, he spread his hands to hold the door frame.

  Equipment bounced on mattresses and tables, then crashed to the floor, some plastic cases splintering.

  Cait stood, barely balancing herself as the shaking intensified.

  “Earthquake?” Leland shouted, bracing a hand on a wall.

  She shook her head. So much worse. She could feel it in her bones. “Can’t you smell it?”

  Sulfur. A thick noxious cloud of yellow fog began pouring through the vents, quickly obscuring the room.

  Hand over hand, she grabbed along the edge of the dresser, needing to get to the hallway. Needing to get closer to Sam because above the loud rattling she heard long, wailing cries. Echoes of the dead.

  The floor rolled beneath her feet, and she stumbled to her knees. She crawled forward through the noxious cloud, bumping into Leland, who sat on his ass beside the bed, a look of pure horror on his face.

  “Sam!” She kept crawling, found the doorway, and moved outside.

  The hall was clear of fog, quiet and empty. A flash of light burst farther down the hallway. A door slammed in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat and then thundered fast.

  Cait pushed up to her feet and ran for the hallway. “No, no, no, no,” she chanted as she pounded down the hall. The cop who’d been on duty was gone. There was no sign of Sam.

  She went straight to the taped-off door and tried the handle. It turned, but when she pushed, it wouldn’t budge. Standing back, she lifted her leg and punched her foot against the thin door. The lock gave, and the door slammed open, bouncing against the interior wall.

  The gaping hole in the wall looked just as it had the first time she’d seen it, but she held her breath and looked inside.

  Two more bodies lay inside. Their remains were twisted together, so grotesque her stomach lurched. Again, her heart seized in her chest and then pounded.

  “That’s not Sam,” she whispered and backed away, bumping into Leland, who gripped her shoulders and guided her back out. “It’s not him,” she repeated, her voice rising as her body shook.

  Leland wrapped his arms around her and dragged her from the hallway.

  Cait shook her head, her stomach lurching.

  Voices echoed inside her. An excited chorus of whispers and shouts, words unintelligible—but one deep rumble unmistakable.

  Sam’s.

  16

  Voices chased Cait. Wails from the dead came howling. Whispers from uniforms and forensics techs combing a crime scene everyone was sick to death of seeing.

  All bore stoic gray faces. Every one of them had known Sam. Everyone had liked and respected him. And because of their respect for him, they gave her peace, working quietly, their gazes never lingering long.

  Cait didn’t know if she could have held it together if they hadn’t given her space.

  As it was, Leland hovered over her from the moment he pulled her from the room, rubbing her back, offering her his condolences in a broken voice, and then shouting at everyone around them to “hurry the fuck up.”

  Covering her ears, Cait shivered like a leaf in a gale. All blood had drained from her head, leaving her faint. Her fingers felt ice-cold. When Leland offered to drive her home, she stared, wondering where that might be. But she’d nodded her acceptance, only because she didn’t have the strength to argue.

  She wished he’d just dropped her off at her door instead of following her inside and making her tea, looking as though he was prepared to stay when all she wanted was for him to leave.

  When at last she’d issued her request in a scratchy voice, he sank on a knee beside the kitchen chair where she sat, her hands wrapped around her hot mug. The voices were a staticky, torrential hum, filling her head. She had to look at his mouth to know he asked her if she’d be okay alone.

  “Just go, please,” she repeated, and at last, he did, sparing her one sad glance from the door before closing it softly behind him.

  She didn’t stay long in that chair. The moment she heard his sedan’s engine roar, she lurched to her feet and grabbed her keys, goaded onward by the voices, which only faded away once she pushed through the door at O’Malley’s.

  Cait sat dull-eyed and silent, waiting until nearly closing before her father joined her in the booth. Her hand was clenched around the Nick the Plumber pen forensics had pulled from inside the wall next to Sam’s body.

  “Why can’t I see him, Daddy?” she asked, her voice rasping and dry. She’d screamed so much after Leland pulled her out of room 323 that talking hurt.

  The TV crew had been moved to another floor. Then Leland had locked the third floor down tight. No one in. No one out. Even the elevator was locked to prevent anyone else using it.

  The manager wasn’t happy, but he’d stood stoically as Leland told him he was lucky the whole building wasn’t cleared.

  Avery Lewis had remained calm, his eyes glinting with quiet anger.

  Even Leland had lost all his bluster.

  Cait had been herded past Mr. Lewis and barely managed a single glance his way.

  The hotel manager’s lips had curved with the barest of smiles, confirming her suspicion.

  He’d won. She’d lost all will to fight him anymore. Without her special skills, the flurry of activity and negative press would fade from memory. He’d be busy with bookings from every nut job and psychic wannabe eager to walk the hallways in hopes of a legitimate “experience.”

  All he’d have to do was wait, and then he could resume his killing, carefully spacing the deaths as he had before to avoid too much attention to his killing field.

  “Caitydid,” her father said softly, pulling her back. His green eyes gleamed with compassion. The harsh contours of his rugged face softened.

  Cait swallowed the burning lump in her throat. “Why hasn’t he come? I tried summoning him. Used the same spell I made for Sylvia. But nothing happened. It’s dead quiet,” she said, then laughed, the sound more like a ragged sob.

  “You giving up on Sam?”

  She aimed a teary glance his way. “He’s dead. What else can I do?”

  “I’m not the person you should ask.”

  She blinked away tears, hearing what he said, but not understanding.

  “You’re strong, Cait. Everyone knows.”

  “Everyone?”

  “All of us,” he said, nodding. “If anyone can find a way to make this right, you can. You have to try, or you’ll never forgive yourself.”

  “Maybe summoning him is the wrong thing for Sam. Maybe he’s in a good place. Past the pain and fear.” She sniffed and fought against the burning in her throat. “You didn’t see him, Daddy. Every bone in his body crushed, twisted together like a pretzel with that other cop’s.”

  “This can’t be the end for you two, Caitydid. We don’t like unresolved issues, and you two have plenty.”

  Her lips twisted in a snarl. “Who’s ‘we’? You ghosts?”

  “We O’Connells,” he said with a one-sided smile. “And what the hell are you doing here in O’Malley’s?”

  “I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

  “Not Jason or Celeste?”

  Cait shook her head. “Jason would’ve, if Leland hadn’t been there. Hell, Leland would’ve stayed the night, but I couldn’t bear the looks he gave me. Like I was some poor, beaten little puppy. And Celeste, well, I’m not sure she even knows,” she said, although she wasn’t so sure that was true. Celeste’s sight was always tuned to tho
se she loved most. And Cait, despite the fact she hadn’t been great at keeping in touch, was family.

  “I don’t want to be hugged,” she whispered. “Not now.”

  Paddy O’Connell’s solemn gaze reflected her sorrow.

  “I’m too brittle,” she rasped. “If I start crying, I might not ever stop.”

  “You have a key,” he said, sliding from the seat. He bent near her.

  For a moment, she expected to feel his breath on her cheek.

  “Use it, darlin’.” And then he was gone. Wisped away.

  For a long moment, she thought about what he said, realizing he was right. She couldn’t let things stay the way they were. Couldn’t accept that she and Sam were done. Without resolution. Without him knowing he was everything to her.

  Cait slid off the seat, eager to leave.

  As she left, she didn’t acknowledge Pauly. Didn’t want him to say again how sorry he was for her loss.

  Sam wasn’t hers to lose. Not really. They hadn’t mended the rift that ended their marriage. They’d only just begun to realize that living apart was only half a life, even though being together hadn’t been easy or comfortable for either of them.

  Mention of a key, that other key, had made her heart spasm, remembering Sam’s quiet refusal to accept hers. But that wasn’t the one her father had been talking about. Cait felt in her pocket for Morin’s key. One that didn’t actually fit any particular lock but which granted her access to his domain.

  She wouldn’t be seeking solace from him. Couldn’t betray Sam like that, even if he was dead. But Morin might help her find some answers.

  Even defeated, so empty she felt like a hollow shell, she still had questions.

  Stepping outside, she hoped she hadn’t missed the last trolley run; otherwise, the walk to Beale was going to be a long one.

  When she let herself into Morin’s shop, she found him sitting on the steps leading up into the library. His face was haggard, his hair disheveled as though he’d been running his fingers through it. But what right did he have to look that way? He hadn’t lost anything except a rival for her heart. Not that she’d ever let him back inside. Suddenly angry, she regretted the decision to come.

  He stood slowly, his arms swaying beside him, seeming unsure whether he should embrace her but deciding at the last moment not to. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “You didn’t check my crystal ball?” she snarled.

  “It needs charging. I didn’t see much past you running after Sam in that monstrous hotel.”

  She was glad he didn’t make mention of the bodies she’d found. “So you know.”

  His gaze sliding away, he nodded.

  They stood in awkward silence until Cait swayed.

  “You need a bolstering tea,” he said softly.

  Blinking against the burning at the back of her eyes, she gave a sharp shake of her head. “I need Sam.”

  Morin reached out to touch her shoulder, a tentative caress. “I’ll make tea. We’ll talk.”

  Cait shook off his hand. “I don’t want to talk.”

  His expression bleak, he nodded. “Then we won’t, but you need to sit down. You’re exhausted.” He began to turn.

  “I don’t want tea. I want to sleep, Morin.”

  Without looking her way, he asked, “Need a potion?”

  “No, I want your bed. Someplace he hasn’t been. And I want to be alone.”

  Morin swallowed and then gave her a nod. “Of course. You know the way. I’ll be down here when you awaken.”

  Without another word, Cait trudged past him, making her way behind the books to the iron spiral staircase that led upward to his bedroom. She’d been there twice before. Once when she’d asked him to take her virginity. The last time, to draw down the moon while she stood in his arms, the details of which she’d shared with Sam, knowing he’d find her actions hard to forgive.

  And this was the place she’d been drawn to. Cait shook her head, not understanding herself but knowing she couldn’t sleep anywhere she’d have reminders of what she’d lost. Not her bed. Not Sam’s. Surrounded by his scent, she’d have cracked.

  All she wanted was to sleep and forget the images that bombarded her over and over—his strong arms braced in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at the last moment. The empty hall. The remnant spark. The twisted, blackened husks stuffed into the wall.

  Cait sat on the edge of Morin’s sumptuous mattress and toed off her boots. Fully clothed, she crawled into the center and lay down on her back, staring at the dark ceiling and the window of the skylight where a full moon shed beams to brighten his chamber.

  Only then did she let her mind wander. She remembered the first day she and Sam had met. He’d transferred in from vice. Although she’d seen him a time or two, crossing paths on investigations, she’d never paid him any attention until she’d raised her hand to shake his.

  “Cait O’Connell.” She dropped her hand instantly, made uncomfortable by the warmth of his strong hands.

  “Sam Pierce.” He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck and stared at the two desks shoved together, hers and Henry’s, but now theirs. “Leland gave me a brief summary of the cases you’re currently working on.”

  She raised her chin. “Along with a warning about me, right?”

  His smile had been slow. And she’d liked the instant heat that had gleamed in his blue eyes. His gaze had matched his name. Piercing. Knowing. He’d sensed trouble from the start but hadn’t been the least put off.

  Tears seeped from her eyes. She was aware, but too enmeshed in her memories to care. Their first kiss had happened by accident. They’d just closed another case, handing it off to a pleased DA. She’d invited him to join her at O’Malley’s to celebrate.

  He’d seemed amused at how well known she was among the patrons.

  Pauly had served her favorite scotch before even asking him for his order.

  “This was my dad’s favorite place,” she explained.

  He knew who her dad was. Every cop knew the names of their fallen heroes. The fact her father’s luster didn’t pass to her made him curious.

  Rather than let him find out from the gossips, she said, “I get the strange cases. The full-moon ones.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Low woman on the totem pole?”

  “Leland said you had a knack for strange.”

  She grimaced. “Leland doesn’t like me much.”

  A dark brow arched. A half-smile curved his firm mouth. “I think he likes you, but you’re giving him an ulcer. He liked your dad. Maybe since they worked together in the early days, he thinks he has a duty to set you on the right path.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “And there’s the problem. I couldn’t find the right path if it waited at my front door.” She shrugged. “I seem to attract weird.”

  Sam’s white teeth flashed. “Why do I feel insulted?”

  Her gaze darted to his. “You’re attracted?”

  His mouth firmed. “We’re partners. Can’t happen. We’d be reassigned.”

  His response set her girlie parts into mild arousal. He could have given a flat “no.”

  “Leland might not care—if we kept things on the down low,” she said, dropping her voice into what she hoped was a sultry whisper. “No one else wants to work with me. Why do you think he had to bring you in?”

  He finished his drink. “Can I drop you home?”

  Cait nodded, mildly insulted he hadn’t responded to her flirting, and disappointed he was letting some pesky rule get in the way of their exploring where their mutual attraction might lead.

  Outside, he held the passenger door open, a gesture that was odd given he’d never done that for his partner before. He’d never done a thing to concede to her femininity.

  Cait paused, the door separating their bodies. He held so still she worried they’d never be comfortable with each other again. The secret was out. Suppressed desire would only flare hotter. They’d grow more testy
with each other the longer they ignored what simmered between them.

  Rather than sliding into the car, she rose on tiptoe and leaned against the door to plant a kiss right on his mouth.

  Sam didn’t respond. His eyes glittered with quiet fury. An action that inexplicably turned her on even more. Opening her mouth against his, she licked the hard line where his lips met.

  Their eyes remained open. Her unspoken challenge was answered by the narrowing of his midnight eyes.

  Cait bit his bottom lip.

  A chuckle shook his chest. Then his hands rose to cradle her cheeks, a tender gesture that fueled the flame licking at her skin.

  Two minutes later, they were wrestling to remove her trousers and shoes in the backseat of his car. She rose over him, straddling his waist. Not until she slid down his cock did they both pause, shocked by the overwhelming arousal that had guided their every move.

  “We’ll get this out of our systems,” she said, gliding slowly up, then down.

  His hands clamped on her bottom, forcing her to move at a more urgent pace. He leaned up to rub his lips against the pulse throbbing at the side of her neck. “Tomorrow, this never happened,” he growled.

  “Agreed,” she said, then groaned because she knew the statement was a lie. Moisture seeped from inside her, easing her movements. She’d never felt like this. Driven, greedy, desperate to claim every thick inch.

  After Morin, men hadn’t interested her much, because she’d known they wouldn’t measure up to the memory of the one glorious night they’d shared. But Sam was different.

  “You’re so damn tight,” he muttered. “Christ, when’s the last—”

  “Shut up,” she said. She hadn’t made love with a man since Morin, and with him, only once. She didn’t want that memory intruding.

  Then she couldn’t hold that thought long because sturdy, hung-like-a-god Sam was moving her again, his grip so strong that even though she was on top, he was completely in charge.

  Lord, she loved it, wished the rest of their clothes were gone. Caution, the fear of being discovered coupling in a car, two cops fucking like teenagers, was the last thing she was worried about.