Instincts ticking, I decided to keep an eye on them.
Sheets of paper were being passed through the audience. I took one, a program of sorts.
“Escape fans, may I have your attention,” a deep voice boomed over the crowd.
I turned to the stage and the man who’d been seating people. He might have been in his early forties, but his brown hair showed no silver and his trim waist no paunch. He wore gray designer trousers and a paler gray shirt open at the throat. According to the program in my hand, he was Conrad DeGroot, Sebastian’s producer/manager.
“Sebastian Cole is about to present his underwater escape homage to Harry Houdini,” he said. “Houdini was fastened with handcuffs and leg irons and placed in a pine box that was nailed shut and secured with iron bands and ropes. The box was then lowered into New York’s East River. Houdini escaped not only his shackles, but the box. Once he appeared in the water, the box was brought up…iron bands and ropes still in place.”
My pulse quickened as the trunk was mechanically raised above the stage platform.
Trunk…water…okay, deep water…
I looked out along the river, then back into the crowd. Casey Brogan—was he here somewhere? If so, I couldn’t spot him. How had he known where I was going? Why else would he have warned me? And why had he brought the memory of my father into the mix?
“Escape fans, may I present…Sebastian Cole!”
The crowd thundered its approval.
And despite myself, I found my attention arrowing away from my search and straight for that stage. Another movable platform rose, bringing to the audience’s attention a tall figure, whose narrow black pants and open ruffled black shirt displayed a body that would make any red-blooded female salivate.
Long, wavy dark hair in constant movement as if it were being blown by an invisible fan framed an angular face. His cheekbones were wide, his forehead broad, his chin square and kissed with a slight cleft. All good, but only serving as a setting for deep-set dark eyes that nearly jumped out of his tanned face.
On one side of him, Silke held up a set of handcuffs, while Oriel whirled leg irons over her head. Sebastian turned his back to the audience, at which time the women shackled him. The moment the cuffs and irons snapped shut, they began to throb with a sinuous glow, which then moved around his wrists and ankles as if the constraints were alive.
The thought spooked me. I’d never quite seen an act like this one before.
Oriel opened the trunk, releasing a burst of light and smoke, a mini-explosion that trailed off, leaving the area with an eerie coating like magic dust.
Both women helped Sebastian into the trunk. Once he was inside, Oriel closed the lid and locked it. Then she and Silke lifted chains that surrounded the trunk, and Oriel padlocked those together as well. She did everything with an extra flourish, as though she, rather than her employer, was the star of the show.
The trunk gleamed, a moving morass of red and gold that stood out against the night sky. Undoubtedly, Sebastian already had the handcuffs off. He would probably be rid of the leg irons before the trunk hit the water. All he had to do was somehow open the trunk and free the padlock from the inside…
Silke attached a chain hanging from the crane to the trunk, while Oriel climbed into the cab.
Voices rose in the audience as the crane lifted the still-glowing trunk and swung it over the river. Gradually, it was lowered, and just before it hit the water, the glow snapped off.
A giant neon clock onstage ticked away the seconds as the trunk remained submerged.
The murmuring around me grew excited.
So why was I filled with dread as I watched one minute pass…then another…and no Sebastian?
The audience began to chant his name.
Three minutes.
Shades of Casey Brogan… My stomach began to knot.
Four.
“Bring him up,” I yelled, knowing I wouldn’t be heard.
Surely Sebastian couldn’t hold his breath that long. This was it, then, the death the so-called banshee had seen. What to do? Even if I dived into the river, I wouldn’t be able to open the padlock and save him.
Finally, Sebastian’s team seemed concerned. They ran around onstage, shouting for Oriel to do something. A murmur spread along the anxious crowd, their voices combining into a headache-loud buzz.
Oriel operated the crane to slowly pull the trunk from the river and lever it back onto the platform.
Five minutes.
I waited with dread as she dramatically removed the padlock and chain and unlocked the trunk. Her scream made the hair on my arms stand on end.
Two security guys rushed forward and tilted the trunk so all could see…
Empty.
I took a long, slow breath.
Somehow, Sebastian had escaped the locked trunk. But where was he?
Lights shone on the river and the men in the boat below looked for him. Or for his body.
A shiver shot through me.
Instinct and something darker—an insistent pulsing at the back of my neck—turned me away from the mayhem to see a perfectly dry Sebastian making his way through the crowd to the stage. He stared at me, and unable to help myself, I was mesmerized.
Blood coursed through me at an accelerated pace. Its rush filled my ears. My vision telescoped and for a moment in time, I saw no one but Sebastian. Those nearly black eyes—ringed with a smudgy gray-violet—had the power to evoke emotions I couldn’t explain.
Fans finally recognized the escape artist’s presence. They oohed and aahed and cheered.
The applause became deafening.
Sebastian took the stage and raised his arms for a dramatic moment, after which he put one hand over his heart and took a deep bow. The audience whistled and cheered as he stepped to the edge of the platform and took a microphone from Oriel, who remained glued to his side as if to take half the credit for the illusion.
“Thank you,” Sebastian yelled over the applause. “And thanks to Harry Houdini for the inspiration.”
More applause. An appropriate pause. He was good at controlling the crowd. All around me, spectators were riveted to his every word, every gesture.
Except for the guys I’d identified as gang members earlier. They were going to be trouble, especially the one who looked older than the others. Undoubtedly the leader, he had eyes that were flat of expression and oddly pale against his caramel-colored skin.
Snake eyes.
An Hispanic kid whose bare arms were decorated in one continuous tattoo hung close to Snake Eyes. The other two—a skinny white kid with lanky hair and an Asian, who was obviously a body-builder—moved off together.
“The donation buckets are still open,” Sebastian announced. “Tonight’s proceeds are going to help pay legal counsel hired by Benita Rivera, whose brother Pablo was murdered and whose killer walked free.”
He indicated the young woman who sat to one side of the stage, a toddler in her lap. Her thick hair was pulled away from her face in a ponytail. Color tinged her broad cheekbones and her large dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Tension seared my muscles and quickened my breath. My case…he was talking about my case…and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was now looking directly at me.
Donations were brisk, buckets traveling through the crowd filling up quickly. My mind whirled with questions.
Why had Sebastian picked the Rivera case?
Silke, no doubt. Probably outraged for me when Ruben Hernandez had walked, she’d brought Sebastian’s attention to the case.
A sudden jostling and shouts snapped me out of my musing.
The gang members had gotten hold of the buckets of money.
Instinct propelled me after the closest duo. Snake Eyes wielded a knife, protecting Tattoo Boy, who was carrying one of the buckets. The crowd parted for them. And for me.
Where the hell were the security guards?
My hand slipped to the gun holstered at the back of my waist and pulled i
t free. My pulse tick, tick, ticked…faster and faster. The moment I put some distance between me and the crowd, I shouted, “Freeze or I’ll blow off your frickin’ heads!”
Of course the last thing any cop wanted to do was discharge a weapon. Too much damn paperwork.
Tattoo Boy stumbled and Snake Eyes turned and flipped the knife—blade in his hand—so that he could throw it at me. “Catch, bitch!”
No hesitation, I rolled to the ground as the knife whizzed too close for comfort over the spot where I’d been standing. It fell harmlessly to the ground with a clatter, and someone nearby shrieked. Heart pounding, I came up to one knee, holding my gun with both hands.
“Drop to the ground,” I ordered.
Suddenly, the guy carrying the bucket threw it down, but before he and his partner could attempt a getaway, two beefy security guards were on them. Thankfully, because cops didn’t shoot to wound and I wasn’t up to killing anyone. A quick look across the crowd assured me another pair of security guards had stopped the other gang tag team.
And I could take an easy breath, because a uniformed officer was heading this way. Since I really, really hated paperwork, I would be happy to let him make the collar.
Chapter Three
Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes off Shelley Caldwell as she aimed her weapon at the would-be thieves. He knew exactly who she was…the reason he’d hired her sister.
To get to her.
“Omigod, Shell,” Silke muttered, winding up as if she meant to help.
What did Silke think she could accomplish? Sebastian held back from stopping the little bastards himself. Then the security guards took over and Silke relaxed.
And Sebastian burned his gaze into Shelley Caldwell’s being.
Turn and face me…
Her back twitched but she didn’t turn.
You want to look at me…
She seemed to be fighting herself, and in the end, she stepped forward to speak to the uniformed officer who’d arrived on the scene.
Look back, just for a second…
She stopped and twitched but kept herself under control, her full attention on the thieves and their captors.
Not only was Detective Shelley Caldwell fearless, she was formidable. Not only had she risked life and limb to stop the thieves, but she’d been able to resist his suggestions.
Which made her more of a challenge than he’d expected.
And, hopefully, more of a pleasure.
Chapter Four
The weirdest feeling itched at me, like someone was trying to crawl into my skin.
The closest thing I could compare it to was Silke climbing into my head. Only this wasn’t Silke. I knew when she was knocking at my headwaves. I trembled from the effort it took to ignore her.
Silke and I have always had a special connection…one I hadn’t always appreciated. A twin thing, I guess, not that I’d ever met any other twins who had quite the same experience. Or any who would admit as much. Not only could Silke and I second guess each other, we could communicate without words.
Literally.
It had started when we were toddlers, before we could talk. Maybe earlier. Sometimes I wondered if we’d been able to communicate in the womb. We’d been able to send images and impressions and feelings to each other. And eventually unspoken words. It had been a fun kid thing for a while, but by the time we’d reached puberty, I’d had enough of other kids making fun of us, playing tricks on us and treating us like dirt that belonged under their little shoes. I hadn’t wanted to be different anymore, while Silke had reveled in it.
Nearly two decades later, nothing had changed.
Thankfully, the weird feeling eased and a couple more uniforms arrived on the scene to help the first officer cuff the bastards. I gave my statement and then they dragged off all four gang members to a waiting paddy wagon.
I headed for the stage. Fans oohed and aahed me nearly as openly as they had Sebastian. The back of my neck grew hot. Unlike my theatrical sister, I’d never craved that kind of attention.
“Shell, thank God you’re all right,” Silke said, throwing her arms around me. “What did you think you were doing?”
“My job?”
“Catching petty thieves?”
“Criminals are criminals.” After giving her a quick hug, I pulled back. “And there’s nothing petty about what was in those donation buckets.”
“Money that will help a young woman in her quest for justice.”
My pulse started ticking the moment I heard Sebastian’s voice. Turning to face him, I found my personal space a little too crowded for my comfort. A giant step back eased the knot in my middle.
“How is she going to get justice?” I asked.
“Nothing to raise your suspicions. Ms. Rivera wants to hire someone to find new evidence of Hernandez’s guilt, and if she can’t get him to a new criminal trial, she’ll go for a civil trial. Very expensive undertakings.”
“But you’re willing to bankroll her.”
“Not me. The good people of this city.”
“By the way,” Silke butted in, “you probably don’t need introductions, but Shell, this is Sebastian Cole. Sebastian, my sister, Detective Shelley Caldwell.”
When Sebastian took my hand and raised it to his lips, I wanted to pull it free, but a wave of indecision stopped me. I don’t know if it was the way he was staring or what, but I felt powerless to do anything but play along. What the hell? I couldn’t stop looking at him. Up close and personal, he seemed familiar somehow.
Sebastian’s lips brushed the inside of my wrist. “Delighted.”
My gaze felt glued to those lips. “Uh-huh.”
“And thank you for your quick thinking in stopping the thieves. Not that it was necessary that you put yourself in danger.”
“They would have gotten away.”
“Not necessarily.”
Though I wondered what he thought might have happened if I hadn’t intervened, I didn’t ask.
“I would like to get to know Silke’s sister better. Perhaps you can join me for a late supper?”
“Already ate,” I lied.
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “A drink?”
“Alcohol would knock the stuffing out of me tonight. I just got off a seventy-two-hour shift.”
“And you’re still standing?” Silke asked.
A rhetorical question. She knew detectives had no lives in the heat of a new homicide. We lived at the office and slept there when we could spare a few hours.
Sebastian gave me one of those intense looks and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Just tell me why you picked the Rivera case tonight.”
His secretive smile raised the flesh along my spine.
“Perhaps because I knew that case was important to you.”
Right. He wasn’t going to tell me. So it had to be Silke.
Someone calling, “Sebastian, over here,” broke the connection.
The escape artist glanced at the woman waving him over. “Tanya is signaling me.”
According to the program, Tanya Janicek was his public relations person, the one who got the word of his appearances out to the fans.
He met my gaze. “Until we meet again.”
If we do, I thought.
“Don’t worry, we will,” he said, as if he’d heard.
I must have gaped a little as he walked away, because the next thing I knew, Silke was snorting at me.
“What?”
“Just wondering what Jake would think if he knew you were attracted to another man.”
“What?” I asked again.
“Oh, please, Shell. I should recognize the signs by now.”
Though I wanted to argue, I kept silent. Silke had a valid point. Sebastian had stirred my senses, Jake wouldn’t like it…and I simply didn’t want to think about it.
“You look like hell,” Silke suddenly said. “When was the last time you were home?”
“Like three days ag
o. But I’m on my way there now.”
“You ate last when?”
“What is this? You becoming Mom?”
“I’m just concerned about you, Shell. You don’t always take good care of yourself.”
That was a flip, her worrying about me. Then again, Silke had changed some. Less self-involved than she used to be.
Hugging her, I said, “I really can take care of myself.”
“So you haven’t eaten since when? And don’t give me the bull you laid on Sebastian.”
“Earlier.”
“How much earlier?” Silke pressed.
“This morning.”
“Well, we’ll just take care of that right now. I’m done here for the night. Let’s eat.”
My gaze roamed the area and zeroed in on Sebastian. Much of the crowd had dispersed, but some fans lingered on, clambering for autographs. Sebastian didn’t seem to mind. I, on the other hand, wasn’t going to wait around like some groupie to get a last word with him.
“Okay, drag me off and feed me, then.” Turning down Sebastian was one thing, my sister quite another.
Silke led me to a bar on the next block and then ordered a couple of burgers as she swept me back to an empty booth. I sank onto the padded bench with a sigh.
“Food’ll make you feel better,” Silke murmured.
“A real bed would make me feel better.”
“You haven’t slept, either?”
“I got a couple hours kissing a cot last night at the Area office.”
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
“You really are sounding a lot like Mom,” I said.
“Am not. You’re the one who’s like her.”
I grinned at her. “Only in my official capacity as a cop. And I don’t have her ambition.”
Our mother—District Commander Rena Caldwell—was one of the highest-ranking female officers in the Chicago Police Department. She’d been single-minded getting where she was, to the detriment of the other factors in her life, especially her daughters—we’d had a string of sitters to take her place at home until we were in high school. The years of depending on each other had made Silke and me close, so good had come of it. Now, while I was an equally dedicated copper, I didn’t aspire to be in Mom’s position. Besides, I had no political leanings whatsoever. I liked working the streets. I liked tracking down and arresting killers and bringing them in for trial. I liked hands-on justice.
Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel) Page 2
