by Erin Hayes
“Got it.”
“If you’ll come this way…”
Jessica tried to construct a mental image of the penthouse, as the woman turned down a hallway. The air felt strange here, like there was less oxygen or something. It made her dizzy. She stopped and shook her head. Vance looked at her, head tilted. Jessica turned away, looking for something to focus on, anything. She noticed that the hall ran in both directions. Yellow tape ran across the entrance, blocking access.
“What’s down that way?”
The woman turned, her white suit crackling. “The public side of the penthouse, where he entertained and had guests. This way…” She pointed. “This is the private wing. Bedrooms, another study. Mr. Parnell’s office. And the private entrance. The elevator you took, is the entrance Parnell used for visitors, or business associates. It has a keypad at the street level, and the elevator needs a key.”
“Yes. I asked that the key be bagged.”
Vance nodded. “We’re working from the bedroom, where Parnell is, out through the rest of the apartment. For now, the public area is off limits. Henderson, and his partner, cleared the apartment, but he was careful, didn’t touch anything. This penthouse is quite large, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, several public spaces, including a living room, kitchen, two dining rooms, a library, a den, office. Plus, rooms for the books and art.”
Jessica frowned. “You mean two libraries?”
Vance smiled. “Not exactly. There is a library, shelves and everything that you’d expect. But apparently, Parnell had a penchant for collecting unusual books. The book room is…I guess you’d call it more of an art installation? The books are on display, like a gallery.”
“What’s so unusual about them?”
Vance bit her lip, the smile fading. “I guess it’s the subject matter that I find unusual. The occult, manuscripts, arcane topics.” She shrugged. “My bookcase is full of bodice ripper romances, so maybe my tastes are limited. But they seemed rather creepy to me.”
They’d started down the hall, Jessica sticking to the side that Vance indicated. “As far as we can tell, the carpet was vacuumed today, but no one walked on it, except Henderson.” Vance pointed. Jessica could see little wheel marks from the vacuum cleaner, and the direction of the carpet fibers.
“We’re trying to find the housekeeper. Parnell had apparently given the staff the night off.”
“What staff?”
“There’s a housekeeper, a cook and a part-time maintenance man.”
“Did you do electrostatic?”
“Yes. It was inconclusive. Some of the prints lifted looked like Henderson’s. We’ve got his shoes for comparison.”
They continued down the hall, Jessica glanced into open doors as they passed. All the lights were on, and she saw there were many bedrooms, each themed with a color and decorated just as lavishly as the rest of the apartment. Each room also had yellow tape across the doorway.
The voices ahead of them grew louder, and she recognized the voice of Dr. Greene.
“The victim is in the master bedroom.” Vance pointed to a large double door, standing open, at the end of the hall. Beyond them, Jessica saw movement, white-clad figures each carrying out individual tasks that, she hoped, would provide a lead in this case.
“He’s beside the bed.” Vance stepped aside, and Jessica entered the room.
The instant Jessica saw Parnell, her heart stopped for a split second, and then started up again in a sickening way. Her stomach turned, because as bad as it was to have a murdered body in front of her, what she saw made it worse.
Parnell was on his back, one hand flung casually across his chest. He wore what probably had once been white, satin pajamas and a dark paisley-patterned robe. The pajama top was soaked in blood and the fabric was shredded, but only from the waist up. Parnell’s legs were stretched out, almost relaxed, and completely free of blood, the silk pants were pristine.
“Déjà vu all over again?”
She looked up, and into the face of Dr. Greene. This time his face held no mirth. His eyes were bloodshot and pouched beneath with dark circles. It occurred to Jessica that he probably hadn’t gotten much sleep either—probably about as much as she’d gotten—in the past twenty-four hours.
“Dr. Greene.”
“I wish I wasn’t.” He leaned back, the joints in his back cracking. “I’d trade pretty much anything to be anyone else now. Except…” He pointed down at Parnell with one long, bony finger. “Except Mr. Parnell.”
“What do you have so far?” She dreaded asking the question, and she was sure Dr. Greene dreaded the answer he had to give.
“Multiple knife wounds, none above the neck. I won’t know more than that until we get him back to the morgue, of course.”
“Do you need me to help you turn him over?”
Dr. Greene looked behind Jessica, and she turned around to find Derek standing at her shoulder. He looked as grim as she felt.
“I think we’ll find the same as we found last night. Through-and-through, severed aorta.”
“You think it’s the same kind of weapon?”
Dr. Greene held up his hand. “Can’t say until I do the post.”
“Right. Yeah. I know. But are there enough similarities?”
The man looked at her and in his eyes, she read the answer before he spoke. “Enough. Yes. Through-and-through gash, probably into the floor. I suspect there will be a bruise from the hilt.” Dr. Greene stood, slowly, looking very much his age.
They were silent for a moment, as Dr. Greene stared up at them. Even Derek was still, for once not scribbling in his notebook. She finally broke the silence.
“Rush on this post. I need to know…”
“No. You don’t.”
She spun around. Michael Ross stood behind her, hands folded in front of him, looking as if he’d just stepped out of his office for a cup of coffee.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, you don’t need to know.” Ross’s expression was neutral, but she saw something hard flicker in his eyes. “As of now, you are no longer lead detective on this case. Or the Lansing case.”
Then she noticed Fisher was behind Ross. The man swaggered forward, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his cheap, brown suit. He fixed her with narrowed eyes and an arrogant grin.
“Dr. Greene, I’ll need the autopsy report from Lansing on my desk ASAP. And yeah, put a rush on Parnell’s post.”
Jessica stood in stunned silence. It didn’t make sense, couldn’t be…
“Why?”
Ross pulled himself up taller, looking down his nose at her, his eyes glittering and cold. “The reason is on the floor at your feet, Detective. It was your job to find Lansing’s killer. And you failed. Now, we have a second murder.” He took a step closer to her. A wave of his cologne washed over her, subtle, expensive. She resisted the urge to take a step back, holding her ground.
“You are not up to this task. You’re not seasoned enough, experienced enough.” His gazed flicked to Derek, and for a moment, a tiny glimmer of hope flashed through her. Second to Derek, yeah. I can handle that.
“You work under Fisher. Desk duty, phone calls.” He nodded at Derek. “Carter, you're second.”
“But…”
Ross turned back with a steely gaze. “Show up at your desk, regular time. Fisher will have a list of tasks for you to do.” Ross turned away, toward Dr. Greene and Fisher, who was now eagerly bending over Parnell’s body with the coroner. She had been dismissed.
Jessica tugged up the collar of her jacket, not so much against the cold, but against the stares from the group of reporters, held at bay across Michigan Avenue. Traffic was heavier now that the early morning commute had begun. It was already being snarled by rubberneckers. Euros was there, she could feel the prickle on her skin.
The sky overhead was dark gray, but between the high-rises across the street, she caught a glimpse of pearly light out over the lake. The sunrise would probably be beautiful, with viv
id colors filling the sky. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the sunrise from somewhere other than a crime scene. There was time, an hour or three before she had to be at her desk, with her grunt work list handed to her by Fisher. It would do her good to walk along the lake.
“Buy you a cup of coffee?”
She felt the familiar rush through her body, even before she fully registered who that voice belonged to. But as soon as her mind said his name, she reined all that useless emotion back in. Taking a breath, she turned.
“Euros. Why aren't you with the crew across the street?”
“I need your help.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Looking for an exclusive? Trying to play off...” Our relationship. But they didn't have a relationship, not anymore.
“No. It's not that. Listen...” He took her elbow, turning her down an alley. “I need your help in figuring out who's committing these murders. Lansing and Parnell.”
She pulled against him. “How did you know...”
Euros didn't let go of her elbow, but he turned to look at her. Those eyes were just as dark, just as seductive, as she remembered. But now they were shadowed and troubled. For a second, she took a good look at him. Frankly, he looked like hell. A far cry from the gorgeously chiseled man with the charming smile, and dark gray eyes that she knew. Euros looked absolutely stressed out.
“That Parnell's dead?” Something like a smile curled the corner of his mouth, but came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. She'd never known Euros not to have a sense of humor, even if it was a dry, and sometimes dark one. Her annoyance at him for dragging her off the street quickly faded, replaced by something close to concern.
“I need your help, Jessica. Desperately.”
She stopped pulling against him, but he didn't continue down the alley. Instead, he looked at her with eyes that told her that he was serious, and that this was important.
“What is it? Why me?”
“Because, Jessica…you're the only person I can trust in this world, and you know it. And because what I fear is happening affects more than just Chicago...” He hesitated, brow furrowing. “It affects life, as we know it.”
Too stunned to even reply, Jessica let him lead her further into the shadowy alley. Had she known exactly what he was about to tell her, she may have walked the other way.
Chapter Seven
“Jessica...I need you to listen. And to keep an open mind.”
Euros had thought about this, briefly, because there had only been a moment to think, as the millions of atoms that were his mind, body, and soul hurtled through space from his office to Parnell's building. With unerring instinct, he'd materialized in the alley on the other side of the building, one without any police presence. They were near the parking garage and the rear service entrance. He'd felt himself come together, reassembled as it were, and then waited. He knew Jessica was in the building, and it was only a matter of time before she came down to the sidewalk.
But she'd appeared almost instantly, walking quickly—and alone—toward her car. And so, he'd reached out and spoken. And touched her.
She'd said his name, and for a heart-stopping instant, everything else disappeared, his world reduced to his hand on her elbow and her voice saying his name. She'd said something else, but it didn't register. Then he'd made his plea.
To his surprise, she'd come with him. And as much as he wanted to say those words again, the mix of Latin and Gaelic, and take her anywhere else in the world, instead he'd done the normal—the mortal—thing, and walked her around the corner to a coffee shop whose doors were just opening for the blue-collar crowd on their way to work. He'd seated her at a secluded table, and brought back coffee—black, two sugars for her—something he didn't care for himself.
She watched him over the edge of her cup, blowing on the coffee, her blue eyes dark. He knew when they were this color, the darkening of the sky before a storm, she was either angry or wary. Most likely, since she was with him—and given their history—she was angry.
“What do you want, Euros? Why all the stealth and sneaking around in back alleys?”
“I said you are the only person I can trust. And I need you to do that, to trust me.”
She took a swallow of coffee, grimaced, and added another packet of sugar. Stirring slowly, she didn't look up at him. He had the insane desire to read her thoughts, and he could, in an instant. But he'd vowed never to do that to her. It was a violation, an intrusion so personal that he shunned the very idea.
Finally, she met his gaze. “You think you can ask me that? To trust you? After what you did?”
Her voice held everything he needed to know. She was angry, hurt, and struggling for control of her emotions. Her desire to hurt him, to wound him, was palpable. And he'd have to let her say whatever she needed to say, so that he could continue. So that he could get what he needed from her.
“I know...”
Her cup hit the table, sloshing coffee between them. Without even thinking, he held out his palm, and the coffee solidified into a glistening, but still, mass on the table. Jessica stopped in the process of reaching for a napkin. Their eyes met, and for a moment he saw fear in those depths.
“I can explain. Please...let me explain.”
“What the hell?” Her eyes blazed with a mix of fear and confusion. “What are you? How did you do that?”
He leaned toward her, resting his hands on the table, trying to appear as non-threatening as a man who'd just turned spilled, scalding-hot coffee into an immovable mass. “I am the man you once loved. I'm still the same. But I'm...also more. Much more.”
At the word loved, she recoiled, but no further than to sit back in the booth. Something was still there, something beneath the shell she'd built to protect herself. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but he pushed that down. He was here about dark magic, murders, and getting her help. This wasn’t about getting the woman back into his life. Or was it?
“Jessica, listen to me. This...” He nodded at the pool of coffee. “This is what I do. I am, for a better description, well versed in… magic.”
She went completely still, and he waited. Either she was going to bolt, and he'd have to chase her down, or she was ready to listen. When she burst into laughter, he sat back in surprise.
“What? You expect me to believe that? This...” She waved her hand over the spilled coffee. “This is just some, I don't know, warped table or something. The coffee is...” She reached out, and poked the coffee. Her finger slipped along the hard surface.
“Oh.” Frowning, she poked again. “What the hell?” Fear glazed her eyes again, and with all the self-control he could muster, he refrained from putting a spell on her that would make her sit still and listen to him. He wanted her free and willing in this...whatever it was, he was asking of her.
“It is magic. I can undo this.” He held up his hand again, and the coffee returned to its liquid state, running off the edge of the table onto the floor. Jessica's eyes went wide, and she watched, the napkin she'd grabbed, held limply in her hand.
“Holy shit.” Her eyes met his, and a pang of guilt, remorse—some unfamiliar human emotion speared his heart. “So, you do magic? Like Houdini? Or David Blaine?”
His laugh was abrupt and sharp, startling Jessica. “I'm not a fake. This isn't stage magic. This is real...magic that's as old as time.”
It occurred to him that this was not the way he'd wanted this conversation to go, but he was stuck in it now, and had to make the best of it. Taking a breath, he lowered his voice. “Listen. You know this about me. You sense things, I know you do. You just never had a name for it before. Now you do.”
She'd narrowed her eyes at him when he laughed, but now her eyes went wide. The color in them had lightened, yet another thing he'd remembered about her. She was confused, surprised maybe. But also, intrigued, and that’s what he needed from her. He needed her to be curious, to tap into the detective side of herself, the side that wanted answers to questions. He knew o
nce he got her mind working, she’d be hooked on the puzzle. And maybe even forget that she was angry at him. He tried to hold back a little internal prayer of hope.
“So, you're telling me you do real...” The word real was emphasized more than he'd have liked. “Real magic. Not fake, or stage stuff. But the real deal?”
“Yeah, that’s right…the real deal. I can show you.” He reached across the table, and took her hand. He'd wanted to do something dramatic for her so many times, but he'd have to be satisfied with this. “I will let you read my mind.”
She didn't take her hand away, but the pulled down brows and half-smile said that she thought he was full of shit. Before she could say anything, he looked into her eyes and opened his mind to her in offering. It should have been effortless, but it took more willpower than he'd thought it would. This was a woman he'd loved, who he'd shared his life with. But he'd always kept this part of himself hidden. Now, he was laying everything at her feet, and it was painful in a way he'd never imagined.
He felt her enter his mind, felt the shock of her seeing, and hearing, and feeling the things he'd kept private. It wasn't reciprocal; he wasn't going to read her mind, but her reaction was so strong, it was impossible to ignore.
He closed his eyes, and tightened his grip on her hand. The sensation in his mind was almost physical, and sweat broke out along his hairline. The back of his neck felt damp and clammy. It was like watching someone rifling through file drawers at random, until she came across his memories of her. For a moment, she was there, everything he felt about her, what he'd thought...the reasons for writing the article...all laid bare for her perusal.
Abruptly, he let go of her hand, severing the connection. It was too much, too personal. Even for the woman he'd loved—still loved—it was too much, too soon. He sat back, breathing hard, drained.
Jessica stared at him. The look in her eyes was unreadable. And it would stay that way. No force on this Earth, or the Other Side, would ever cause her the sensations he'd just undergone.
