A couple reporters who had been listening, whooped and clapped their hands after her speech. Instead of preening at their cheers, she gave them the shut-up-and-get-back-to-work look all mothers have mastered. They suddenly became busy with the papers on their desk, and Lucas’ estimation of Mike’s choice of wife climbed several notches. Not that he could let that stop what he had to do, but it wouldn’t make it any easier for him either.
She lifted her head and strode past the other desks in wedge sandals and navy skirt, her cheeks flushed. Lucas tailed behind, trying to get a read on the other angel. Nothing yet. Where the hell—he grimaced at the flash of pain nailing his temples—was he? Didn’t he care that his family might be in danger?
He had to hurry and slide through the door she slammed open before it closed in his face. He was still getting the hang of his new ephemeral body and wasn’t sure of his capabilities. So far, the only time he seemed to have any real power was under stressful situations. Like when his best friend, Scott, was held at gunpoint by none other than their long-time agent and supposed friend, Ray Farrell.
Julie twisted her ankle hurrying down the steps. Before Lucas could react she’d straightened, glared at the sidewalk, and continued on her way. She reminded him of Scott’s new girlfriend, Tracy York, the medical examiner who had processed their accident. It had taken a while for Scott to get over the loss of his sister. Tracy helped, she was good for him.
During that time, they’d found by some twist of fate, Lucas was able to communicate with his old buddy. It wasn’t the same as hanging out together, but it was better than never talking to him again. He didn’t know how he was going to tell Scott his sister was missing. In Heaven. Wasn’t there a rule against kidnapping once you were dead?
Mike better hope nothing happened to Natalya, or all the angels in heaven weren’t going to be enough to save him. Nat was… special. She hadn’t asked for any of this. Lucas had been drawn to her from the moment they met as kids. She had this inner glow, it made him want to cherish and protect her from the hardscrabble life they all had growing up with parents who didn’t give a shit. And then, just when she was beginning to make something of her life, he ended it in one fatal instant; a light snuffed out forever.
That was on him and he had to live with it on his conscience for the rest of eternity. Just as he had to live with the fact Mike had also died that day and lost his family. If there was a price to pay for what he’d done, he’d pay it—just let Natalya be safe.
He followed Mrs. Crenshaw to her car. He needed to distance himself from any sympathy he had for the widow so he could do what needed done. He’d tried delving into her mind but his newfound powers didn’t seem work on her. There had to be a way to get Mike’s attention.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Before she could climb into the car he closed his eyes and concentrated. It was getting harder to do, but then, all of a sudden a weird tremor passed through his body like an electric current, and boom…
He stood before her in all his overweight, middle-aged taxi-man, glory. And she screamed.
Chapter Eight
A shadow of movement drew Julie out of her thoughts. She turned and her heart jumped painfully. A man followed no more than two feet behind her. Her overactive imagination painted a monster’s face with clawed talons raised to swipe at her head. She screamed, her hands flapping uncontrollably. Her breathing whistled through suddenly dry lips and her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth.
His eyes grew wide and he backed up a couple paces. He was saying something, but she couldn’t hear for the ringing in her ears. Or was that the shrieking? He’d morphed into a normal mortal who looked mortified at startling the bejesus out of her. She cut the cry off with a hand fisted against her mouth. Now that she was calming down, Julie was embarrassed. The man standing before her could be someone’s grandfather. Graying hair, basketball stomach covered by a wrinkled blue t-shirt. Stubby, and slightly bowlegged, he wore carpenter pants and scuffed dress shoes and was holding her scarf in his hand.
In other words—not a monster.
“… thought you would like this back,” he was saying, his eyes crinkled with concern. He glanced around, then chanced a step closer. “You okay, miss?”
No. Not really.
So much for thinking she had her emotions under control. After losing Mike and the baby she’d been in such a mess the doctors prescribed antidepressants to calm her down. There’d been moments when she’d looked at that bottle of pills and thought how easy it would be to swallow a handful and let the pain disappear. But then she’d hear either Dustin or Freddie playing in the hallway and she’d close the bottle, return it to the medicine cupboard, and avoid the mirror when she closed the door.
But that was over a year ago. Julie thought she’d overcome that dark hole inside herself. Apparently, it had just gone into hiding.
Suppressing a tired sigh, she held out her hand and forced a smile on the hapless good Samaritan. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. Bad nerves, I guess.” She fingered the watered silk scarf he handed to her—a Christmas gift from Mike. “Thank you. I would’ve hated to lose this.”
The man rubbed his grizzled jaw and shrugged uncomfortably. “’Tis no problem.” He hesitated a moment, then cleared his throat. “You need to be careful, miss. There’s bad people out there just waiting for the unsuspecting. Best pay attention to your surroundings.”
Julie sucked in a harsh breath. Was that a warning? She looked, but there was no one nearby if she needed help. How stupid. Those dead women hadn’t taught her anything?
His brows rose and he shuffled back another couple steps, hands raised in a sign of peace. “Hey, now. I don’t mean you no harm. That’s just a lesson I always told … a friend of mine. Not that she listened much, either. It cost her her life.”
The breeze kicked up and blew Julie’s long hair in front of her face, stinging her eyes and causing quick tears. At least that’s the reason she told herself. The pain in the man’s voice when he spoke of his friend tugged at her heartstrings. She knew that kind of agony and sympathized with his loss.
She impulsively reached out and squeezed the man’s hand in sympathy, surprised at the chill in his fingers. It wasn’t that cold out. Maybe he’d been ill recently? He did seem rather pale.
The detective could wait. She owed this man. A little company at a public restaurant wouldn’t hurt anything. And actually, it might do some good.
Julie pointed to the little sidewalk café she regularly frequented on the next block. “Listen, want to grab a cup of coffee?”
He glanced from the restaurant to her in surprise. “You don’t need to repay me, miss. I was jus’ doing my duty.”
Rather an odd turn of phrase. She shrugged and turned toward her car.
“Wait,” he called. “I’d… I’d be happy to have coffee with ya. If you still want to, that is.”
Surprised at the relief that coursed through her veins, Julie smiled and wrapped the scarf around her bunched up hair, making an impromptu ponytail, then held out her hand again. “I’m Julie Crenshaw, nice to meet you.”
An indecipherable look passed through his eyes like a bank of fast moving clouds. He disregarded the handshake, instead holding out his arm in a gentleman’s pose.
“Lucas. Just Lucas,” he replied.
What the hell was Carmichael doing with his wife?
Mike hovered above the buildings, watching the two of them make their way down the street, Lucas guiding her like some portly gentleman of the eighteen hundred’s. It had taken everything in him to stay back and just watch when Lucas floated out the door behind Jules and transformed into that human taxi driver form he’d been given since the accident. Mike knew Lucas was after him, but it was a new low to go after him through his wife.
The bastard.
His gaze returned to Julie. She was so damn beautiful it made his throat tighten. He missed her and the boys every moment of every day. The thought of facing ete
rnity without them was a raw ache. Her hair had more blond to it now. Maybe because of this west coast sunshine. He squinted at the sky, almost an indigo blue. This was their dream, to live on the coast. Raise their boys to have the same love of the ocean they had gained from their honeymoon… aw, the pain. He rubbed a hand over his heart, but no amount of massaging was going to ease this agony.
All because of a fool.
As though he could sense the animosity aimed like an arrow to his back, Lucas glanced up. Mike froze, then relaxed. There was no way he could know he was there with this invisibility cloak he’d placed around himself. A neat little trick he’d learned after arriving in Heaven. One that he forgot to pass on to his partner. He still couldn’t believe Father had paired them together. He had to have known it would be like adding gas to a flame.
The wind ruffled his wings, bringing him back to the present. Jules was wearing the scarf he’d gotten her for their third Christmas together, shortly after Dustin was born. He must be getting so big by now. He was what, almost nine?
Hatred for everything the man below, holding his wife by the arm, had taken from him created a sour taste in his mouth. One that seemed to grow every time he thought of the woman he held hostage. She was an innocent in this—like Jules.
But now that he’d begun this course of action, he didn’t see a way to change it. Lucas needed a lesson in humility.
And he needed revenge.
Chapter Nine
O’Rourke stood beside his partner and listened as the medical examiner gave the time of death—approximately forty-eight hours earlier. He was waiting on test results to narrow that window further. The toxicology report stated their vic had been injected with a dose of ketamine. Abrasions and bruising of the thighs and throat suggested she’d been raped and left for dead on a forestry trunk road. They were running the DNA against known sexual predators to see if they got a hit.
Oh yeah, and her left foot had been severed at the ankle.
“Any idea how long he held her?” Matthew asked, his face betraying none of the anger and frustration they both felt. This woman had a family. People who loved and cared for her. And now, because some sick monster had caught her in his sights, all they had were memories.
“According to the ligature marks on her wrists and… ankle,” he cleared his throat, “I’d say at least a week, maybe ten days.”
“How soon before you can verify if the remains found last week match our victim?” Connor stared into the young woman’s pale face and let the rage flow. Anger was good. It helped to block the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. Murder was always bad, but usually it stemmed from a crime of passion. Serial killers were different. They worked from a different plane. Cold. Methodical. Brutal.
It made his job that much tougher. Instead of being able to work through a viable list of suspects, starting with the deceased’s spouse, they had to start from the inside out—so to speak. The evidence could teach them a lot about the suspect, hopefully enough to lead them to an arrest.
“Anything else, doc?” he asked, intending to spend the rest of the afternoon going through missing person reports. Her family deserved closure.
“You’re going to want to see this.” Doctor Robinson pushed his spectacles up his nose and turned down the edge of the white sheet draping the woman’s frame on the table. “He branded her. Perimortem.”
Connor sucked in a harsh breath. The bruising and rawness of the flesh surrounding the injury made it difficult to concentrate on the pattern. She’d suffered. He planned to make sure the son-of-a-bitch who did this paid.
“It looks like a puzzle piece,” Matt muttered, squinting to get a better look.
The ME pulled a magnifier on a long metal arm closer to the victim’s right breast. “I’d have to run more tests, but I think we’ll find it was fashioned from a cattle brand.”
Connor’s gut burned. How could a human being treat another human this way? The short answer—a psychopath.
The burn was about an inch and a half long by an inch wide. It covered most of the underside of the woman’s breast. As though he wanted it hidden, the bastard. It was definitely shaped like a puzzle piece, with an elongated raised S in the center, the head of a serpent forming the top of the letter.
Connor looked at his partner. They were on the same wavelength. This was something they could use. He had to have had it specially manufactured, and even if he did it himself, this kind of workmanship showed training. There couldn’t be that many places that taught blacksmithing.
“Can you send us copies of this, doc?”
“Already done.” The ME stepped back and wrote a memo on a clipboard attached by cord to the side of the table. “Gotta write myself notes these days or I’d forget my name,” he joked.
Connor and Matthew nodded and left. Connor drew in a lungful of air, crisp and clean after a spring rain, grateful for this break they’d been afforded in the case.
“What do you think the S stands for?” Matt asked, squinting against the nebulous light from an overcast sky.
“When are you going to break down and buy some glasses?” Connor said, only half teasing.
Matt widened his green eyes and batted his lashes theatrically. “Why honey, I didn’t know it mattered so much to you.”
Connor shook his head, disgusted. “Seriously, buddy. I need you firing on all cylinders if we want to catch this guy. You get me?”
Matt straightened, the humor fading as though it had never been. “Like I said, Detective. What do you think the S stands for?”
Great. Now he’d pissed him off. If there was one thing that Connor freely admitted he sucked at, it was diplomacy. Better to let him cool down first, apologize later. Or never. Another thing he wasn’t good at doing.
He scrubbed his chin and wished for a razor. They’d been putting in long hours on this, he needed to cut his partner some slack.
“Not sure. Her name? Or snake since that’s what it portrayed? Maybe the name of a gang?” He shrugged. “There’s too many variables yet. I think our best bet is to track down that blacksmith forge and go from there. I’m going to head back to the office and get a list started. What about you?”
“I’m thinking a trip to the tattoo parlor might be a plan. Those markings remind me of something, I’m just not sure what yet. And those guys hear a lot of shit.” Matt turned toward his cruiser, a souped-up 5.7 litre Charger in steel gray. “You should stop and check in on the widow. Our guy catches wind of her, it might be a giant bulls-eye for him.”
Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Julie was a public figure. A reporter. If their perp found out she had a tie to the case, he might decide to use her as a giant screw you to the police force.
He was already heading to his own sedate sedan as Matthew roared away.
Chapter Ten
Julie sat back and sipped her double latte, amazed by the amount of food her companion had managed to stuff himself with—and he wasn’t done yet. A ginormous slice of strawberry rhubarb pie covered in thick creamy globs of French vanilla ice cream had just been served and from his expression you’d think the man had died and gone to Heaven.
Rather than watch him eat, she took in the cozy restaurant’s quaint décor. Popular with the locals, the café was half-filled with four and six seater booths offering both comfort and privacy. Situated near the waterfront and the iconic Empress Hotel, the atmosphere was warm and lively. Bright yellow paint clashed with cutouts of favorite menu items displayed on the walls. A counter running the length of the narrow room showed off a vast selection of fruits and vegetables used to create their delicious plates of food.
“You sure you don’t want dessert? This is the best pie I’ve had in a long time.” The man—Lucas—brought her attention back to his nearly emptied plate. His grizzled jaw carried the evidence of his enjoyment. Julie pointed at her chin and he swiped a napkin self-consciously over the stain. “What’s that saying? You can dress ’em up but you can’t take them out.”<
br />
She grinned, amazed by how comfortable she was in this stranger’s presence. He had a look about him that reminded her of her grandfather who’d died when she was ten. He’d been a kind and loving part of her childhood, often picking her up from her parents’ house for some getaway time, as he put it.
“Your parents need getaway time. Why don’t you and me see what we can get away with, Jules?” he’d say in his gravelly voice, eyes twinkling with mischief, and a big dimple would appear in his cheek as he grinned.
The only other person to ever call her Jules had been… Mike.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Lucas asked, his face creased with worry.
Julie shrugged off the past. “No. I’m glad you agreed to join me. It’s not as much fun to coffee alone.” She fingered the scarf around her neck and smiled. “Besides, I owed you a thanks for this.”
He waved his fork in the air. “Like I said, it was no problem. I’m just glad I noticed it before the wind carried it away.”
As if to emphasize his point, a gust of air blew the rain that had started a few minutes earlier against the plate glass window, startling her with a loud splat.
“There’s only one guarantee when it comes to the weather,” Lucas grinned. “It’s gonna change.”
Julie grimaced. He was right. Why hadn’t she remembered her umbrella?
Because she’d been annoyed at the usual macho bullshit that accompanied her position and let Henderson get to her, that’s why. So now she was going to go through the rest of the day with frizzy hair and damp clothes. And she still had to meet with the detective. Great.
On a scale of one to ten, this day had done a nosedive. A quick glance at the sunflower wall clock told her she’d better get a move on before Ron decided to ignore her and go after the story himself.
The Beast Within: Mended Souls #2 Page 4
