The Paranormal Research and Rescue Institute Books 1-3: Books 1-3 in the Paranormal Research and Rescue Institute Series

by Lora Edwards

  Would it be a little black dress night? Or was it better to go more festive and do red or purple? She chose her classic LBD and a special pair of black heels—her favorite pair—that had an iridescent metal dragon on the back, its tail making up the spike heel. Teagan slipped out of her comfy clothes and into the dress.

  After a stop in the bathroom to freshen her makeup and let down her wavy cinnamon-colored hair that hung just below her shoulders, she slipped her feet into her dragon heels just as the bell rang, announcing the driver.

  Teagan greeted Ovidia’s driver with a smile, and they talked about how his youngest was doing in school during the walk down and the drive to Ovidia’s house.

  Ovidia came out the front door and slipped into the car. Teagan smiled at her friend. It wouldn’t matter what she was wearing as men always had eyes for her friend. Ovidia had poured her enviable figure into a curve-hugging, stoplight red, dress with flirty slits up both sides. Diamond and ruby chandelier earrings peaked out beneath long blonde curls that floated down to flirt with her waist. Her blood-red lips curled into a friendly smile, and a twinkle lit her violet eyes as she took in Teagan’s attire.

  “Pulled out the old LBD tonight huh?” Ovidia chuckled as the car pulled away from the curb.

  “Not all of us can pull off the bombshell look, Vid. Love the shoes.”

  Ovidia turned her foot one way then the other, admiring the laser-cut lace of her gleaming footwear.

  “New Jimmy Choos—a girl can never have enough shoes.”

  Teagan rolled her eyes as she locked the door. “I’m surprised you have room for more shoes. You have enough to wear a different pair each day for a year and still have some left over.”

  “Exactly. Shoes separate us from the lower mammals, and I am very evolved. I see you brought your favorite pair out to play.”

  Teagan laughed at her friend’s comment with a bright twinkle in her emerald eyes.

  Teagan loved Ovidia. Their parents had been friends for years and although Ovidia had grown up in England, she and her parents had come for visits often and the girls had cemented a bond. Ovidia came over to the States after finishing her PhD in Nordic studies at Oxford and had landed a job at Duke. Teagan had been ecstatic to spend more time with her friend.

  “I heard from my mom today. She and my dad are taking a trip to London, and I think I may take a sabbatical and join them because—wait for it—my grandfather found what he believes is a never-before-seen Ripper journal in some dusty old boxes in the basement of the museum.”

  “Did your parents organize the trip?”

  “Yes, they are hunting some kind of new antiquity there and thought since my grandfather is getting older, it was time we visited him instead of the other way around. There is also the pull of new Ripper journal—can you imagine?”

  “It is a boon for you for sure, and on top of your amazing news, I have some of my own: I will be in England next semester as well, helping the British Museum set up an exhibit of old Norse artifacts and doing lectures for them.”

  “What? Awesome! We can explore the city together—it will be nice to get tours from a native.”

  “Yes…sightsee.”

  “Do you not want to sightsee? What is with that strange expression on your face?”

  “No, I love London. It is a beautiful city, and one I believe may have surprises in store for you, Teagan. Now enough of work talk. Let’s focus on the night ahead and how we will use our superior good looks, intelligence, and charm to con men into buying our drinks.”

  “Ovidia, we don’t need men to buy our drinks.” Between their work at Duke and the trust fund both women had received at age 21, they were both doing just fine.

  “That is not the point darling. It’s just the fun of it the chase, the game.” Ovidia’s violet eyes lit up at the thought of a challenge.

  “You are always up for a challenge,” Teagan said as their car smoothly came to a stop at their regular haunt.

  Ovidia leaned over and talked with the driver—giving him instructions, Teagan was sure, of when to come pick them up—garnering some appreciative stares from some standing on the sidewalk, waiting to get into the bar. One of the men looked familiar. Teagan had seen him somewhere before, she knew that, but no matter how hard she thought, it would not come to her. He turned away when he saw she was returning his glance. Odd, Teagan thought.

  “Earth to Teagan! Come on, it’s time to party!” Ovidia said, grabbing her arm, and dragging her out of the car.

  Ovidia flashed a smile at the man with the clipboard in front of the door. He smiled back and Ovidia and Teagan breezed into the club in front of the line—a perk of being regulars, and of being with Ovidia.

  The interior was elegant with low lighting and rich wood. The scent of expensive perfume hung in the air, and soft piano music floated throughout the space.

  “Well hello ladies, will it be the usual or are we going for adventurous tonight?” the cute bartender asked them.

  “The usual for me, what about you Vid?”

  “Adventurous tonight, handsome, so surprise me.” A feral smile slid across her painted lips.

  Blushing, the bartender turned to start fixing their drinks.

  Ovidia turned in her chair, looking around the crowded bar. Suddenly she sat higher on the stool and waved her arms in a very un-Ovidia way.

  “What are you doing Vid? You are a crazy person!”

  “That man over there, he is an old friend of mine. He lives in London.”

  Teagan looked over to see a man starting their way. Smoldering was the only good way to describe him. Dark wavy hair, thick and luxurious, and tall with a fighter’s build, he was all muscle, though he looked dashing and elegant in the expertly tailored suit he was wearing. As he came closer, she noticed his eyes, the color of a storm-tossed sea, and then he grinned, showing twin dimples. Teagan’s heart raced, and something else twisted inside her, a vague sense of recognition that left as quickly as it had come about.

  Ovidia jumped off her stool, squealing and wrapping him in a big hug.

  “Bran, what are you doing here?”

  “Institute business,” he said, looking past Ovidia to Teagan.

  Institute business? What institute? Teagan thought as Ovidia turned to introduce them.

  “Teagan, this my friend Bran. He works for the British Museum in London. Bran, this is Teagan.”

  Was it her imagination or had his eyes glowed?

  “Nice to meet you, Bran.” Teagan held out her hand toward him.

  Bran hesitated for the briefest second then took her small hand in his large warm one. “Teagan, it is a pleasure.” As soon as his skin touched her, an electrical zing went up her arm, almost as if she had been shocked.

  She pulled her hand out of his grip, rubbing it to take the sting out.

  He continued to look at her intensely, not speaking, just staring. What is with this guy? Doesn’t he know it’s rude to stare?

  Ovidia spoke, breaking the spell. “Are you in town long?”

  He finally took his gaze from Teagan and turned to answer Ovidia. “No, I had a matter to clear up, and I’ve solved it. I’ll be heading back to London in the morning.” His deep rich voice reflected an upper-class British accent that became more pronounced the more he talked.

  “Teagan and I will be heading your way in a few months. I have that project for the museum, and Teagan will be taking a sabbatical to help her grandfather, Hugh. He found an old journal he believes belonged to Jack the Ripper, and that is Teag’s specialty,” Ovidia said, giving Teagan a smile.

  Bran’s gaze swung in Teagan’s direction once more, and there was definitely something strange about his eyes.

  “Well, Princess, then I guess we will be seeing more of each other. I know your grandfather well—we work together at the museum.”

  “You’re a curator?” Teagan asked, a skeptical tone creeping into her voice.

  Bran smirked. “No, I am in acquisitions…and security.”
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br />   Before Teagan asked another question, Ovidia interrupted. “Well, you are welcome to join us for a drink if you like,” Ovidia offered, gesturing to the empty stool beside Teagan.

  Bran gave Teagan one more intense look before turning back to Ovidia. “Thanks Vid, but I have an early flight. I was meeting a contact here and I think I will head back to the hotel now.”

  He hugged her once more before turning and giving Teagan one last stare. “It was nice to meet you, Princess. See you soon.”

  He walked away, the people in the bar parting for him to get through. Teagan watched him until he was out of sight, inexplicably sad to see him go.

  “Well he was all smolder and mystery,” she said as she looked at Ovidia and took a sip of her drink. “And what was with the princess comment?”

  “Smolder and mystery huh,” Ovidia responded and then mumbled, “If you only knew,” under her breath.

  “What was that?” Teagan asked.

  “Nothing. Let’s get out and mingle—I need to dance!” Ovidia downed her drink and, without waiting for Teagan to do the same, pulled her out onto the small dance floor where the tempo had changed from light piano music to a popular dance music.

  Teagan pushed Bran to the back of her mind and let her body sway to the rhythm, laughing with Ovidia. Some hours later, Teagan was ready to call it a night. She leaned over to Ovidia and said, “Vid I’m beat, you ready to head out?”

  “Nah girl, I’m just getting started! You go on home and I will text you later.” She smiled and turned back to the dance floor.

  Ovidia danced as Teagan signaled that she was leaving. Ovidia waved and turned back to the man she had been flirting with. Teagan pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Ovidia’s driver, saying she was ready to go.

  Leaving the club and climbing into the car, a sigh of pleasure escaped her as she slipped off her shoes. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, dozing as the driver slipped through the quiet streets back to her place.

  Teagan tipped the driver, skipped out of the car, shoes in hand, and headed up to her apartment. She found her mind wandering back to Oivdia’s friend Bran. There was something about him that pulled at her, beyond the fact that he was mouthwateringly gorgeous. There was something else.

  She climbed the steps to the old brownstone she lived in and stopped; she could feel someone watching her. Turning, she looked at the deserted street and shivered. She swore she could feel someone’s eyes on her. Shaking off the feeling, Teagan continued up the stairs.

  Using her key, she opened the door then dropped her shoes on the floor and her keys in the bowl on the table next to the door. She walked straight back the bedroom and slipped out of her dress, placing it in the dry-cleaning bag.

  Teagan turned to her bed and stopped. She was certain she had made the bed when she got up that morning, but now the sheets and comforter were pulled down. A cold shiver ran down her spine, she walked through her apartment, checking closets and the other rooms to be safe. There was no evidence that anyone had been there.

  Teagan shook her head at her own absentmindedness. After showering and changing into an old t-shirt she climbed into bed and fell into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Teagan stretched and rubbed the residual sleep out of her eyes. Her bare feet hit the cold, wooden floor and she shuffled to the kitchen, one thought uppermost in her mind: a cup of tea. After patiently waiting for the Keurig to brew, she poured a cup and took it into the shower with her, needing the combination of caffeine and warm water to wake up her brain.

  An hour later she dressed in a charcoal pencil skirt and a silky, tailored, emerald green top, slipped her feet into dove grey heels, grabbed her keys, and left her apartment. She had emailed the dean for a meeting the night before and had received a message that there was an opening at 10 AM. The thought that in a few months she would be in London looking at a journal from the Ripper caused her heart to beat firmly in her chest.

  What if this journal revealed his identity? The thrill of discovery could shake up her routine and launch her career. She may even be able to convince the university to do a display on the Ripper in the medical museum.

  Teagan jingled her keys as she walked down the steps to her car where it waited at the curb. Getting ahead of herself again, like usual, Teagan refocused herself on the day ahead. She may have been looking forward to going to London and the adventures awaiting her there, but she would miss her students and her life at Duke.

  Teagan fired up the car and revved the engine. She loved the restored convertible Jag her parents had given her to celebrate her professorship at Duke. The throaty growl of the engine never failed to make her smile, and she loved the fire-engine red color. She reached over, opening a small basket she kept in the passenger seat and selecting a scarf to match her blouse. She placed it atop her curls, tying the ends at the back of her neck. With a large pair of sunglasses and the top down, the wind blew the ends of her scarf behind her like a flying ace of old. Within fifteen minutes, she was pulling into the staff parking lot of the administration building.

  A glance at her watch confirmed that she had a few more minutes before her meeting with the dean. Teagan removed her scarf and sunglasses, placing them back in the basket and shaking out her curls before she hurried into the building, admiring the gothic architecture along the way. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself to contend with Dean Thomas’s admin, the proverbial dragon at the gate.

  “Good morning Mrs. Adams, I have a meeting with Dean Thomas at 10 o’clock.” Teagan smiled at the scowling woman.

  “I will let him know you are here. Have a seat.” Mrs. Adams aimed her glare over her glasses and pointed at one of the uncomfortable chairs that sat outside the dean’s office. Mrs. Adams had once told her she had picked them out herself, followed by one of her rare smiles. She was proud of having selected the most uncomfortable chairs—she had said so after her smile disappeared and her usual frown was back in place. She revealed that she had chosen them so people did not feel the need to clutter up her space for long.

  “Comfortable chairs invite conversation, and I have work to do,” she had said primly before going back to her work.

  Teagan smiled at the memory. Most of the faculty steered clear of her, but Teagan was rather fond of the woman’s shellacked hair and grouchy presence. All she needed was a smoking cigarette in her hand and she would be Maxine from Hallmark.

  Teagan shifted in the uncomfortable chair and went over what she would say to the dean. She was only a junior professor, and sabbaticals for research purposes were restricted to senior faculty. That said, Teagan knew she was qualified for the job, and the dean shared her interest in the mysteries of history, which was one of the reasons she had been able to convince him to let her offer her specialized course.

  “Miss Faelyn, the dean will see you now,” the dragon informed her. No matter how many times she had told her to call her Teagan, Mrs. Adams never invited Teagan to call her Margo. It was always Mrs. Adams and Miss Faelyn.

  “Teagan, what brings you to my office this lovely morning? Come to lobby for a course on H.H. Holmes? You know some thought he was the Ripper, that he left England and picked up in America.”

  “Dean Thomas, as interesting as that sounds and as much as I would love to do a course on H.H. Holmes, it is a journal of the Ripper that brings me here.”

  Dean Thomas quirked an eyebrow as he gestured for Teagan to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  The chairs in the dean’s office were comfortable, thankfully not picked out by Mrs. Adams. Teagan braced herself as she screwed up the courage to ask for the sabbatical.

  “You already have your course in place and I am told your attendance is excellent—what more does the Ripper have in store for us?” He smiled with a twinkle in his faded blue eyes.

  He reminded her of her grandfather at that moment, and Teagan felt her shoulders relax. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt.

 
“Sir, I have had a call from my parents, and they have told me that my grandfather—a researcher at the British Museum—has come across a journal he believes was written by the Ripper. They are going on an extended business venture in London and would like me to accompany them. I am here to request a sabbatical to go to the British Museum and study the journal firsthand.” Teagan’s words came out in a rush, toppling over one another, and she was not even sure Dean Thomas had understood her.

  Steepling his fingers and tapping them against each other, he regarded her, his face not giving her a clue as to the thoughts going on behind it. “And you believe you are the right person to investigate this journal on behalf of the university?”

  Teagan felt her mouth go dry and her tongue stick to the top of her mouth.

  Right person? She had never entertained the idea that he may want to send someone else.

  “The British Museum is willing to let an American researcher in to see this never-before-seen journal?” Dean Thomas frowned at her, and Teagan could feel her chances slipping away.

  Sitting up straighter in the chair and lifting her chin, Teagan replied, “If you will remember, Dean Thomas, I hold dual citizenship, as I was born in London. My parents came to the States shortly thereafter, and we all became US citizens. So, it would not be as if it was an American wanting to research the new journal, per se.”

  Sitting back, his leather chair squeaking, he eyed her. Teagan could see he was contemplating the idea. Having the university be in on this, in any capacity, would be huge. Even hundreds of years after the events, the Ripper story was still a big draw, as evidenced by the countless books, movies, and TV shows that had been written and made about it.

  “I will allow you this sabbatical Teagan, just make sure you don’t fall in love with the Brits over there and not come back to us.”

  “Not a worry sir. My heart is firmly seated at Duke.”

  Dean Thomas smiled. “Do not underestimate the pull of history over there. To many Brits, this is still the upstart colonies, and the history there is rich and diverse.”