A Little Wicked (The Bewitching Hour Book 4)

by Mallory Crowe

  She let out a genuine laugh. “It was nice. A lot nicer than my place, that’s for sure. Did you know he lives with two girls? His girlfriend doesn’t seem to care though.”

  “From what I got, Dante has a way with the ladies.” He knew exactly what the living situation was because he’d done a full background check on the guy after Claire had gotten involved with him.

  Claire was a strange friend. She and Sam were friends, but because she was so much younger than him and thanks to the circumstances he’d met her in, he couldn’t help the protective streak that he had toward her.

  So when she started dating the green-haired witch who specialized in mind control, he’d crossed his i’s and dotted his t’s. Unfortunately, when it came to witches, there weren’t a lot of letters to cross or dot. If he had ever gotten into any trouble, Dante could’ve abracadabra-ed his way out of it.

  But from what he could tell, on paper Dante was clean enough. And Jackson had tried to kill him, which strangely enough was a good sign. Enemy of my enemy and all.

  Even so, Dante was a ladies’ man. And ladies’ men didn’t make great boyfriends. For that reason alone, Derek didn’t know whether he’d ever be okay with Claire dating the guy.

  But as protective as he was with her, she wasn’t a little sister or family member. She was an eighteen-year-old woman who lived on her own and, thanks to her unique powers, could more than handle her own.

  He still didn’t have to like Dante, though.

  He took a sip of his own coffee and sat down in a chair next to Parker’s desk. She was still located in narcotics while the transfer went through. Even though she was a detective, she didn’t have her own office. Derek had only gotten an office after he’d “solved” the Tommy Collins case. Even though he hadn’t wanted any rewards for that clusterfuck, he had to admit that the privacy made everything easier.

  “I got us the conference room again today,” he said. The things they needed to talk about couldn’t exactly be discussed in the bullpen surrounded by other cops who had no idea about all the magic wreaking havoc around them.

  She nodded. “Let’s do it.” They were both getting up when the familiar pounding footsteps signaled that Captain Voss was approaching.

  Derek stood up a bit straighter before his boss rounded the corner and approached them.

  “I have something for you,” he said in a hushed tone.

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  “There’s been a double homicide in Brownsville. Looks like a drug deal gone wrong, but the dead guys don’t seem like the normal junkies or gang bangers.”

  Parker glanced between Derek and Voss. “That doesn’t mean it’s witch related.”

  “Not that. It’s the name. You said a lot of these witches are related, right?”

  Derek really wished Voss wouldn’t use that word here, even if he whispered. “There are a few main families, yeah.”

  “Well, one of the dead guys is Erik Benedict. Maybe related to the guy causing all that trouble before, right?”

  Jackson Benedict had been adopted, but Voss was right. The Benedicts were a long line of witches. The chances that this dead guy was part of that family weren’t great, but it was worth looking into. “Send me the address and anything you have and we’ll head over now.”

  “Will do, but you’re not the first detectives assigned to this one. If the guys there give you shit, tell them I want you and Parker on this because of Parker’s narco experience. And if they give you any more trouble, tell them to talk to me.”

  Derek nodded, grateful for Voss’s support. This wasn’t a small town. There were crimes all over this city, and it was impossible for Derek to keep his ear to the ground on his own. This murder might be nothing important, but it was worth noting, and Derek never would’ve known about it this early if not for Voss.

  Parker clicked her holster in place and then pulled on her jacket, all ready to go. “I’ll drive,” she said before Derek could claim that for himself.

  Damn it, he hated anyone else driving him around in the city, but it was impossible to argue with the solid rules of whoever calls it first.

  It was still early, so getting through the traffic from Manhattan to Brooklyn was a bitch. Luckily a lot of traffic was flowing into the island, so it would’ve been worse going the other direction. This wasn’t part of their precinct, but Voss could probably BS a connection between this murder and one of their other cases.

  Once they got to the area, the crime scene was evident by the collection of police cars and crime scene tape. Parker navigated her Dodge Charger as close as she could to the scene before she threw the car into park.

  When they stepped out, uniformed officers were immediately approaching to tell them to get the hell out. Derek and Parker each flashed their badges and introduced themselves. The officer eyed the badges warily before he led them through the crowd of locals who had gathered and to where the two bodies were sprawled on the ground.

  Derek glanced around him, trying to get as much unbiased information before the other detectives gave their thoughts. Two victims. One Caucasian male, apparent gunshot in the head; one African-American male, multiple gunshots to the chest. Both looked to be in their thirties. The African-American was in a suit that fit him well. The Caucasian was in jeans and a bomber jacket but wore a valuable-looking watch and had a wedding ring on. If it was a robbery gone wrong, it wasn’t for jewelry.

  The murder happened underneath a bridge. The Caucasian was half on the sidewalk and half on the street; the African-American was on the sidewalk. The bodies would’ve been discovered almost immediately. There were storefronts just a few feet away and any car passing would see them. The murderer wasn’t worried about witnesses.

  Was it because people around would be too afraid to talk? Or because he knew he could just whammy their memory to make them forget?

  Derek wanted to get closer, but he would need shoe coverings first. It would be hard to get footprints off the concrete, but if there was a collection of dirt or dust, they could get pictures of any shoe imprints.

  “Hey,” said someone behind him.

  Derek and Parker both turned away from the bodies to see the two detectives who had probably been assigned the case originally.

  “I’m Ryan Carlson.” The overweight and slightly balding guy reached out a hand to Derek. Derek met his handshake and Parker was not so subtly ignored, a reminder that gender equality wasn’t quite achieved in all parts of the force.

  “This is Detective Angela Parker and I’m Derek Pierce,” said Derek, making a point to introduce Parker first.

  “So I hear you’re taking the scene?” said Detective Carlson, the bitterness not quite hidden from his voice. The man probably had a desk full of cases to work on, but it was impossible to not feel protective over the jobs you were assigned for some reason.

  “We just dealt with the murder of a Jackson Benedict,” said Parker without missing a beat. “We think this is related.”

  “Benedict is a common name,” said Carlson.

  “We’re looking down all possible connections,” she said coolly, not trying to prove herself.

  “Why don’t you catch us up?” said Derek.

  It was obvious Carlson was still sour about the case getting taken away, but after a few pained expressions, he gave the rundown. “Gunshots were heard by local tenants at around four o’clock in the morning. The 911 transcript has the exact time. When the ambulance got here, both vics were dead. No one saw anything. No one knows them. Both had wallets on hand. So we’ve got Erik Benedict.” He pointed to the Caucasian. “And Albert Bacco.” He pointed to the second victim. His phone chirped and he glanced down at it. “I have to take that. It’s about a case I still actually have,” he said with obvious bitterness as he walked away.

  “You know,” said Parker when he was gone, “my super detective senses tell me that he doesn’t like us.”

  “You’re a pro.” Derek spotted the shoe coverings. Once they were in place and
he pulled on some gloves, he was able to approach the bodies. Little evidence cards signaled the locations of the bullet casings on the sidewalk. From what he could tell, they were .45s. Heavy stuff. Whoever did this wanted to make sure these guys stayed dead.

  “What do you make of the bullet patterns?” asked Parker.

  She had to be thinking the same thing he did. “Bullet to the head is execution.” Derek looked to Albert Bacco. The blood stains on his eggplant shirt under his suit jacket were large and now rust-colored with the drying blood that had almost overtaken the entire shirt. They were exit wounds.

  “He must’ve been running,” said Parker, her mind working the same as his.

  Albert had probably seen Erik Benedict get shot and taken off. But he hadn’t gotten far.

  “If he was shot in the back, chances are he would’ve fallen belly down. So the killer rolled him over but didn’t take his watch. So he was looking for something, but what?” He wanted to look in the man’s jacket but couldn’t do anything until the photos had been collected. “Let’s find out where they are with processing.”

  Parker nodded and they both stood up. But Derek had only taken a step before he saw something bone-chilling in the crowd of locals trying to get a look at the crime scene. While people stood on tiptoes and talked among themselves, a woman stood utterly still in the crowd and stared right at him.

  Abigail Harris.

  He looked to warn Parker, but she was off talking to one of the uniforms. Part of him wanted to call her in for backup. The other part knew that if Abigail Harris wanted him dead, he’d be in the ground already. He carefully approached; everyone around Abigail started to move away from her until there was a three-foot radius around her. Derek reluctantly stepped inside that radius. “What are you doing here?” He braced himself for any sign of attack.

  “Same as you.” She smiled. “Investigating a murder.”

  Okay, in the list of possible answers, that wasn’t one of them. “You knew Benedict?”

  “He was at the party last night. I sent him out to run an errand for me and to my surprise, he never came back. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that? I hear you have a penchant for shooting people loyal to me in the forehead.”

  He clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to blame Claudia for that, but the other part knew that there was a real possibility he would’ve shot Heather even without Claudia forcing him to do it. So he didn’t defend himself on that count. “I was recovering from finding out my girlfriend’s mother has been taken over by an evil psychopath. And I don’t use a .45. I believe you know that from experience.”

  She reached up to touch the side of her head where the exit wound had been yesterday. The one that had healed in seconds. “I don’t recall the bullet. A few too many distractions.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked again. He had to treat this like an interview. He couldn’t let her lead the conversation or get him sidetracked.

  “I want to know who killed Erik Benedict. If there’s anything you can tell me, I’d greatly appreciate it. I believe you still have Abigail’s number?”

  He wasn’t going to answer any of her questions no matter how basic. “Why are you talking to me? Why not Sam?”

  Abigail blinked a few times in surprise. “Derek, I thought you got it. I’m not Abigail Harris. I hold no special attachment to Samantha Harris. You’re the one who interests me.” She reached a hand out to him, toward his heart, but Derek stepped back before she could touch him, eliciting a smile from her. “You’re the one with darkness in his heart. I believe we could be friends.”

  “I have enough friends. If you’re all-powerful, what are you doing here investigating a murder?”

  She cocked her head. “All-powerful? Now wouldn’t that be boring. I have plans and I’m moving all the pieces into place.”

  “And do those pieces involve using Jackson to terrorize Claire and Parker?”

  She let out a little laugh. “Jackson was necessary. It’s unfortunate that he’s gone, but that’s his own fault. I warned him to stay away from the soul sucker, but he was too stubborn. It’s always the pretty innocent ones who are the most dangerous, isn’t it?”

  He was quiet and didn’t ask anything else. She was talking, and he wanted to see where she went with this.

  “I haven’t done a thing with your little soul sucker, and Jackson didn’t bother your newest little trigger-happy partner.”

  He picked up on what she didn’t say instead of what she said. “Have you done anything to Parker?” He tried to stay emotionless and keep any hint of protectiveness out of his voice. He knew from experience that the darkness wasn’t above going after those he cared about. It wasn’t as if he could keep Abigail from knowing he liked Parker. They had worked together for years. All he could do was try to keep from making Parker any more of a target.

  “Here’s the deal.” Abigail took a step closer to him. Derek forced himself to remain still as she met his eyes. Abigail Harris was a tall woman, and she was wearing heels, so they were just about at eye level. “If I wanted to kill your partner, I could crumple her up like a used receipt and throw her away. Last night was a warning. You and Samantha got away. Consider yourselves lucky. I don’t need her and I’m saving you for later. You two go off and continue your swoon-worthy love story. But if you get in my way again, I won’t be so nice. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t understand at all. “You’re telling me that if Sam and I stay away from you, you won’t hurt us or anyone we care about?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I have plans that need to be carried out. So if you stay out of my way, you and Samantha will be safe. That’s the best you will get from me.”

  “Everything okay here?” asked Parker from behind them.

  Derek stiffened, knowing she was so close to the danger. But Abigail didn’t take her eyes off him. He wanted to tell her to go screw herself. He wanted to promise that he wouldn’t rest until she, or whatever was inside her head, burned in hell. But he could still see that bullet hole in her head. He could still see her shrugging it off as though it were nothing. How was he supposed to take on something like that? Especially when she had already proved how easy it would be to go after his friends.

  Parker was one of the most capable people he worked with, and she’d almost died last night. What if Abigail went after his parents? His neighbors? Fuck. He couldn’t promise her anything, but he wasn’t stupid enough to attack her right now either. All he could do was get her away from him. “Get off my crime scene,” he growled.

  She stepped back obligingly. “Will do. And don’t forget. If you find out anything, you call me.” She wiggled her thumb and pinky next to her face in a phone motion as she walked away, looking all too pleased with herself.

  Parker stepped next to Derek as she left. “What the hell was that?”

  “I have no idea,” he answered honestly.

  Claire slammed the door shut to her apartment and then fell back against it. This couldn’t be right. She had been so sure that she would talk to Claudia and all her questions would be answered. It was a ghost. It had to be a ghost. There was no other explanation….

  She heard a door shutting and jumped to alert.

  “Hello?” she called cautiously. The last time she’d come home to find someone waiting for her, it had been Jackson. The time he’d taught her about her powers. The time he’d kissed her.

  Dante walked out of the kitchen and held up a plate of food. She blinked a few times, trying to reconcile her memories of Jackson and the appearance of Dante. “What are you doing here?”

  “Shawarma.” He held up the food. “You seemed to have had a shitty night and I came to offer cuddles and food. I’m basically the perfect boyfriend.” He winked.

  “The perfect boyfriend would wait until he had an invitation,” she snapped before she could think better of it.

  But instead of being angry, he looked confused. “Am I not invited here?”

  “No, you’re w
elcome. I just….” She tried to think of the best way to say it. “I haven’t had a home for a while and I don’t like unexpected visitors.”

  He winced and shook his head. “I’m a fucking idiot.” He set the plate down on the table. “I’ll leave.”

  “No, don’t go.” As angry as she was, she didn’t think he’d meant anything bad by it.

  “I’m the biggest moron in the world.” Dante went into the kitchen.

  She followed him and was taken over with guilt as she saw that Dante hadn’t just brought over shawarma. There was wine and her favorite type of chocolate bars and a few movie rentals from a bunch of different genres.

  But he was still mad at himself. “I forgot. How weird is that? You have been kidnapped and almost killed and I keep on forgetting. How fucking self-absorbed am I?”

  He started to put things away, but she set a hand on his arm to stop him. “You’re not self-absorbed,” she insisted as she turned him to face her. “All of this shows how thoughtful you are. And you forgot because I work really hard to make sure I don’t walk around with a big ‘victim’ label on my forehead.”

  Dante’s dark eyes looked at her forehead before he cupped her face and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not really used to this,” he softly said against her hair.

  “You’re better than I am,” she pointed out.

  “I mean, I haven’t been in a relationship, a real relationship in a long time. You’re just… I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “A soul sucker.” She cuddled into his strength. She wanted to be mad at his invasion of her privacy, but she was too busy enjoying the feel of him.

  “Strong,” he insisted.

  She had her doubts, but this wasn’t the time to argue. He would just go on showering her with praise and she wasn’t fishing for compliments. She hugged him and looked over his shoulder and there, just as if it were real, Jackson stared at her. She stiffened and held Dante tighter but didn’t scream. It wasn’t real. Ghosts weren’t real and Jackson was dead. She was sure of this. More sure than she’d ever been of anything in her life.