Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  "We're not sure. What happened next?" Jon-Luc said.

  "She had a lot to drink, not so steady on her feet. I think this is why they fight. She wanted to go back to the club, but he wanted to take her home. He yelled, but I could not hear what he said. She screamed back. He slapped her hard, and that I heard. Then he swung her over his shoulder and stomped off. That is the last I saw of them. I remembered that I wondered why a famous woman such as herself would put up with a man who would treat her so."

  The car was silent a moment, then Claude asked, "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

  "I do not think so," she answered.

  Claude handed her his card. "If you remember anything, would you please ring my mobile?"

  "Oui." The girl opened the car door.

  "Thank you for talking with us, Shelly. We really do appreciate it." Jon-Luc smiled.

  Shelly nodded, then slid out the door. Jon-Luc watched her walk back into the club.

  "Not a big surprise, but you are right again, my friend."

  Jon-Luc turned back to Claude. "Huh?"

  "The women seem to know their attacker."

  "Yes, they do." Jon-Luc fastened his seatbelt. "Where to next?"

  Claude started the car. "Monsieur Castillo has been found."

  25

  "Where is this elusive billionaire hiding?" Jon-Luc asked as the car whisked through the rain drenched streets of Paris.

  "Eating supper at Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée in the Champs-Élysées," Claude said, for once watching where he was driving.

  "Ah, I've heard of this place. We have to dine there before I leave."

  Claude turned toward him, his brows arched. "I'm afraid you must go alone, my friend. I can not afford such a place on my measly salary."

  "It would be my treat, of course. You will bring Mimi and I will finally get to meet the woman who has the bad taste to date you."

  "Ha ha. You are very funny, my friend. Perhaps once we have caught the Seine Slasher, we will have time for such indulgence. But for now I am afraid McDonalds or pizza from Speed Rabbit will have to do."

  Jon-Luc laughed. "Speed Rabbit?"

  "Oui, they are lovely ladies who deliver to 36 Quai des Orfèvres." Claude grinned from ear to ear.

  "I see, and how is the pizza?"

  "I do not know from pizza, but the woman are magnifique!" Claude kissed his fingers in exaggeration.

  "If you say so." Jon-Luc smiled back.

  With Claude's usual flair, the car braked hard in front of the restaurant. As they entered, a maitre'd rushed over to Jon-Luc. "Monsieur, I'm afraid you can not dine without a jacket and tie."

  Jon-Luc glanced down, then back at the distressed maitre'd. "This is a jacket, it's just leather."

  Claude interrupted. "We are not here to dine, we need to speak to one of your patrons." He flashed his credentials.

  Ruffled, the maitre'd stared at Claude's badge, then up at his face. "That would not be possible."

  "Not only is it possible, it is mandatory. Or I can arrest you for interfering in an investigation." Claude's brows arched as he waited for the man to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

  Jon-Luc watched the stuffy guy's face crumble. "Very well, with whom do you wish to speak?"

  "Monsieur Francisco Castillo," Claude answered, his expression a blank slate.

  The maitre'd's eyes widened. "But. . ."

  Claude kept silent, his face straight.

  "Follow me," the man said quietly.

  He led Jon-Luc and Claude through the restaurant to a quiet corner where Castillo dined with what Jon-Luc surmised was a lady friend by the way her hand rested with familiarity on his thigh and another couple. The woman was stunning, with jet black hair that cascaded around her shoulders in loose curls. Her lips were dark scarlet and shiny. She seemed to be in her early twenties.

  The man in question appeared very distinguished, in his forties, with the olive complexion common to Spaniards and slight graying at his temples. His dark gray suit was designed by Armani, and underneath he wore a black shirt with a gray silk tie.

  He held a glass of red wine in his left hand as he spoke to his guests. The jacket sleeve receded and showed the cuff of his shirt around the wrist. His initials were stitched in white. If Jon-Luc had to guess, he'd say with silk thread.

  As they reached the table, all conversation ceased. Castillo was the last to look at the men who stood beside him. He set his wine glass down, then dabbed a cloth napkin at the corners of his mouth and said, "May I help you?" He placed the napkin back on his lap.

  "Monsieur Castillo, I am Inspector Claude Rousseau, and this is my associate Jon-Luc Boudreaux." He held up his badge. "We would like to speak with you. In private."

  "I see, and why must this be in private?" Castillo's manner was calm, self-assured.

  Claude looked to the woman sitting beside Castillo, then back at the man himself. "It is of a delicate nature, Monsieur."

  Castillo placed his napkin on the table. "Very well." He stood and addressed his friends. "I won't be a moment. Please continue with your supper." Then he looked to the maitre'd who stood by nervously wringing his hands. "It's all right, Sam. Could you please find us a quiet place we can talk without being interrupted?"

  "Certainly, Monsieur. Follow me." The group tailed the maitre'd to an empty table far from the other diners in the restaurant. The man bowed, then disappeared.

  Castillo pointed to the chairs with his hand.

  "Gentlemen." Then he sat himself. "Now tell me what this is about and make it quick." His demeanor had changed dramatically. Gone was the easygoing attitude. This man was all business.

  Claude addressed him with the same brusque manner Castillo had used. "Murder."

  The man swore in Spanish, then in English said, "Murder? What are you talking about, you idiot."

  Without missing a beat, Claude continued. "It has come to our attention that you are the last person to see Sasha Gusarov alive. You were seen leaving the club, BC, with her back in August."

  Castillo shook his head. "Who?"

  "The Victoria Secret model?" Jon-Luc added.

  "You will have to be more specific than that. I have enjoyed the company of many models, but I do not know from where they come." His air of superiority was getting on Jon-Luc's nerves.

  "High-pitched voice, green eyes, long blonde hair?" Jon-Luc supplied.

  Castillo stared at him.

  "Dumb drunk blonde with big boobs?" Claude offered.

  "Ah, yes." Castillo smiled and nodded. "I do remember her now." Then as if he'd just remembered what Claude had said earlier, the smile fell. "Wait. She is dead?" The look of surprise in his features looked genuine.

  "You didn't know?" Claude said.

  "You don't listen to the news or read the papers?" Jon-Luc added.

  "I left the next day, flew back to Spain. I had business to attend to," Castillo explained. "What do you want to know about her? She was sweet. I would have given her another chance."

  "Another chance?" Jon-Luc commented.

  "Si, she had too much to drink. Next time I would have taken her home long before she'd gotten so blotto."

  "Where did you two go after you left the club?" Claude asked.

  "We got in the back of my car and I told Luis, my driver, to take me to my penthouse. We'd only driven about a half block when she vomited all over the floor. Disgusted, I threw her out, then had Luis hail me a taxi while he dealt with the mess."

  "That's very considerate of you," Jon-Luc said through clenched teeth. "Because of the way you discarded her, she was murdered. How does that make you feel?"

  Castillo jumped to his feet. "This conversation is over." Then he stomped off back to his table.

  Claude turned to Jon-Luc. "Smooth."

  Jon-Luc shrugged. "The guy's a fucktard."

  "That may be, but this fucktard may have had more information for us."

  "I doubt it. That douche could care less about anyone but himself." Jon-
Luc stood. "Lets go see if we can find this Luis guy out front."

  Exiting the restaurant, they scanned the parking lot for a car with a driver still inside. They found two, neither were Luis. Instead, they found the young man, early twenties, leaning against a black Bentley, smoking a cigarette.

  "Luis?" Claude led with his badge. The man's eyes rounded, then he searched the area for a means to escape. Jon-Luc came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The guy jumped and spun around.

  "Boo," Jon-Luc said, then chuckled. "A bit squirrelly, aren't we?" Then he grabbed the guy's shoulder and turned him back toward Claude, keeping his hand on him in case Luis decided to run.

  "What is it you are afraid of? What have you done that would interest the police?" Claude asked.

  "Nothing. Why do you bother me?" Luis crushed the cigarette under the toe of his shoe, then jutted his jaw.

  "I think we should decide that ourselves. Hand over your identification." Claude's hand reached out while he waited. Grumbling, Luis produced a wallet, then shoved his ID into Claude's hand. Luis grunted and crossed his arms across his chest.

  Claude walked the hundred yards to his car and disappeared into the front seat, leaving the door open. Jon-Luc couldn't see him through the windshield because of the reflection of the restaurant's lights. Jon-Luc kept his hand clamped tight on the guy's shoulder while they waited.

  He turned to the guy. "Nice night, huh?"

  Luis spat on the ground in response.

  "Classy," Jon-Luc added.

  Before long, Claude returned, handing the ID back while staring into Luis' eyes. He said, "No outstanding warrants, but he does have a couple of breaking and entering charges on his record."

  Jon-Luc raised his brows dramatically. "Does your boss know about the B & E's?"

  Luis's eyes squinted at Luc, then he grunted his response. "Yes."

  "And he hired you anyway? What a prince of a guy. I'd think he'd be worried you'd steal from him." Jon-Luc let go of the guy’s shoulder and crossed his own arms. "How did you wind up with a cushy job like this?"

  Luis glared first at Jon-Luc, then at Claude, before he stared at the ground and mumbled, "He's my uncle."

  "Excuse me?" Jon-Luc leaned forward.

  Luis's head whipped up and he glared at Jon-Luc with steely eyes. "Frank is my mother's older brother," he said louder, practically shaking in anger.

  "Ah, now it all makes sense." Jon-Luc nodded.

  "Why are you guys hassling me? Don't you have anything better to do?" Luis asked.

  "Nope." Jon-Luc grinned.

  Claude spoke, "We need to ask you a few questions."

  "About what? I have not done nothing wrong," Luis said in broken English, his Spanish accent heavier than before.

  "Now Luis, that's a double negative which means you actually have done something wrong. What is it?"

  Luis furrowed his brow. "I do not know what you mean, ‘splain it to me."

  "Pretending you don't know English very well, won't help you, buddy." Jon-Luc patted him on the back.

  "I am speaking English. Why do you say that to me?" Luis looked at both men separately.

  "Calm down. I just want to know about a night in August, when you drove your uncle to a club called Black Calvados." When the guy’s eyes scrunched up, Claude added, "The locals call it the BC club."

  "I know this place, he goes there often. What about it?" Luis crossed his arms over his chest again.

  "Castillo got into the car with a gorgeous blonde with big tits who was very drunk," Claude said.

  "So?" The guy waited for more.

  "She threw up in the car?" Jon-Luc added.

  "Oh, her. Very nasty. I couldn't get the smell out of the carpet. It had to be replaced. Frank was very angry." Luis shook his head.

  "What happened to her after she vomited?" Claude asked.

  "Nothing. Frank made her get out and I got him a cab before I saw to the car." Luis eyed them like they were stupid.

  "Jesus, you didn't think to drive her home under the circumstances? It was your uncle who plied her with those drinks that got her sick in the first place," Jon-Luc shouted, his hands fisted at his sides.

  Luis shrugged his shoulders.

  "Unbelievable." Jon-Luc turned to Claude. "This asshole doesn't give a shit." He stomped back toward Claude's car. Then he did an about face and came at the guy, grabbing the front of his shirt in his right hand, his face a mere inch from his. "You killed her." Jon Luc growled low and as menacing as he could. He felt himself being pulled back and heard Claude's voice as if from afar.

  "Luc." Then Claude stood between him and Luis. His hand on Jon-Luc's chest. "Get a hold of yourself."

  Jon-Luc blinked and focused on Claude. Then he pulled away and mumbled, "Whatever."

  "I didn't kill nobody," Luis yelled.

  At his words, Jon-Luc turned back and glared at him. It was all he could do not to take the guy apart, so he stayed put. "You might as well have. You practically handed her off to a murderer, you lousy piece of shit."

  "What was she doing the last time you saw her?" Jon-Luc heard the question Claude asked, but not the answer.

  He marched back to the car and slid inside the passenger’s side.

  One second he was observing Claude and the witness, and the next he was standing in cold pouring rain outside Chateau Beauchamp watching Angie with Lissette through a floor to ceiling window. The employer nodded and replied. The ballroom buzzed with activity all though it was after one in the morning. From where he stood, he could see the entire room. Three women worked feverishly on sewing machines.

  Angie was gathering material on a dress behind the woman wearing it and talking to Lissette, who nodded and handed her a straight pin.

  "Claude?" Jon-Luc waited for a response. When none came, he yelled. "Claude, we have to go. Now!"

  26

  As Claude sped through torrential rains, Jon-Luc heard, instead of saw, the tires sluicing through water, and the slap-slap-slap of the windshield wipers working double time.

  Jon-Luc thanked God his friend trusted him enough not to ask questions before racing toward Château Beauchamp.

  "It's Angie, she's in trouble," Jon Luc said at last. "I need you to take my cell phone and hit the number five and send. I can't see right now." He fumbled in his pocket, produced the phone and handed it in Claude's direction. He felt it being lifted.

  The killer paced outside the window like a rabid dog. Watching. Waiting.

  Particularly interested in Angie's movements.

  As if struggling through a horror film, Jon-Luc repeated, don't go in. Don't go in. Over and over again inside his head.

  Claude's voice broke through, interrupting his mantra. "Who are you calling?"

  "The guy guarding the front gate," Jon-Luc answered.

  "Here, it's ringing." Jon-Luc felt the phone pressed into his hand, he placed it next to his ear hearing the endless drone of the bleep, bleep, bleep on the other end. While he waited for the phone to be answered, he said, "Call your guys for backup."

  "Already on it," Claude answered.

  Finally he heard a voice. "Bonjour."

  Without preamble Jon-Luc rushed his words. "David, there's been a security breach. Lock the place down. Get your guys to the house. Now! Make sure everyone inside is safe. Get them in one room, then leave one guy inside. Shut the drapes. I want two of you to do a perimeter check. Start along the outside window of the ballroom. Got it?"

  "Wait. Where are you?" David asked.

  "On my way, just do as I say!" Jon-Luc yelled into the phone.

  "But, the cameras are not up yet. How do you know this?"

  "No time to explain." Jon-Luc hung up before he could ask any more questions.

  "What's happening?" Claude asked.

  Jon-Luc, as the killer, watched as Angie left the safety of the crowded ballroom. He pulled a knife from his boot and started toward the back door. "Shit, he's making his move."

  Then the vision dropped
away and Jon-Luc was staring out the rain drenched windshield. "Hurry, Claude. I can't see what's happening anymore and that's almost as frightening as when I can."

  "Luc, I'm going as fast as I dare under these conditions."

  Jon-Luc gripped the dashboard so tight, his knuckles turned white. He swore under his breath. Soon he heard sirens in the distance. "Back up is behind us. Good."

  Coming up on the turn to the chateau, Claude eased off the gas, but the car still spun out. He turned the wheel back and forth until the vehicle corrected itself. The closed gate was racing toward them. He slammed the brakes on the wet road. The car slid ten feet. Twenty. Thirty, then finally stopped just short of the iron bars. Jon-Luc jumped out, scrambled onto the hood of the car, then grabbed the top of the bars, flinging himself up and over.

  He landed hard on his feet and rolled. After jumping back up, he sprinted toward the residence. The rain had let up a bit, but the asphalt was slick. He slipped, landing on one knee, but pushed up with his hands and continued on. By the time he reached the front door, he heard the sirens of the police cruisers arriving, then the sound of screeching tires.

  He heaved the door open, then jogged toward the ballroom. Skidding on the tile floor as he tried to stop, he collided with the door. His forehead hit the panel, then he twisted the knob, but nothing happened. "It's me, let me in." Jon-Luc pounded on the wood with his open hand.

  Greg, one of the guards, unlocked the door and it swung open. "Is everyone okay?" Jon-Luc searched the room as he entered. Startled eyes stared back.

  "Everyone's fine," Greg answered.

  "And the intruder?" Jon-Luc focused on the guard.

  "No word, yet. David and Rick are still securing the grounds."

  "Okay. The police have arrived. Go open the gate and let them in. I'll stay here."

  "Yes, sir," Greg said as he unhooked his firearm and left the room.

  Jon-Luc scanned the group until he located Angie standing off to the side with Lissette. The moment their eyes locked, she rushed into his arms. He pulled her tight against his wet body. "Are you okay?" he asked resting his chin on the top of her head.

  "I am now." Her voice shook.