by Vella Day
“I did, but that spell was clearly bogus. I don’t think that old lady could make a voodoo doll work.”
Izzy laughed. “Perhaps. So what happens now?”
“I wait and see if he calls. If not, there’s no reason for me not to branch out. I made a few references to my larger-than-life frame, and he acted as if he liked my shape. Hell, if someone as hot and fit as Kalan appreciated my curves, perhaps others will too.”
“Whoa. Who are you? Though I have to say I do like this new self-confidence.”
It wouldn’t do her any good. As soon as Kalan understood that she really was interested, he’d back off. “We’ll see. So how are Rye’s powers progressing?” As much as Elana wanted to ask if Izzy’s were diminishing, as had been prophesized, it wouldn’t be nice to bring up the sore subject.
Izzy laughed. “He’s improving, but at the rate he’s going, he’d have to live another five hundred years before he would have any real control over fire and wind. His water and earth skills are nil.” Some noise sounded in the background. “That’s Rye. He’s home.”
“I’ll let you go. Thanks for chatting.”
“Sure, hon, anytime.”
A twinge of jealousy surfaced hearing the joy in her friend’s voice. They’d always been in the same situation romantically their whole lives. Izzy avoided men because of her talents and Elana shied away from them mostly because she didn’t want to be disappointed when they didn’t return her affection.
This time, however, seemed different. Elana wasn’t so bold as to believe that she would ever experience the full wonder of Kalan Murdoch. Spending an hour with him earlier this afternoon sure had helped make up for it though.
*
Phil Smythe, Kalan’s boss, dodged between a few desks as he barreled toward him. The former military man always exuded a sense of power and control, but this time there seemed to be an added layer of seriousness along with a hint of shock.
“Kalan, we have one or possibly two homicides. According to the caller, a second victim is clinging to life. The ambulance is on their way there now.” He placed an address on his desk. “Take Garner with you.”
“Yes, sir.” As adrenaline charged through him, Kalan pushed back his chair and headed off to find his partner. He didn’t ask the identity of the victims. Too often, he knew them.
Because his thoughts had centered on Elana last night, he’d been lethargic all day from lack of sleep. Now that he was needed, the adrenaline was giving him a much-needed boost.
Dalton Garner entered the large room and rushed toward him, his gun strapped to his hip. Many of the staff liked to joke and call him Hollywood because of his classically good looks and amazingly thick hair, but at the moment, he appeared frazzled. “Phil just told me about the double homicide.”
Silver Lake had their fair share of thefts and assaults, but rarely were people murdered—let alone two at one time.
“Hard to believe, but one might still be alive.” Kalan glanced at the address, memorized it, and then handed it to Dalton.
In silence, they headed out to Kalan’s cruiser, as he was the senior officer. Not that he’d dealt with many homicides in his ten years on the force, but Kalan had processed enough of them to know what to do. Out of habit, he glanced at the sky. It was clear and dark, with the white moon nearly full. Thank the goddess, it wasn’t tinged with red.
Once under way, Dalton’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “The owners on record are Richard and Gloria Stanley.”
Kalan nearly veered off the road but righted his vehicle before going over the berm. “Shit.”
“You know them?”
He racked his brain trying to remember if his boss had mentioned whether the victims were husband and wife. It was possible Elana had gone over to visit them and been murdered. His heart hammered in his chest so hard that he had to use his animal strength to keep control of the wheel. “I know their daughter.”
“You just passed the turnoff.”
Damn it. Working hard to focus, Kalan flipped on his sirens, turned right at the next street, and doubled back. When he neared the address, the flashing ambulance lights lit up the trees. He pulled in and then parked on the far side of the spacious drive, giving the paramedics room to maneuver.
“Let’s do this,” Kalan said, his stomach tied in knots. “If you have any ability to grant a wish, Naliana, please don’t let Elana be in there.”
As they entered the grand house, the paramedics were waiting in the foyer. Kalan nodded to Jordan Ashworth. “What can you tell us?”
The coppery stench of blood assaulted him, but because of the mixture of different scents, he couldn’t distinguish anything helpful. Another shifter had been there recently, but it didn’t mean he was one of the killers.
“Both the wife and husband were dead when we arrived.”
At the mention of the victims, relief poured in him. “What about the person who called it in?”
“We knocked, but when he didn’t answer, we tested the front door and found it open, so we went in. The son’s in there, in the same position as we found him. I immediately felt for signs of life but found none. Then we waited for you to arrive. We didn’t move the bodies, but their son had his hands all over them.”
The son? Kalan stepped to the side and stilled. His eyes were glazed over, and he was holding a knife. Blood stained the front of his shirt. Holy shit. “Thanks.”
He and Dalton stepped into the large living room. Masks, paintings, and other artifacts that had graced the walls were now strewn on the floor. Sofas were ripped apart, drawers pulled out, and several more that appeared to be prized wall artifacts were on the floor, most of which were broken. Shit. It looked like a robbery gone wrong, but he wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. Forensics would need to go over the place with care. Hopefully, they’d find some fingerprints or DNA.
Kalan nodded to Dalton. “Check for evidence of any other intruders and possible point of entry.”
“I’m on it.”
No other shifters were in the vicinity, so he was safe from them for now, but Kalan was unsure about the stability of the man holding the bloodied knife. He had shorn, dark hair and remained staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even aware either of them had entered the room. As Kalan neared, he noticed the man’s eyes were the same color as Elana’s.
“You want to put the knife down, son?” It didn’t matter that he looked to be about the same age as Kalan.
“I can’t believe they’re dead.” His voice trailed off, but the depth of his grief didn’t match the horror of the scene.
Kalan’s hand hovered over his gun in case the man was amped up on drugs and charged him. “I’ll ask you one more time. Put the knife down and move away from the body.” Three seconds later, the man obeyed. “That’s good. Now tell me your name.”
“Brian Stanley.”
So they did have a son, or else he was a nephew. “Want to tell me what happened, Brian?”
“I was coming over to talk to my folks, but when I got here, I found them on the floor, stabbed. My mother had a knife in her stomach but she was still breathing. I thought if I pulled it out, she might live.” His brows pinched, clouded in confusion.
That was one of his many mistakes. “How about coming down to the station where we can sort this all out?”
Dalton returned and shook his head. Kalan stepped next to him and kept his voice low. “I’m going to take Brian in. Call for forensics to process the scene and wait here for them. I’ll send someone for you when you’re ready to return.”
“Will do.”
Kalan put on his purple crime scene gloves and helped Brian up. Because he couldn’t be sure Brian wouldn’t try to bolt, Dalton followed them out. Once at the cruiser, his partner helped by spreading a plastic sheet in back so as not to stain the seat.
“Where are you staying, Brian?” Kalan asked.
“At the Silver Lake Hotel.” He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t kill them.”
“I�
�m not accusing you of anything.”
“Then why do I have to go to the police station?” His voice changed, and suddenly he sounded like a little kid.
“We need to take your statement.”
Not needing to have a lengthy discussion in the drive when this man seemed a bit unstable, Kalan opened the back door to the cruiser and motioned for Brian to slide in. Fortunately, he entered without incident. The doors locked automatically, making any attempt to escape futile. Nothing about this crime was cut and dry. If it were a crime born out of anger, why stay around and wait for the cops? And why hadn’t Elana mentioned she had a brother?
Even as Kalan radioed that he was bringing in the man who’d called in the murders, dread filled him at having to let Elana know that her parents were dead. It didn’t matter that she didn’t seem all that fond of them. It might be worse asking her where she was this evening, killing any chance she’d look at him the same way again. Bringing up the fact she had a brother might put a permanent wedge between them—assuming Brian Stanley was telling the truth.
He should have been relieved Elana might walk out of his life, but his protective side wasn’t pleased.
Mate, mine.
He inwardly growled to shut his bear up.
Ten minutes later, Kalan parked in front of the sheriff’s department and escorted Brian Stanley up the steps and into the main entrance. It might not be a full moon, but from the number of drunks, prostitutes, and other unsavory people waiting to be processed, it would be a long night.
Forensics would want to examine Brian’s clothing for evidence, so he led him to a room near the back of the station and grabbed a set of maroon scrubs for him. “I’ll need you to change into these. Place your clothes in the bag on the table.”
He held out his hands. “I’m bloody. Mind if I wash up at my hotel first? It’s only a few blocks away.”
“I’m sorry. We have rules.”
As if he’d been told that line for years, his shoulders slumped as he shuffled into the room. Once the door was secure, Kalan returned to the front and asked for a forensic officer to check out Brian. “When you’re finished processing him, I need to ask him some questions in interrogation room two.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Brian was being processed, Kalan wanted to touch base with his boss. He knocked on Phil’s door then stepped into his office that was stacked with mounds of papers despite the department trying to handle things electronically. Smythe slipped off his glasses and sat up straighter. “What did you find out?”
“Not much other than the son was holding his mother with one arm and had a bloody knife in the other.”
“Was he was the one who called it in?”
“Yes.”
“Is he looking good for it?” Phil’s voice came out strained.
“My gut instinct says no. The man seemed to be in shock and a bit disoriented. We’ll know more once we receive the coroner’s report and the lab results from Brian’s clothes.”
“Where’s the son now?”
“He’s changing. When he’s finished, I’ll ask him more questions.”
Smythe leaned back in his chair, the lines on his face etched around his eyes and mouth heavier than usual. The man wasn’t more than forty-five, but the job seemed to be taking a toll on him today. “They have a daughter—an Elana Stanley—who lives downtown.” Phil slipped him yet another piece of paper. “Here’s her address and number. Inform her about her parents’ death and find out where she was tonight.”
“Will do.” Hearing her name had his gut clenching, but he saw no reason to mention that he knew her.
With a heavy heart at having to break the news to Elana, Kalan headed to Interrogation Room number 2 carrying an old-fashioned pad of paper. There was something comforting to a witness if he saw that plain yellow-ruled paper instead of a more sterile electronic tablet.
While he waited, Kalan jotted down some questions. A few minutes later, an officer escorted Brian into the room wearing the borrowed scrubs.
“You want something to drink?” the officer asked Brian.
“Water’s good.” Brian’s tone bordered on belligerence.
“Have a seat, Brian. I know your sister Elana, and I have to say I’m confused.”
He pressed his lips together and rocked. “She doesn’t know about me.”
That answered one of his questions, though he found it difficult to reconcile, unless he was from another marriage. “Want to start from the beginning?”
Brian shifted in his seat and tugged on the V-neck top. “You won’t believe me.”
“Try me. If what you say is the truth, it should be easy to confirm.”
He finally made eye contact. “Do I need a lawyer?”
Kalan was wondering when he’d ask. “If you think you need one. Do you?”
“I’m not sure.” He rubbed his wrist. From the tan mark, he was used to wearing a watch.
Kalan checked his phone. “It’s seven-thirty, if that’s what you need to know.”
“I need to take my meds soon.”
Kalan made a note. “What kind of meds?”
“They’re for my anxiety.”
From the way Brian was having a hard time looking Kalan in the eye and shifting in his seat, he needed more than that. “Why doesn’t Elana know you exist?”
The answer to this question was probably only important to him.
“My parents sent me to a mental hospital right after she was born. They might not have told her about me. I don’t know.”
Brian was right. This wasn’t looking good for him. “So she never visited?” Elana was such a caring soul. If she’d known about Brian, she would have.
“No. When I spoke with my parents the other day, they said they wanted to visit me, but that my therapist thought my healing would be set back if they did.” He lowered his gaze. “Total bullshit. They just didn’t want me.”
He made a note that Brian had a hard time directly answering questions. If what he claimed were true, why have another child? Kalan hoped Elana might be able to shed some light on the situation, assuming she knew of her brother’s existence. “You said you spoke with your parents before tonight?”
If that were true, why didn’t he try to contact Elana as well? In retrospect, it was probably for the best. This man had some serious issues.
He explained how he went up to their door two days ago and had to convince them that he was their son.
“Did they finally believe you?”
“Eventually. I knew too much about the house since I lived there until I was eight.”
Kalan would have to ask his dad if he remembered if the Stanleys had a son. Most likely, his father had no cause to interact with them, especially if they were out of town most of the time.
“Why did you return to the house if your folks didn’t greet you with open arms the other day?”
Brian rubbed his hands together and stared at the pencil in Kalan’s hand. “I didn’t get to speak with them for more than a few minutes before company arrived. I was angry and hurt so I left.”
That made sense. “What time did you arrive at your parents’ house this evening?”
“About fifteen minutes before you showed up.”
Kalan scribbled the time on his pad then leaned back in his seat. “How did you get in if they’d both been stabbed?” He certainly wouldn’t have a key to their front door. It was possible the real killers left the door unlocked, which was why the paramedics had been able to get in.
Brian’s breathing increased. “I knocked on the door, and when they didn’t answer, I looked in through the dining room window. I could see into the living room from there. That’s when I spotted a foot sticking out at an odd angle.”
If Brian were innocent, Kalan couldn’t imagine finding his parents like that. “Did you check to see if the front door was open?”
“No. They were fanatics about locking their doors. Or at least they were when I was growing up.”
“Why didn’t you call 911 right away?” If he had, and hadn’t tried to enter, Brian wouldn’t be sitting there now.
“I don’t know. I was confused. I ran to the back because I knew where they used to keep their spare key. They hadn’t changed its location since I was a kid, so I let myself in and found them.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and then his shoulders sagged. “Damn. The key’s in my other pants.”
“We’ll find it then. What did you do next?” He’d have to investigate if the same key was used for the back door as well as the front.
He looked up. “I tried to save my mother. She was still alive so I called for help.”
Not the action of a pre-meditated murderer. “I’m sorry, Brian.” Until his clothes were processed, along with the bodies, Kalan had no concrete evidence that Brian had killed them. He’d even explained the reason for having the knife in his hand. “You’re free to go, but don’t leave town.”
He bit down on his lip. “I don’t want to stay around here. I want to go back home.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. We shouldn’t be that long. Write down your contact information for me and your therapist’s number.”
Kalan slipped a piece of paper and pencil toward him and Brian jotted down the information.
Sympathy surfaced. If Brian were innocent of the crime, he had to be hurting in his own way. “Do you need someone to escort you back to your hotel?”
“No. I want to walk.”
Once he made sure Brian found his way out of the building, dread filled Kalan once more. Having to tell a woman he was fond of that not only had her parents been murdered but that she might have a brother she didn’t know about, would rank up there as one of his worst calls ever.
First, he needed to see if his father wanted to do a bit of pro bono work. Brian Stanley seemed like the type to hightail it out of town, and Kalan doubted the department would foot the bill to have him watched. Kalan’s dad had not only stepped down as the Beta of the Clan, he’d also hung up his private investigator cuffs, so to speak.
It was close to nine, but perhaps his Dad would be willing to take a late evening drive over to the Silver Lake Hotel.
