Debbie, to her credit, didn’t balk at the Amazonian woman leaning in close to her. “You’re a dream thief?”
A wicked smile curved Makir’s mouth as she let her gaze hungrily fall over Debbie’s face and down to the exposed bra peeking above the askew blouse. Makir extended an arm, let the side of her finger graze the upper mound of Debbie’s breast and pulled the blouse over. “Why yes, I am. You may have chosen the wrong dream thief. While my brother here may have new parts, I’m way better experienced with my mouth than he is.”
Debbie blushed, the pink tinge rising up her neck to stain her cheeks. Makir’s sultry laugh grated on Malcolm’s nerves. Keeping her focus on Debbie, Makir waved a hand toward Malcolm “Why don’t you go get cleaned up before you drip anymore of yourself on the carpet. Debbie and I can get…” she licked her lips, “better acquainted.”
“Perhaps you should step outside until we’re presentable.” Malcolm straightened his back, not about to leave Debbie in this vulnerable situation.
Makir cocked her head to the side, letting her bottom lip pout. “Suit yourself, love. We could’ve had some real fun. The offer stands.” Makir mimed a kiss and sauntered to the door. She held it wide open, not caring if anyone walked by. “You have ten minutes.” The door slammed, leaving behind a chilly wake.
Malcolm let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “Are you okay?”
Debbie flung the covers away from her, cheeks still stained pink, but this time her temper simmered just under the surface. She tossed the comforter off and slammed her feet on the floor. She searched the room for the discarded panties. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“Obadiah wanted her to help. She’s a detective in New York.”
She slipped on her panties and straightened her skirt. “Why did she have a key to our room?”
Malcolm followed Debbie into the bathroom, wiping his hands on the towel, and tossed it to the ground. “She’s going to stay with us.”
He started toward the sink to wash his hands when Debbie blocked his way, arms crossed over her chest. “When were you planning on telling me?” She gestured toward the disheveled bed. “Why would you do that if you knew someone was coming?”
“I didn’t expect her until tomorrow.”
Some of the steam evaporated from her mood. He turned on the faucet, opened the plastic-wrapped bar of soap, washed his hands, and wiped off his mouth. It’d have to do.
“She’s a lesbian?” Debbie ran a brush through her tangled hair and pulled it up into a loose ponytail.
“Hard to be gay or straight if you don’t have the parts to match, but, if she had a choice, she’d be bisexual. But that display wasn’t for you. It was retaliation at me.”
Debbie’s brow furrowed. “Retaliation for what?”
“For being able to be with you. I expect she’ll cool down, but…”
Debbie shot him a hard look. “But what?”
“You are her type.”
Debbie’s lips quirked up in a half-smile. “Too bad for her, I’m taken.”
“I wish I could’ve taken you at least twice more.”
She slapped playfully at his chest. She burst out laughing, slightly at first but then fully. “That was so embarrassing!”
Malcolm joined in on her laughter. “Embarrassing for you? Did you see my hands?” Debbie laughed at him without mercy. The main door gave off a faint click as it unlocked and swung open. Makir returned, leather jacket flung over a shoulder. Underneath she wore a shirt that read The Red Sox Aren’t the Only Ones Who Suck. A New York Yankee’s necklace completed her attire.
“Back so soon?” Malcolm asked.
“Pity, I was hoping for a little sneak peek.” Makir smirked.
Debbie raised her chin, facing the impressive woman without any hint of fear. “You’ve gotten all the sneak peek you’re going to get. More than one peek at my ass would drive you insane.”
Makir tilted her head back and roared with laughter. “Oooh, I like a little spice with my sweet. Gab, you know how to pick ‘em.” She pinched Debbie’s cheek, but gentle, the insane flirting disappearing. “If he ever bores you, let me know. Now shall we get to business?”
Makir prowled inside, grabbing her duffel bag, and with another snide smirk as she passed the rumpled bed, she tossed her stuff on the clean one. She dropped into the overstuffed chair by the window, flung one long muscular leg to the side, and placed her hands above her head. “Care to tell me how you have a dick and what it is I’m doing here if it isn’t about giving you proper lessons on pleasing a woman?”
Malcolm’s cheeks burned, but he refused to be bullied by her. Regardless, he’d have to explain himself. Though he’d much rather be doing anything else. He sat on the edge of the bed, wishing the room had a small table so he wouldn’t have to feel like an inferior talking to his boss. “Are you aware of Aelia’s last actions as Librarian?”
Makir’s pupils dilated and contracted, the only sign of her interest. “Remind me.”
He retold the story of missing half of Dharma Knight’s dream, his symptoms that matched Caelieus’s, Aelia’s command to terminate the other targets, to the eventual dive into Dharma’s awake mind. “While breaking the connection, her husband shot me. When I regenerated, I appeared this way. I can eat and drink whatever I wish, I can use the bathroom, and…”
“You can fuck.”
Debbie looked away, but Malcolm held the woman’s stare. “Quite well, yes. I don’t know why, as dream thieves never get any answers, but that is what has befallen me.”
“Bloody lucky bastard.” The words didn’t surprise him. He’d been given a rare gift, one that any of the others would give anything for.
“It’s not without its faults. I’m gaining weight, losing hair and eyelashes, and I’m no longer super strong or fast.”
“But you’re human.” Makir cast her gaze to the thin, tan carpet.
“Not exactly.”
Her eyes snapped up.
“I’m sure Obadiah asked you here because he’s discovered someone murdering targets. We’re here investigating the latest one.”
“And you think Aelia is behind them?”
Malcolm leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. “We think so. I made a connection, similar to stealing a dream, with the target’s corpse.” A chill ran through him as if the grave reached for him. He could barely speak Tara’s name.
Makir shivered too. She ran her third finger underneath her eye, rubbing away at the thick black eyeliner. “Not quite human, but not quite dream thief either. I guess you need my help with the case.”
Debbie took her place beside him, wrapping an arm through his. “Someone called and threatened us a few days ago and earlier today,” she gulped, “someone broke into our other hotel room and left a finger on the bed.”
Makir laughed. “Like a bloody mint?”
Malcolm straightened. “It isn’t funny. I have no idea if I am still immortal, but I know for damn sure Debbie isn’t.”
The amusement vanished from her face. “Fair enough. Tell me about the case.”
Malcolm retrieved the case file and handed the files over. Makir took them and flipped it open. Seeing the photographs of the young dead woman didn’t change her facial expression one inch. “They ruled it an accident?”
“Yes, but I have the girl’s last memories. The bastards, two of them, drowned her in the bathtub and made it look like an accidental drowning.”
Makir reached forward, unzipping her duffel, and retrieved a tablet and portable keyboard. “Describe them for me.” Malcolm recalled every detail of the men and the scene. “Let me study this, but for now we’re going to talk to her friends and family, her coworkers, and this professor of hers. See if we find any connections the police missed, and if you recognize the men, that’ll be better.”
Debbie’s stomach growled. Makir’s lips turned up in a half-smile. “Perhaps you should find food for your woman.”
> “Good idea. Debbie, will you meet me in the car?”
She furrowed her brow at him, but with a cut of the chin, she nodded, took the car keys, and eased the door shut behind her. Malcolm waited a few seconds to make sure she’d gotten to the elevator. “Halek is going to see if he can find anything on the number that called me, but it’s likely to be a burner phone.”
Makir didn’t look up as she read the file, typing notes, letting her hand fly fast over the keyboard in a blur. “I’ll tell him to scan the hotel footage to see if it picked up on anyone entering or leaving your room. What did you do with the finger?”
“I going to overnight it to Nimue as soon as we’re done here.”
Makir nodded, still unphased by the knowledge that a severed finger was left in his room. “That’s what I was going to suggest. She does great work, better than my CSI team. She should have something in two days.”
“Makir?”
She still didn’t look up.
“Will you not tell the others. About me. Not yet?”
Her lips pressed in a thin line. “You think I’m stupid enough to tell the others so they can feel as shitty as I do?” She huffed a laugh, the sound holding no warmth. “No, your secret is safe with me.” She met his gaze. “Speaking of secrets.”
Malcolm waited.
Makir’s stare bore into him. “Lother is missing.”
15
A light breeze blew against the tweed jacket Malcolm had carefully chosen that morning. Despite the cloud-covered day and the threat of rain later in the evening, the Florida humidity hung around like the unwanted guest that it was. The acrid smell of hot asphalt swarmed the area, blocking whatever smell would’ve come from the large dumpster behind the Fort Myer Target.
“Thank you, Miss Moss, for meeting with us today.” Malcolm tapped Debbie’s notepad with a pen, studying the young woman. She wore her long, dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, dark circles rimmed bloodshot eyes, and her hand shook as she lit a cigarette.
“Not a problem. You can call me Rebekah.”
“Thank you, Rebekah. What can you tell us about Tara’s last days?”
“I don’t understand. Why would Tara’s parents hire private investigators?” The young woman took a long drag from the cigarette, picking at a loose-fitting pale sweater.
“We’re not at liberty to answer.”
Rebekah wiped at her eyes. “Shouldn’t surprise me. Tara’s parents didn’t want her to come here. She’d been accepted into Florida State where her father had ties. She hadn’t spoken to them much in the last four years.”
“How well did you know Tara?”
Rebekah took another drag and jerked her head toward the brick building behind her. “We worked at Target together since our freshman year. At the end of our sophomore year, we got an apartment off-campus. We’ve been roommates ever since.”
“Quite well, then. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt her?”
Rebekah’s forehead crinkled, confusion dancing in her eyes. “Hurt her? No one. I mean there’s a couple girls here that don’t like us because we get the better shifts, like Cindy Lawson, but she had no real enemies that I know of. Why would you ask something like that? She drowned. It was an accident. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes, she drowned. We’re trying to cover all bases. Make sure nothing was missed.”
Wind tore through the side of the Target where Rebekah had agreed to chat with them on her break. Debbie asked, “Why did you tell the police you didn’t know who Miss Booth was going to meet at the lake?”
Rebekah rolled her eyes and flicked the cigarette away while getting to her feet. “See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything. I knew people like you would make a big deal about Jim.”
“Professor Jim Fischer?”
“Yeah. My break will be over soon. If this is all you’re going to ask me about, I don’t have anything else to say.” She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and phone, shoving them in her pockets.
“Miss Moss, we aren’t implying anything about Dr. Fischer. We just wanted to know why you chose not to say anything.”
“Because everyone can be judgy assholes. Tara and Jim loved each other. He was going to ask her to marry him, but she couldn’t be with him until after she graduated. He’s a good man. He already lost the woman he loved. He doesn’t deserve to lose his career, too. Please, just leave him alone.”
Debbie said, “We do have to ask him questions, but we’re not implying anything. We just want to get a clearer picture of her life. Please don’t go just yet.”
Rebekah sat and nibbled at a hangnail. “What do you want to know?”
Malcolm asked the second question on his list he’d prepared beforehand. “Tara was a business major?”
“Yes, but you knew that already.”
Debbie took over while Malcolm took notes. “Did she have any other interests besides school, work, and her relationship?”
“She read all the time, loved following the stock market. She had an uncanny gift for being able to predict how it would fluctuate. I never understood it, but after my grandma died last year I took the little money she left me, and with Tara’s advice, I was able to make enough to pay off all my student loans.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Because of her, I’ll graduate debt free, and now I can never pay her back.”
Debbie handed her a tissue.
“Thanks. I wasn’t the only one either. That’s how she met Jim. He’s the head of the statistics division. She never took any of his classes, but she wanted to check some of her calculations. She met him during office hours, and the two hit it off right away.”
“Did he help her with her suggestions on the stock market?” Debbie leaned forward, curiosity rising.
“Some, they were great together, could figure anything out, but more than that, they laughed. She could be on the serious side, you know, hardly let her hair down, but with him, she opened up. I’d never seen her so happy.”
A balding white man stuck his head out of the back door. His faded white dress shirt and black pants marked him as management. “Time’s up.”
Rebekah dipped her head at the man. “I got to go.”
“Take my card in case you think of anything else.” Malcolm handed over one of the hundred fake cards his lawyer had provided for their bogus investigation company.
“One last question.” Debbie grabbed Rebekah’s arm, halting her from slipping the card in her pocket. “Did Tara ever say anything about the Mayer Company?”
Rebekah squinted her eyes. “I think so, just once, in passing, she said it was some sort of new medical tech company. I overheard her on the phone telling someone she predicted it would go global.”
16
Malcolm knocked several times on the red door of the Booth’s home the following day. Tara had grown up in a quaint brick home with black shutters. A wraparound porch spanned the length of the house, and a porch swing swayed back and forth in the soft breeze.
Movement inside the house crawled. Malcolm had seen this many, many times before. When someone experiences a loss of life, time turns sluggish, and every movement takes tremendous effort. He couldn’t begrudge them this rite of passage, no matter how much of a hurry Makir was in.
A middle-aged man with brown hair that was graying at the edges opened the door. Deep circles lined his grief-stricken brown eyes, the same eyes as his daughter. Malcolm felt the pang of his loss. He’d stolen her dream. This awful fate should’ve been prevented, yet here he was, and her bright light had been extinguished from this life far too soon. A great surge of rage rose in him at this sight. This father’s grief, more than anything, motivated him to discover who killed the young woman.
“We’re not interested in anything you’re selling. Thank you.” Mr. Booth went to shut the door.
Malcolm grabbed the frame, halting the door. “We’re not selling anything. Are you Clancy Booth?”
“Yes.”
Malcolm bowed his head. “I’m Malcolm Anderson. This
is Debbie Jones. You hired us to investigate your daughter’s death. We hoped to get a few minutes of your time and perhaps your wife’s, Joanne.”
The man’s shoulders drooped as if carrying a huge weight, which in a way he was. He said nothing but opened the door farther and turned away. Malcolm took it as an unspoken invitation.
“Joanne, the private investigators are here, and they want to talk to us about…” Clancy Booth grabbed the staircase banister as if the thought of his daughter’s name ripped another hole in his heart. Malcolm, Debbie, and Makir followed the man inside and passed the formal dining room on the right and the staircase on the left into a large living room. A general array of disorder lay heavy upon the room. The bay window showcased a luxurious garden with blooming flowers and wistful willow trees. The peaceful scene made the melancholy feel of the house more apparent than the musty smell lingering about the place.
“What did you say, dear?” A blond woman appeared through a swinging doorway to what Malcolm guessed was the kitchen. She wiped her hands down her black house pants. Her bob haircut stuck out at different directions, and a threadbare t-shirt featuring Fort Myer University hung too big on her slight frame. Malcolm had little doubt it was an old shirt of Tara’s. “Oh,” she said, smoothing her hair.
Malcolm extended a hand. “Good morning Mrs. Booth, I’m Malcolm Anderson. This is my associate Debbie Jones and Madison Asher. She is a detective in NY who has agreed to help us on your daughter’s case. We would like to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”
Joanne wiped at her face and glanced down at her very casual clothes before letting her gaze roam around the unkempt room. “Of course. Of course. I apologize for my appearance, and the house is a mess. Please sit down.” She gestured toward the floral couch. Dirty dishes lined the coffee table along with a multitude of tissues littering the end tables. The TV played the weather channel, and several throw blankets had been cast haphazardly over the recliners. Joanne gathered up the dishes and tissues, shoving them together. Clancy gathered the blankets and tossed them on the ground beside the recliners, and Joanne shot him a glaring look. “I’ll just put these in the kitchen. Would you all like something to drink? We have water, coffee. I could make some tea.”
The Dream Awakened Page 9
