Shattered Souls

by Delilah Devlin

  Moonlight streamed in from a window in the roof, illuminating everything, including the shape of him resting beneath the covers. She crept up the stairs, her pretty sandals held in her hand, and drew close to the bed. Her heart pounded so loudly she didn’t know how he couldn’t hear.

  “What are you doing here, Caitlyn?”

  His voice was soft, a muffled texture, like she’d just woken him. He wiped a hand over his face and let out a deep breath before pushing up to sit.

  His legs were splayed beneath the covers, and she couldn’t help gazing down between them. His cock was a gentle mound.

  “Do you like my dress?” she asked, and twirled in a circle, feeling feminine and silly at the same time.

  “Stop it. You should go home. You don’t belong here.”

  “Why’s that, Morin? Because my mother warned you off? Or because you don’t want me?”

  He stayed silent so long she took courage, knowing he considered lying, but he wanted her too much. She could tell by the way his body betrayed him, the gentle mound growing and lifting the coverlet. With a quick move, she opened the brooch and let the soft fabric drift down to the floor.

  “I got into his bed, nude. He grabbed my arms to hold me off, but I kissed him until he couldn’t tell me no.”

  “How many times?” Sam asked, his voice unnaturally even.

  She shot him a glare. “Seriously?”

  Glacier-blue eyes stared right back from his implacable face.

  “Just that once, not that it’s really any of your business. My mother died not too long after. When he didn’t bother to come to her funeral, I wrote him off.” Cait turned her body toward Sam. “Are we done? I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

  “You dreamed about him. Maybe you still have feelings for him.”

  “I dream about you all the time.”

  Sam’s Mt. Rushmore expression relented. He lay back, his eyes glittering as he stared at the ceiling. “I dream about you too,” he said quietly.

  “Must be nightmares,” she quipped, hoping to lighten his mood.

  “Not always.” He reached out an arm and pulled her against his body, settling her close so every curve rode his. “We’ll have to get up in a minute.”

  She sighed and snuggled closer, glad he didn’t ask her anything else. If he’d wanted the dirty details, she’d have given them to him, but he’d never have looked at her the same. She knew it. “Sam, do you think you might want…” She cleared her throat. “When this is all over…”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  Those words were better than a flat denial. And enough for now. She rested her cheek on his chest and listened to the reassuring sounds of his heart. Its steady, faithful beat drowned out the faint whispers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam hit the homicide department in the Criminal Justice Complex first thing, glad of a chance to get away from Cait and clear his head. Lying in her bed, holding her close after she’d told him about Morin, he’d felt like an idiot. He’d been married to this woman, been her partner even longer, but he’d never known a thing about her past. Never thought to ask.

  The things she’d revealed made him wish he’d kept things shallow. Inch deep. Or seven. He’d have been better able to walk away when they ended this investigation. Now his emotions were getting involved, something he’d sworn would never happen again.

  An ex-wife who was a boozer was easy to consign to the past. This Cait—this complicated, fascinating, anything-but-ordinary woman—was digging deeper into his heart. The story she’d told him about her crush on Morin had only deepened the pain. She was a lot softer than he’d ever thought. Vulnerable in a way that left him breathless.

  The moment Sam entered the lieutenant’s office, he felt a distinct chill.

  Leland glanced up from his gray metal desk. “Where’s O’Connell?”

  “Back at her office,” he said, aiming a thumb over his shoulder. “You want her here?”

  “Hell no.” Leland’s hard glare lightened, and he tilted his head to the side as he studied Sam. “You do know she’s trouble, right? That fact hasn’t changed one iota.”

  Sam stiffened, wondering where this was leading. Leland wasn’t one to get personal. “Yes, sir.”

  “She was lucky she got out of here with her reputation intact. I let her resign out of respect for her father. I knew him, did you know that?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “Good man. No funny business there. His wife, however…” He shook his head. “Messy business, that.”

  He eased his weight down to the chair. “You call me in to talk about Cait’s parents?”

  A glint of annoyance flashed in Leland’s steel-colored eyes. “No, I wanted to catch you up on the po-lice work your team’s been doin’. You’re still interested in the investigation, aren’t you? Unless chasing your ex-wife’s tail’s more important now.”

  Sam’s gaze aimed daggers his way, but he gritted his teeth rather than telling his boss he’d stepped over a line. For some reason, Leland seemed to want to pick a fight. Sam didn’t have the time or inclination to worry about what had tied a knot in the LT’s shorts. “Have the guys found anything?”

  Leland tossed two files across the desk. “Two more women are missing. Had to bring Missing Persons into the investigation.” He gave a smile that looked more like a snarl. “You know how happy that makes me.”

  Since homicide considered themselves somewhat elite, Sam knew Leland likely felt like cockroaches had invaded the division. Again, not something Sam gave a shit about.

  “Both young,” Leland said. “Disappeared the same day as the Farmington girl. We can’t find a single connection among the three. One was a prostitute, the other a day care worker. But they’re gone. Not a trace, and no jealous boyfriends. Or so the wonderful folks in MPU say.”

  Sam picked up the files and flipped through them. He looked at the pictures. Both had round faces that made them look younger than their years. Both looked innocent, even the prostitute, but perhaps the photo had been taken before real life left its mark. He checked the statements. She hadn’t been hooking for very long.

  Leland leaned across the desk. “You really think this Donnelly has something to do with all this? Doesn’t seem smart enough to elude us. Or physically strong enough to have wrestled with Henry. He’s got a couple of busts for possession and a DUI, but nothing to indicate he’s violent. It’s been hard trying to find an address because he hasn’t lived at the one on his license for three years. The one he gave on his job application to the university was bogus.”

  Sam met his silver glare with a calm one of his own. “We’ll just have to keep digging.”

  Leland’s next smile looked pained. “O’Connell get any weird vibes?”

  Sam felt a tic pulse beside his eye. “Sir, Cait doesn’t vibe.”

  “Well, whatever it is she does,” Leland said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Is there nothin’ she’s been able to pick up on? I’m beginnin’ to wonder why we need her at all.”

  “Sir, I’d never have checked out the dig site if she hadn’t insisted. Wouldn’t have known we were looking for Donnelly if he hadn’t tried to blow us up.”

  “She’s got good instincts, when she isn’t swimmin’ in alcohol. Always did. Henry swore by her.” He shook his head. “Poor bastard.”

  Sam dropped the folders back on Leland’s desk and stood. “Look, keep me in the loop, but Cait and I have some more leads to follow this afternoon.”

  “Anything I wanna to know about?” his boss asked, no small hint of distaste in his voice.

  Sam wondered how much Leland really knew about Cait. He’d known her mother. “We find anything solid, we’ll be sure to let you know.” He left, pulled out his phone, and tapped in Cait’s number.

  She answered on the third ring.

  Her grumpy hello made him smile. From the moment she’d crawled out of bed that morning her hackles had been up. He guessed she’d needed
the added armor after all she’d shared. “Where are you?”

  “Just briefed Jason. He’s got nothing from Lisa’s friends.”

  He stared at the ceiling and ground his teeth. “Not what I asked.”

  She huffed. “On my way to Morin’s.”

  “Not without me you’re not,” he growled. “Same location?”

  “You got that, huh? As long as I have the key, he’ll be in the same alley.”

  “Be there in five.”

  Cait watched Sam’s sedan slide to a halt beside the curb. She stuck both hands in her pockets and put on a neutral face. He’d been angry at just the mention of Morin’s name. The thought of her going alone had sent him ballistic. She could hear it in every terse word he’d barked into her ear.

  Last night she’d been mildly amused, then concerned. Today she was annoyed by his jealousy. She’d told him nothing existed between her and Morin, not anymore. At the same time, she liked that he was so possessive. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t give a damn whether she went there for a cup of tea or to jump into Morin’s bed.

  Sam strode up to where she waited at the mouth of the alley. Before she could turn, his arm encircled her. He pulled her against his chest and lowered his head.

  The kiss wasn’t the least bit subtle. Hard, hot—it was like a brand on her lips. When he lifted his head, his gaze went to her mouth.

  She knew it was red, her lips swelling, and she guessed that was the point. He wanted Morin to see his mark on her.

  Cait raised an eyebrow. “Miss me?”

  “Like a hole in the head.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she drawled. When he straightened and dropped his arm, she reached for his hand, and then they strode down the alley to the shop. She fished in her pocket for the key, closed her fingers around it, and then waited while Sam opened the door. Once it swung inward, she pulled Sam inside behind her.

  “So good to see you again, Sam Pierce,” Morin’s deep voice called from a distance. He stood on the upper level amid the bookshelves. His eyes glittered in the soft lamplight when his gaze flicked to her. “Cait? Nice to see you, darling.”

  Sam cursed softly beside her, but she gave his hand a hard squeeze. “I have something to show you. Something solid you might be able to help us with.” She released her hold on Sam, but he didn’t let her go. She shook her hand, mindful that Morin watched their little interplay.

  Morin’s eyes narrowed, and a smile spread slowly across his face. “You told him about us, and he’s not happy.”

  Sam fisted both hands on his hips. “She was a kid. We have laws against that sort of thing.”

  Cait rolled her eyes.

  Morin gave an indolent shrug. “She was…mature for her age. And quite persuasive.”

  Despite the fact that she loved it when Sam got that dead-eye, scary gleam in his eyes, Cait stepped between them. “Stop it, both of you. That’s not why we’re here. Try to keep it about the job, Sam.”

  Sam breathed deeply and let go of her hand, but his stare remained locked on Morin.

  Her gaze went from Sam to Morin, and she gave Morin a frown because he was enjoying Sam’s macho display a little too much. “You really need to get a new hobby,” she muttered.

  “But this one’s so amusing.” He laughed at her scowl. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

  “I have so much to tell you.” She pulled the crest from her jacket pocket and strode toward the steps. “I hope you have time.”

  He shrugged. “I have all the time in the world, love. Oh, you were just being polite?”

  “Crazy things have been happening. Some related to the case we’re investigating. Some…personal.” She halted a step below him. “I burned my mother’s spell bag, and nothing’s been the same since.”

  Morin’s dark eyes softened. “It was time, Caitlyn, for you to discover some things about yourself.”

  “Well, that part’s interesting, but not really urgent. We found this yesterday.” She held out the crest.

  His hands stayed by his sides, his gaze focused on the emblem. Color leached from his face.

  “Morin?”

  “Where did you find this?” he asked, his voice rasping.

  “In an old Civil War bunker.”

  “Sweet God,” he whispered.

  “What’s wrong? Do you know what it is?”

  “It belonged to him.”

  “Who?”

  “Jonas Worthen.”

  Cait studied his face—the tight lines that bracketed his mouth, the glassy stare. “Yes, I thought it might.”

  His head jerked up. “You went near his body?” His voice rose. “You disturbed it?”

  Her muscles tightened. She’d never heard him shout. Never seen him so tense. Or afraid. “I didn’t, but the man who tried to blow us up yesterday did.”

  Morin grabbed the railing and shut his eyes.

  Cait shot Sam a glance. His heavy scowl was gone. By his watchful silence, he seemed as intrigued as she was by Morin’s reaction.

  She gave a shrug and turned back to Morin.

  He was leaning back now, looking toward the ceiling, but when he tilted his face down to meet her gaze again, a shimmer of tears was in his eyes. “I suspected before, but I hoped…come with me. I have a story to tell. You two don’t know what a hornet’s nest you’ve stirred up.”

  Once again, Cait sat at the tiny kitchen table with Sam consigned to the tall stool. They both waited silently while Morin set a pot on the stove to boil and disappeared into his shop. She heard footsteps tapping on the stairs, then his soft tread above them. Morin’s feet dragged slowly.

  “He recognized it,” Sam said softly.

  She dropped her gaze from the ceiling. “I don’t know how, but I knew he would.”

  “He looked…”

  “Shocked?” She swallowed hard, because as much as she wanted to prevent Morin’s pain from touching her, her chest felt tight.

  “Can’t be good,” Sam grumbled. “Or maybe he’s just being melodramatic.”

  “Really?” She canted her head. “Morin’s steady as they go. He’s playful, a flirt, but he’s not a drama queen.”

  Sam folded his arms over his chest. “So long as he can tell us something we can roll with, I don’t care what he is.”

  “Your husband’s right.” Morin strode into the room carrying a large box.

  “He’s not my husband.”

  “And our past doesn’t matter either, Cait,” Morin said, his voice tinged with sadness. “Not in the grand scheme of things.”

  She shifted in her chair, curious about what he set on the floor beside the table. “You knew his name. Recognized the emblem.”

  “His seal.” Morin fished the emblem from his pocket and laid it on the table, staring at it for a long moment while one corner of his mouth curled in disgust. “Worthen was a pompous ass with delusions of his own importance. He used to brag about that family crest, had it carved into a ring and used it to stamp the wax on his letters, like he was a feudal overlord and hadn’t designed it himself.”

  Cait blinked. “You sound as though you knew him.”

  Morin dropped into the seat opposite her, his shoulders hunched. “And that wouldn’t be possible, would it?”

  She eyed him, wondering at the strange inflection in his voice. “Show us what you have.”

  Morin bent toward the box, lifted the lid, and drew out a package wrapped in leather, which he set on the table before him. He reached behind him for a knife from the counter, then cut the string and laid open the flaps to reveal a large book with thick pages that appeared hand-bound.

  Cait leaned over the table to examine the burned etching on the front of the book. From upside down, she discerned the embossed image was a pentagram with a beaker, a flame, a rock, and a cloud on four points. The fifth symbol, the fifth element, pointing toward her, was of a disembodied hand, index finger pointing above for “spirit.”

  “It’s old?”

  “Not especia
lly,” he said.

  So quietly, she hunched forward again.

  “Only about a hundred sixty years old.”

  He turned to the first page, and she glanced at the upside-down writing. “Calligraphy,” she murmured, just to say something to fill the silence, because his terseness was making her nervous.

  “Handwritten on parchment, a Book of Shadows, love.”

  A shiver slithered down her spine. “Whose?”

  His lips curved slightly. “Mine. Now.”

  “And you keep it wrapped and hidden away?” she asked.

  “It’s a dangerous book, filled with dark magic. Old spells. A diary of sorts of the mage who wrote it.” He stopped turning pages and flipped around the book.

  In the middle of the page was a picture of Worthen’s emblem. She picked up the disk and laid it on the page beside the picture, then released a pent-up breath. “It’s identical.”

  “It was pressed by that emblem.”

  “What does the book say about it?”

  “That the man who was buried with the emblem should remain undisturbed forever or risk another scourge upon Memphis.”

  Scourge? She straightened. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jonas Worthen was a dying man and afraid of what he faced in the afterlife because of his many sins. He sought escape from his fate in the dark arts. Conjured a demon who made him a deal: for the lives of three innocents, he would live forever.”

  “Three?” Her eyebrows shot up and her chest pinched. “His own children.”

  Morin gave a sharp nod. “His wife tried to save them and died for her efforts. Townsfolk noticed a strangeness about him after his children died. Some saw it in his eyes.”