Lucca

by Karen Michelle Nutt

  Chapter Eight

  Lucca crawled out of bed, showered, and dressed before he sat behind his computer to do a little investigating about his lovely neighbor. He spotted her peeking out her window last night, while he’d been securing the locks, but once he glanced her way, she became spooked and retreated out of sight. Too bad, he would have enjoyed seeing her lovely face one more time before he headed off for bed.

  His fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop. He found the link to Shakespeare in the Park and scanned the information about the theatrical group and the group’s past productions.

  It must be his lucky day. Tryouts were tonight. He could stop by and see if his neighbor spent time with the theatrical group. For curiosity sake only, he lied to himself. His running across the woman twice in one night had to mean something. Right? “I don’t even know her name.” Why hadn’t he thought to ask? “She didn’t ask for my name either,” he grumbled. She wasn’t interested in him. A stab of disappointment settled in his chest before he could push the emotion away.

  Hell, with the way he behaved around her, the female was better off keeping her distance. He remembered how her gaze wavered over him in suspicion. He couldn’t blame her for being leery of him. Even he found their chance meetings peculiar. If the Hashasheen demons didn’t send her, then he would have to believe Fate decided to be pushy.

  “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves,” he quoted Shakespeare with a snort. “You got that right, Will.” Lucca liked to control matters. Screw Fate. If Fate wanted to play matchmaker then he would choose the when and where. “I’m becoming a sap. Matchmaking,” he ground out the word as if it were a disease. “Next, I’ll be searching for my soul mate.”

  He reached for his coffee mug on his desk, his gaze picking up the flashing light on his answering machine. He reached over to push the button.

  “Lucca, I need you to come by my place. It’s urgent. Whatever you do, come alone. There’s someone you must meet before… Well, there is someone you must meet. I believe you’ll be pleased.”

  He recognized the voice as Leroy Fennings, a Watcher. He’d been living in the human realm for over fifty years. He owned a coffee shop within the Orange Circle, the historical section of the City of Orange. A few weeks ago, Leroy asked him to case his shop, thought someone was shadowing him. Lucca had sat in front of the place a few nights in a row with no activity. He brushed the paranoia off as Leroy spending too much time with humans and his overindulgence of watching CSI programs on television.

  The time stamp on Leroy’s message read 6:45 this morning. Lucca usually opened his office early, but after last night, he wasn’t up to sitting in an empty office, hoping for someone to drag themselves in with a sappy story and a stack of money. He posed as a private detective on this realm with all the credentials of a former cop from the Bay area. The elders allowed him to keep the established job, while living out his banishment from the Otherworldly realm. Learn to live with the humans, respect them…blah blah blah. He didn’t see the elders cozying up to the human population, but then again Eli Grigori gave out the sentence. Just because he almost killed the guy… almost being the important word here, Lucca had been condemned. The Nephilim still breathed and was living the happily-ever-after with his human mate, according to Gideon anyway. As far as Lucca was concerned, his sentence shouldn’t have been so severe.

  Eli forged a new path for the condemned Fallen Angels. They no longer were forced to observe and record history. They no longer followed the rules set for them centuries ago. They could fraternize with humans and even take one as a mate.

  The Watchers were fools to believe the besotted Eli’s word. To find a soul mate, one had to have a soul. The Angels sent down to earth during the time of Enoch had no souls, or so they were led to believe. Hell, he believed it. His father was proof enough, not a compassionate bone in his angelic body, but what if his assumption had been wrong? Maybe compassion had nothing to do with possessing a soul. He shook his head. The lack of it proved consistent with those God condemned. The Watchers, the Nephillim were the offspring of those soulless creatures and the foolish human females who fell for their charms.

  What if Eli’s right? He posed the question to himself.

  “He’s not,” he answered stubbornly.

  Maybe you should check on Eli. See how his affair with Ryden O’ Sullivan held out. If he remembered right, Eli married her in a church, a real human affair. I could pop in and see if they’re still in love.

  “Yeah, and if Eli catches me spying on him, my arse is fried.”

  What’s there to lose then? You have a death wish already. Why not let Eli have the honors.

  His lips pursed together. Maybe he’d consider a little drive by later. Right now his services required he make a scheduled stop to Leroy Fennings’ home and see why the Watcher called for the cloak and dagger routine. He wanted him to meet someone? He’d find out who the person was before he shot down the Watcher’s attempt to find him a new friend.

  Chapter Nine

  From the office, the drive to Orange only took fifteen minutes. Leroy lived in a historical neighborhood, where the Craftsmen homes built in 1905 were renovated to their natural radiance with their gentle sloping roofs and wide eaves draping over deep porches. Leroy’s house stood in walking distance to his coffee shop, too. Most likely this was why the Watcher chose the location.

  Lucca parked his Rover in front of the house. The neighborhood was quiet with only a few humans out walking their dogs. A brisk wind hit his face as he opened the car door and stepped out. The sky looked clear, but the electrical current and the strong scent of ozone made him suspect rain would be in the forecast for tonight.

  He made his way up the perfectly trimmed walk and took the porch steps two at a time. His finger pushed the ringer mounted on the side of the front door. He could hear the buzz warning Leroy he had a visitor. After a few seconds with no one answering the door, he pressed the ringer again. This time pushing it with annoying small jerks in hopes of irritating Leroy into opening the door. “Come on,” he shouted. His fist came down on the door with a quick rap. The sudden impact pushed the door open.

  It hadn’t been locked?

  Leroy lived in a nice area, but Californians, preternatural or human, didn’t leave their doors unlocked. His back tightened and his bound wings stirred, making his back burn with the warning of potential danger. His hand went for his Glock tucked into the back of his jeans.

  He inched the door open wider. “Leroy?” he called to him, not really expecting an answer when the scent of blood hit his nostril. The tangy iron smell mixed with… “Brugmansia,” he murmured under his breath with a curse. His brows drew together. Brugmansia was a poisonous plant to humans, but ingested by an angel or a half angel, it would make them ill, but it also had another interesting purposes. It could be used as a truth serum. “What were you hiding, Leroy?” he murmured.

  He kept the gun ready to use as he took careful steps not to be heard. If he came face to face with a preternatural being, the bullets wouldn’t kill the prick, but it would hurt like hell. His lips curved. A little pain went a long way in finding out the truth. He didn’t need a truth serum.

  The living room sported a couch, recliner, and a big screen TV mounted on the wall. Nothing broken, nothing looked out of place. His gaze landed on the entryway to the right of him. He could see a tile counter and pine cabinets. The room was most likely the kitchen. As he neared, the rancid scent grew stronger.

  He entered with his gun forward and ready to shoot. His eyes widened at the scene. Splattered blood decorated the counters, the tile floor and the table as if a Zen painter turned psycho went to work on the place.

  The body or what was left of the poor bastard lay in lumps of flesh and crushed bone.

  His nostrils flared. Not because the metallic scent of blood, but the scent of mint and rosemary—strong and potent. “It can’t be,” he murmured in disbelief.

  “Drop the
weapon and put your hands up, nice and slow,” the voice behind him demanded.

  His eyes closed in a deliberate blink. His finger let go of the weapon where it fell to the side of him. Lifting his hands in the air, he turned to face her.

  “You,” she accused, her eyes widening to large pools of green. Her hand wavered for a second before suspicion took over again and she jabbed the gun at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Maybe we should have car pooled.” The third meeting within twenty-four hours proved too much of a coincidence. Shakespeare, my friend, we are not in control of our destinies and Fate is being damn pushy here.

  “Answer the question.” She waved the gun at him, her eyes narrowing. Good Lord, she looked pissed and beautiful all in one. His gaze swept over her attire: Worn blue jeans that looked comfortable but didn’t hide the fact she had a terrific figure. The yellow knit sweater complimented her sun-lit strands that were pulled back in a ponytail, making her look so young. Hell, she was young compared to him, but the determination glinting in her eyes proved she knew her way around a gun. One wrong move and she’d shoot off a round.

  Hmm... No badge. No uniform. Not a cop. Could she be responsible for Leroy’s death? If so that would make her a preternatural being. No human could have ravished a Watcher’s body in this fashion. He couldn’t help but wonder if she were one of the Fae. Her scent worked like an aphrodisiac and they were known to use scents to manipulate. Even now with her determined stance to shoot him full of holes, his body hummed with an undercurrent to claim her, his wings fluttering against its binds, trying to rip free. His gaze lingered on her lips with the thought of how they would feel beneath his—soft, full and—

  “If you’re done checking me out, I want an answer,” she snapped, her patience gone.

  He forgot the question. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Stay focused. “Leroy Fennings hired me.” He didn’t have to tell her he wanted him to meet someone. For a flicker of a moment, he wondered if Leroy meant for him to meet her.

  “Hired you for what?” Her gaze flickered to the gun at his feet. “Do you have a permit for your weapon?” Even earthbound with his wings suppressed, his natural instincts were faster than a human’s response. If he wanted to, he could retrieve the weapon in a flash and this conversation would be over. He found he didn’t want to risk hurting her just to show his superior moves. His gaze wavered over her and for a second he thought of other moves he’d like to show her. He cleared his thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on the gun she held. Looking at any part of her anatomy proved to be the more dangerous weapon.

  “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

  She waved the gun at him. “Don’t play cute.”

  “Of course not,” he bit out, tired of this game. “Leroy thought someone was following him,” he told her. It was the truth after all, or it had been a few weeks ago. By the look of the room, he’d say the person hadn’t been a figment of Leroy’s imagination. “And yes, I have a permit for the gun.” His gaze swept over the room, blood darkening as it dried. This wasn’t right. Angels as well as half angels turned to dust when killed. They didn’t become minced meat. “I have a card.” He pointed to his pants pocket. “I’m going to pull it out. I’d appreciate you not ruining my day by shooting me full of holes.”

  She gave him a quick nod and he fished out his business card.

  “Just toss it to me,” she demanded.

  She wasn’t taking any chances here. His fingers flicked the card in her directions. Without taking her eyes off him, she crouched down to retrieve the card. She glanced at it then looked at him. “Lucca Marlowe, private detective. Why private? Why aren’t you working for a police department?”

  “I didn’t realize working for myself was a crime.” She didn’t answer and he sighed. “I wanted something quieter with work hours I set.” He met her gaze head on. “Your turn. What’s your name? Why are you here? Do you have a permit for your weapon?” Sarcasm dripped from the last question like a tease.

  The sheen of sweat beaded at her temple and she licked her lips as she debated if she should trust him. “Leroy… Leroy was an acquaintance.” She lowered the gun. “I’m Juliet Romeo.” Her gaze met his and narrowed. “And yes, I have a permit for my weapon. Leroy called me last night and asked me to come by. Said he wanted…” A flicker of emotions flitted across her delicate features before she leveled her gaze at him again. “He wanted to talk to me.”

  Lucca had a hunch she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “So you’re Juliet Romeo.” Another time and place, he may have made a wisecrack about her name. Either it was an alias or her parents were Shakespeare fanatics. He chose his human last name of Marlowe to honor his good friend Kit or as the world knew him: Christopher Marlowe. Who would have believed a son of a shoemaker would become a famous playwright, but more importantly, a dear friend to one of the Nephilim.

  Juliet may not be lying about being an acquaintance of Leroy’s, but she held something back. Her emotions were not of a detective looking for evidence of who-did-the-nasty-deed, but of a person who had an intimate relationship with the victim. She knew Leroy, knew him well. The thought of her possibly being his lover rankled him more than it should. “You’re not the police, but you come packing to an acquaintance’s house. Seems kind of odd.”

  She tugged at the necklace she had secured around her neck. The end of it lay hidden beneath her sweater. Pulling the item out revealed a badge. “Detective. Off duty right now.”

  So she was law enforcement. Feminine, but lethal—he found he liked the combination. His lips twitched, threatening to smile.

  “Do you find something amusing here?” Her terse reprimand disguised as a question sobered him.

  He lifted his hand and coughed behind his fist. “No, of course not.”

  Her hand moved behind her. She shoved the gun back in its holster. “Leroy asked me to come by this morning.”

  “He left a message for me about six or so, asking me come by, too.” Had Leroy wanted him to meet Juliet? If so, why?

  “Hmm...” Her brows furrowed as if her thoughts had taken her somewhere else.

  “When he called you, did he sound scared?”

  She shook her head. “No, just the opposite. He would have said something to me if he was scared,” she said the last more to herself.

  Acquaintance be damned. He was right. They did have an intimate relationship. “Maybe your boyfriend,” the word tasted like acid in his mouth, “didn’t want to worry you. And don’t bother with pretending he was only an acquaintance. The ruse is up.”

  Her gaze met his. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Leroy was a friend, not my boyfriend.”

  Good to know. He held back the smile that twitched his lips. What was with this woman that made him want to grin like a fool? “Do you have any ideas who might have wanted to harm Leroy?”

  She walked past him, taking in the gruesome scene. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, glassy pools of green. When she caught sight of him staring at her, she turned away, pretending to be interested in the crime scene.

  Oh yeah, Leroy had been a very good friend. Again anger swirled and twisted in his gut at the thought of Leroy touching her. He shook his head. Where were these thoughts coming from? They were really ticking him off.

  “Did you touch anything?” she asked, her tone accusing him.

  “We’ve resorted to being condescending now?”

  Her gaze riveted to his and this time it was her lips that twitched though she did a better job than he did at not giving into the compulsion to grin. “Maybe you bring the best out in me, detective.”

  “Hmm...” He would have much rather looked at the evidence without her being here, but he couldn’t very well ask her to leave. “Out of curiosity, how do you know about the theatre company, Shakespeare in the Park?”

  Her eyes narrowed, darkening with suspicion. “How do you—”

  “You wore
a T-shirt last night with the logo.” He didn’t let her finish.

  “So you noticed more than my scent.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement. The woman had a sense of humor. He liked that, too.

  His lips curved into a grin as he shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, if I came on too strong.”

  She waved his apology off. “Your friend explained.”

  “Gideon?” For the first time he wondered what else Gideon told her when he stepped outside the Laundromat.

  She nodded. “He explained you were mugged and the meds had made you loopy.”

  Mugging? Then he remembered his cuts and bruises that were all but healed this morning. A human would take up to a week or more to heal from the injuries he sustained, but by tomorrow, the worst of it would be a distant memory. “Yeah, I tossed the meds this morning. I need a clear mind. So are you involved with the theatre?” he asked again, determined to know more about her.

  “Yes, tryouts are tonight if you’re interested.” She said in an off-handed manner, obviously dismissing him in having an interest in the arts.

  “I might show up.”

  Her gaze wavered over him. “Do you know anything about Shakespeare?”

  His lips curved. Will and he had shared a pint or two, but he knew she wasn’t asking if he knew the man personally. “I’ve even performed in a few of Shakespeare’s plays.”

  Doubt still lingered in her eyes, but also admiration. “Maybe I’ll see you there tonight. I’m in charge of wardrobe. We’re looking for a male addition to the troupe.”

  Perfect.

  Juliet’s features sobered as her gaze landed on a bloody print on the black stovetop. Her steps took her for a closer look. Their pleasant banter was put on hold for now.

  The splayed handprint was a bold statement of how Leroy fought for his life. Leroy died protecting what exactly? Whoever did this wanted information and they took extreme measures to pry it from him.