Lucca

by Karen Michelle Nutt

  She ran into Lucca three times now, all chance meetings: once at the Laundromat, the mini-mart, and at a murder victim’s residence. His home address just happened to be in the same apartment complex as hers. Coincidence? Too much so that it made her nervous, and didn’t that just piss her off? She liked Southern California and she didn’t want to run again. Owen liked his school and she had a job she enjoyed, but if they were in danger…

  Leroy had wanted her to meet someone. Had he wanted her to meet her neighbor Lucca? Maybe, but she didn’t know for sure. Until she figured out Lucca’s motives, she would be careful.

  If Lucca Marlowe had secrets, she would find out what they were.

  She glanced at the crime scene photos on her desk. Leroy’s horrible death bothered her on so many levels. He had been a friend. She would forever miss his jovial outlook on life, his sweet smile…his kindness. She sighed with remorse for not recognizing someone threatened him. She didn’t even know he hired a private detective. Why hadn’t he come to her?

  Leroy befriended everyone, some with questionable backgrounds. She tried to warn him about his association with the seedier realms, but he only chuckled and waved her away. He told her it was better if he knew the enemy than to be surprised when the degenerate showed up in the dead of night.

  “Who surprised you, Leroy?” She didn’t believe his death had anything to do with her and Owen. Leroy had been tortured. No one, not even a full blooded Angel could withstand such pain. He would have talked, would have revealed something of their whereabouts in his delirium, but all remained quiet. If it had been about finding Owen and her, they would have been dead already. An Archangel wouldn’t wait hours to jump on the information granted him. He’d glamour his winged-behind on over and take care of business. No, Leory had died for some other reason.

  “Jules, are you heading out? A bunch of us are stopping off for a drink,” Tony Squires said. He stood five-foot ten with black hair and dark eyes. He was attractive in a clean-cut way. His gaze looked hopeful, but she’d have to shoot him down.

  “I have a few things I need to do before I call it a night. Catch you tomorrow.”

  He nodded, his sad smile making her feel guilty. He kept trying to bridge a friendship but she kept pushing him away. She didn’t earn her ice queen status overnight, but it couldn’t be helped.

  She glanced at the time on the right corner of her computer. She had less than two hours to shower, change, and head over to the tryouts. And Lucca. She really needed to stop letting her libido rule her thoughts. “Focus, Romeo. Don’t let a pretty face cloud your judgment.” Okay, pretty was pushing it. Rugged. “Dangerous.” But the way the man looked at her. Like he wanted to eat her up with the promise that she’d enjoy every sensuous flick of his tongue made her heart skip a beat. “Stop it.”

  “Jules? You okay over there?” Sam Barton looked up from his desk. Sam had been a detective for ten years. He had a wife and three kids and still found time to volunteer down at the youth center.

  “I’m fine, Sam.” Fine? Far from it. She was all hot and bothered because of a look and she couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Still, meeting Lucca was purely to find out more about him, make sure he was on the level. It had nothing with to do with attraction.

  “And pigs can fly,” she murmured as she logged out of her computer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gideon sat on his couch in his boxer briefs and nothing else as he watched another episode of Love Boat on his flat screen TV. Every episode someone found true love. Maybe he should take a cruise. See if his soul mate showed up while he lounged around on the upper deck, sipping Mai Tais.

  He leaned forward letting his one good wing spread out in a stretch along the eight-foot couch he’d special ordered for comfort. His other wing didn’t fair so well once the Hashasheen demons were through with him. Sarice, the Dark Angel goddess, hacked it off for good measure. He’d like to begrudge her for doing so, but in truth, the half demon, half angel saved his life. The Hashasheen demons fancied poison-dipped weapons. He should be grateful the spike didn’t hit a vital organ or he wouldn’t be sitting here complaining about his poor luck.

  On TV, Captain Stubing’s voice droned on as he questioned Gopher about some mishap. He usually enjoyed the funny adventures aboard the Pacific Princess, but the events of last night kept him distracted as he played what happened over and over again in his head.

  Lucca instigating a fight wasn’t unusual, but what happened later in the Laundromat made Gideon question the warrior’s behavior. He wondered if Lucca having his wings bound had anything to do with it. Shifting was a part of them. It wasn’t natural to keep them restrained. Painful, too, he would imagine with wings spellbound underneath the skin. Maybe the stress was becoming unbearable and Lucca would eventually snap. It brought home his own dilemma, his handicap. He could shift, but not gracefully and he couldn’t fly. God, he missed spreading his wings and taking flight.

  He turned his head, gripping his shoulder as he inspected the damaged wing. If one could called the sawed-off, feather stump a wing. His once beautiful bluish tinted wing with silver looked like a desecrated chicken stump plucked free of feathers and ready for baking. It ached like tiny fists were punching the stump at a consistent thirty-second intervals. Sarice thought the wing might grow back. She cut away the infected area, leaving only healthy tissue, but so far he couldn’t detect any new growth.

  He was earth-bound, which sucked when he had to be somewhere. True, he could move faster than a human by shimmering, but flying made traveling so much easier. In that respect, his compassion went out to Lucca whose wings were bound, cutting him off from flying as well as his connection to the preternatural realm. Their wings were their essence, every feather, every tendon sensitive to touch when glamour didn’t shield it.

  Lucca’s back would ache worse than his sawed-off stump.

  His gaze locked onto his desk table where his inks and paper waited for him. The next edition in his graphic novel series was due in three weeks, his editor was already breathing down his back, but he had barely brushed the surface of the next adventure in the Fallen Angel series. Who knew voicing what he experienced could be so lucrative? He had the talents for the art, could sketch just about anything he put his mind to, but he loved the artist’s challenge of bringing it all to life. He was a whiz with computers, too. Put it all together and he mastered the graphic art world. There was no glamour involved. Just straight out talent he could be proud of accomplishing. “The Fallen and their perils.” He wondered who said, 'art resembled real life,' or something like that. He couldn’t remember the exact quote. Lucca would probably know. He knew literature, craved it like a drug. The male should have been a storyteller instead of staking out unfaithful husbands and wives as a private detective, but maybe he wanted to keep his passion to himself.

  Lucca might deserve the punishment dished out to him for trying to kill Eli. He hoped in time the Watcher would come to terms with his human side and learn to live among the humans, but last night only made him question his hope. Lucca charged into the Laundromat like a warrior set out to bring down his enemy. The only thing missing was his broadsword.

  Gideon smoothed down his spiked hair, knowing it would pop back in place the moment his fingers moved away.

  Lucca’s focused pursuit last night had set warning signs throughout Gideon’s body to stop him before the warrior did something unforgivable. Lucca’s actions confused him even more when his large hands didn’t encircle the woman’s throat in a death grip like he expected. Instead, Lucca leaned near the female, his eyes fixated as he inhaled her essence. It was as if he wanted to breathe her inside him.

  Lucca claimed her scent drew him to her. Gideon’s brows furrowed in thought. “The bloody woman wasn’t even near them.” How in the world did he zero in on the female’s scent, while ignoring the other aromas flitting across the night air?

  “I’ll be damned. He’s found his soul mate.” He chuckled over
the absurdity of it. Lucca hated humans. The idea of him finding his soul mate seemed like Fate had a cruel sense of humor—for the human that is. Lucca would never commit and where would that leave the female?

  The knock at the door pulled him out of his reverie, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he stared at his door. He didn’t have callers. He rose to his feet, reaching for his leather jacket hanging over the side of the couch’s armrest. He pulled out his jewel-handled dagger concealed in the inside pocket. With careful steps, he approached the door and peeked through the peephole. He rolled his eyes as his sight took in Zaiden, staring back with a cocked brow of annoyance.

  He threw opened the door to allow the Guard of Judgment entry, taking a step back and putting distance between them. “What do I owe the pleasure?” Gideon kept the dagger firmly in his grip.

  Zaiden closed the door, his gaze lingering on the weapon before meeting Gideon’s gaze. “Do you always greet your visitors with a dagger welcome?”

  “Don’t have many callers.”

  “Hmm… I can’t imagine why with your stunning attire and welcoming nature.”

  Gideon lowered the dagger, loosening his grip as he walked past Zaiden and placed the weapon on the sidebar He leaned against the thick wood he built to accommodate his liquor collection. He added more bottles since his wing dissection. The alcohol took the edge off the pain. Being one of the Nephilim it took a lot of alcohol to make him drunk. Two bottles of Scotch would only give him a slight buzz.

  Zaiden’s gaze wavered over his attire, or rather lack there of, but the watcher refrained from making another snide remark by pursing his lips in disapproval.

  Gideon didn’t need to make excuses. This was his home. He could walk around stark naked if he wanted to. One winged or not. “What do I owe the pleasure?” Fallen Angels weren’t social callers. They tended to keep to themselves and Zaiden probably had fewer friends than he had. The Watcher killed for a living, a hit man for the preternatural world. Not many would call him a friend and live to tell about it.

  “I have need for your…talent,” he said.

  Gideon lifted one brow as he eyed the Guard. “My talent?” He highly doubted Zaiden wanted him to sketch him a picture.

  “Your expertise of touch, your ability to pick up remnants of the event that took place.”

  Objects left impressions associated with what transpired when a being’s emotions were out of control. Happiness or violence worked the same way. Energy dispersed around the being, leaving residue on everything within reach. Walls, floors, even furniture absorbed the energy like a sponge soaking up water. Seeing as the Guard of Judgment wanted to use his talent, he had a hunch it wasn’t to find a happy couple.

  “What happened? By your grim reaper expression, I’d say someone died.”

  “Assassinated.”

  Gideon reached behind his sidebar and pulled out his brandy container. “Want some?”

  Zaiden shook his head.

  Gideon poured a good amount into a dirty glass and indulged. If he was donning clothes, he needed something to dull the pain in his back. “Did someone beat you to the punch?” He couldn’t fathom the reason why Zaiden would need to know who took out a target.

  “The assassination wasn’t sanctioned. Someone took out a Watcher, leaving his remains scattered. I want the butcher before he decides to take his aggressions out on someone else.”

  Gideon stood up straight. “Angels turn to dust when they die.”

  “I’m aware. Why do you think I’m here? I need you to tell me what the hell happened.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shakespeare In The Park held their annual tryouts at the Garden Grove Amphitheatre. April weather could be unpredictable, but tonight the weather held out. No rain. Yet. Juliet thought.

  Even if it did rain, it wouldn’t be like London’s storms where the wind swept through her clothes, making her bones ache with the cold. Southern California’s weather was mild in comparison. Even in damp weather, a light jacket would suffice.

  From the side of the stage, her gaze swept over the rows of seats where people waited their turn to read for them. No Lucca. She would have noticed the warrior looking man with his long thick mane since he would tower over most of the men here. She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment centered in her chest. Instead, she admired the costumes some of the readers chose to wear tonight. Some of them missed the mark on authenticity, but there were a few that were passable. She had to give them credit for trying.

  Despite the weather, they had a good turnout. Hopefully, they’d find talent among the Shakespearean enthusiasts. Shakespeare’s plays were magical, but without talented actors to bring forth the lines with flourish, the beauty would be lost.

  “Were you looking for me?”

  Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest and her stomach flipped in response, not because he startled her, but because his presence sent a little thrill through her veins like a shot of adrenaline. What was it with this guy? She usually could stamp out any emotion toward the opposite sex, but with each meeting with Lucca the flame of desire just rose a bit higher.

  She rearranged her features, forcing her lips not to curve into a condemning grin. She turned to face Lucca, hoping her skin didn’t betray her with a flush of crimson. “Now why would I be looking for you?” She arched a brow for the effect of indifference.

  His lips quirked at the ends before his grin broke out. He leaned forward. “I saw you scanning the crowd.”

  “You saw me counting how many people showed up,” she offset a comeback.

  “Hmm… and what was your last count?”

  “Uh…you interrupted me.” She waved him off.

  His chuckle warmed her. He came to stand at her side to look over the crowd first hand. “There’s not much competition is there?” His gaze swept over the crowd in a dismissive manner. “The costumes are atrocious, are they not? Cheap imitations at best. Shakespeare would surely have the company’s attire burned at once.”

  He was correct in his observation. She knew first hand what the clothing looked like, but she was surprised Lucca recognized the fact. “Are you a historian as well as a private detective?”

  His gaze wavered over her features one by one, like a feathery kiss. She found herself leaning toward him as if he had some kind of power over her. Yeah, it was called seduction. The man oozed with sexual prowess without even trying.

  “I’ve studied the time period at length.” His smooth deep voice would melt an ice queen. It sure did a number on her limbs.

  He thought he was an expert, but since she actually lived in the century, she’d have him beat. Lucca was like no one she ever met—in any time. She wanted to melt into Lucca’s arms and challenge him at the same time. “I will have to take you at your word.” She decided to play it cool for now and changed the subject. “What scene have you chosen for tonight?”

  “You will have to wait and see. I will give you this: It was you who inspired me.” He reached out, caressing her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He let his hand drop and the warmth of his touch evaporated, leaving her longing for him to touch her again. He didn’t seem to notice or he was a better actor than she thought. “Once I land the part, I’m taking you out for dinner,” he told her.

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re pretty sure about yourself.”

  “Lucca Marlowe,” the stage director called out, interrupting their banter. “You’re up.”

  Juliet noticed Peter’s dark expression and the way he skimmed the roll call sheet. He hadn’t been impressed thus far by the performers.

  “Do you mean landing the part, or that you won’t refuse me?” Lucca wagged his wheat colored brows at her before moving past her. If his confident swagger could be evidence, he believed he knew his Shakespeare. God, she hoped he did.

  Once he took his spot on the stage, it was as if a different person had taken over. He was no longer Lucca Marlowe, a detective, but Romeo Montague of Verona.

&n
bsp; Her lips curved, her spirits soaring with shameless delight that he had thought of her when he chose his piece tonight. Romeo and Juliet, act two, scene two. She knew the play well. She had managed a seat by sneaking in dressed as a page when the play had first been performed on stage. Shakespeare had a way with words, a true romantic to her. His characters portrayed love with passion, aggression, despair and by God, determination. She closed her eyes as Lucca spoke the words as if they had been written for him. “I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks…”

  The place fell silent, his voice captivating the audience from the first sentence.

  “See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand. That I might touch that cheek!”

  Silence reigned, not because they didn’t like the performance, but because they were stunned. Lucca had brought the passionate words alive as if he spoke the words from the heart and not lines he memorized.

  Someone clapped. Then, like it was catching, everyone began to slap their hands together in time.

  Oh, Lucca knew Shakespeare all right. She looked to where the stage director, Peter, stood and then to Arty, the director, who would make the final decision. She could see it in their eyes. They wanted Lucca to sign on with them.

  Lucca met her gaze, his eyes shone bright with I-told-you-so. The man’s arrogance should warn her to stay away from him, but then his gaze changed. The shade of blue-gray in his eyes darkened with unspoken passion, but there was no mistaking that look. “My heart is forever at your service.” He bowed to her low and deep as if giving her homage. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the sweet gesture.