by C. D. Hersh
“Did you get him?”
“No. He chased him, but the suspect disappeared in an alley. We got the car. We’re checking for fingerprints.” He paused. “The car registration was on the seat. We figure he was searching for an address.”
Or a name. If the killer managed to activate the ring, he might come looking for answers.
The captain continued. “I heard there was a break-in at your and Baron’s place. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Alexi lied. “There doesn’t appear to be anything missing, and I’ve already had new locks put on all the doors.”
“I thought you had an alarm system.”
She sighed. “I do. But, like an idiot, I forgot to arm it.”
“Grief does strange things to people,” the captain said gently.
“So I’m learning.”
“Well, I’ll keep you informed.”
“Captain, about my bereavement leave—”
“No buts, Jordan. You’re taking it.”
The line went dead and Alexi made a face at the receiver.
“Told you he wouldn’t cave,” Rhys said. “So what’s the news?”
“Found the car. Lost the suspect. No forensic evidence yet. Not very encouraging.”
“Could be worse.”
She wasn’t sure how. A murdered uncle. A missing ring. And a mysterious woman who was a possible foe. That all seemed pretty bad to her. Right now, the only bright spot in all of this was Rhys and the support he’d given her.
“Not that I believe we’re going to find anything in this stack,” she said as she plunked down Baron’s client files in front of her partner, “but I suppose we should go through them, too.”
Thinking they might find a clue about the dress or a motive other than mugging for the murder, Rhys had insisted they go through all of Baron’s case files for the last five years.
There’d be no cross-dressing information. She’d found the last file Baron worked—an infidelity case for a disgruntled wife named Tammy Errol—and hid it beneath the stack she was working on, planning to contact the woman later. Alexi suspected Baron might have been undercover scoping out the cheating husband. It was the only reason she could figure out for his mimic shifting. Nothing else made nearly as much sense, or left her feeling good about what her uncle might have been doing.
As for other motives for his murder, that search kept the focus on Baron, their relationship professional, and kept Rhys from asking more personal questions. She hoped her uncle’s death was just a mugging gone wrong. Anything else could spell danger with capital letters. She didn’t want to even go there. Especially now.
After the night spent in Rhys’ arms pretending she slept—because every fiber of her being had been strung so tight from his touch she thought she might die—she believed Rhys was getting ready to make a move they’d both been skirting around for months now. If he’d decided the time was right, she knew there’d be no stopping him.
She had far more important priorities to deal with. Like finding the ring, without revealing what it was, researching who Sylvia was and how she fit into everything, and figuring out how to do all that without Rhys knowing. Not a small order. Maybe that week of bereavement leave wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Got something.” Rhys pitched a file across the desk to Alexi. “Baron helped put a couple of creeps in the pen. They got out a couple of weeks ago. One of the prison guards warned Baron about threats they made while they were incarcerated.”
Alexi thumbed through the papers. “And you think they might have been responsible for Baron’s murder?”
“Their threats are enough to haul them in for questioning.”
Shoving the file back to Rhys, she stood. “Beats sitting here. Let’s get down to the precinct.”
“You stay here and keep searching through the files. I’ll bring back take-out.”
Just what she’d hoped he’d do. Keep her sequestered and away from prying, yet sympathetic, eyes. A few hours to herself would give her time to go through Baron’s things for information about Sylvia. “Chinese?” she suggested. “I have a yen for some Wor Sue Gai from the Cantonese Shack.”
Rhys grimaced. “That’s across town. Speedy Wok?”
She shook her head and repeated, “Cantonese Shack.” That ought to buy her another hour.
Tucking the file under his arm, Rhys headed for the front door. “Set the alarm system.”
She made a face at him. He was never going to let her live that down.
“I’m not kidding. The guy who broke in here last night might come back to try and rob you again.”
“Most perps don’t try again after being shot at.”
“The guy could be Baron’s killer.”
“And what would he want? Baron’s gone. If they wanted revenge, they got it.”
“Don’t know. Not yet.” When he got to the doorway he redirected his attention to her, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
The door closed behind Rhys. Fishing in the table drawer next to the door, she removed her gun, and then set the alarm. If someone tried to kill her again, she would be ready.
She started her search in Baron’s safe. That was as good a place as any other.
The safe held a few legal documents: a will, the deed to the house, insurance papers—all things she would have to deal with eventually. Setting them aside she peered into the back of the safe where she found a fat package wrapped in brown craft paper and tied with twine. Recognition dawned as she unwrapped a worn photograph album.
Memories flooded back, drowning her in emotions as she recognized page-upon-page of old family photographs with her mother’s tiny, precise handwriting underneath each picture. She remembered the book. As a child, she watched her mother patiently paste corners on the black paper and ease photos into them. Each picture had a story, briefly alluded to beneath the photograph. Stories Alexi had nearly forgotten in the two decades since her family’s death.
Gently, she touched the faded photographs of her grandparents, her dad and Baron, and her mother and older brother. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall her mother’s voice, but she could no longer hear the soft Scottish burr tempered with a Kentucky drawl. Her father’s voice, which sounded much like Baron’s, rang strong in her memory. His admonitions and advice sounded as clearly as if he stood next to her. His words, as well as Baron’s, had guided her all her life.
For nearly half an hour, she sat at Baron’s desk flipping through the book, remembering and mourning. When she turned the last page she found four empty slots. Someone had marked through the titles, the lines deep and jerky. Alexi switched on the desk lamp and held the page closer to the light. She managed to make out the words Baron and Sylvia.
Sylvia had been telling the truth. But where were the pictures?
Among the package wrappings she found a small envelope containing three photos of a man and a girl at various ages. She recognized Baron, but she couldn’t place the girl.
The words Baron with his new mentee Sylvia, written in her mother’s tight script, covered the back of the picture where the girl appeared to be the youngest. Baron and Sylvia posed together awkwardly, as if they barely knew each other. In the next photo, simply labeled Baron and Sylvia, Sylvia appeared to be a few years older. From the easy way Baron’s arm draped over Sylvia’s shoulder, Alexi knew the relationship had deepened. The pair sat on a couch in the last picture, heads touching intimately.
Baron appeared so happy. She’d never seen that kind of contentment on his face, not since he’d taken over her care at age ten. Raising her, and trying to protect her from whoever killed her family, hadn’t been an easy job. Not that he ever indicated he wanted to do otherwise.
Had she kept her uncle from finding happiness? She hoped not, because he had sacrificed greatly for her and given her much love.
Alexi flipped the photo over. Her mother had titled it May and December.
That’s how Sylvia desc
ribed her relationship to Baron. Had her mother given that title to them? Evidently, her mother had known about their connection. Had she been cryptic because the relationship had been frowned upon by others as Sylvia suggested? Perhaps her mother had been trying to protect Sylvia.
Alexi peered closer at the photo. She had so many questions. How old had Sylvia been? Why didn’t she remember her? Her uncle always hung around. Surely Sylvia had been there, especially since the photos were in the family album. Well, not exactly in the album. Had Baron continued to love Sylvia after the break-up? Was that why he kept the photos?
Now that Baron was gone she’d never know, unless Sylvia chose to tell her. Answering those questions wasn’t uppermost in her mind, but verifying Sylvia’s story was. Thanks to her mother, Sylvia’s story checked out.
She matched the photos to the openings and slipped them into the corners. The last photo was missing, the caption completely obliterated. Apparently, Baron had not wanted to keep that memory in any form. That supposition piqued her curiosity even more.
Chapter 7
Shaw stared into the dirty window at Baron Jordan’s face. Or was it his face? He was so freaking confused.
In a few hours he had a date with Lulu, and if he couldn’t get his own face back he’d be toast. He flexed his newly found muscles. They weren’t so bad. But Lulu’d notice them.
As he ran his hand over the salt-and-pepper beard, the ring he’d stolen reflected in the grimy glass. His hand stopped in mid-air.
“Damn, but you’re stupid,” he said to his image. “It’s the freaking ring. That’s why she didn’t want to give it up. It’s got some sort of magic. Shape shifting magic that morphed him into a woman, and me into him.”
What was next? Was he going to go werewolf and bay at the full moon? He had to figure this thing out . . . and fast.
“Think, man, think. You’re not a total idiot. You can get this.”
Take it off. She changed into a man when you took off the ring.
He wrenched the ring off. Nothing happened.
Maybe it took a few minutes to go back. He closed his eyes, counted to fifty, then cautiously snuck a peek.
Still nothing.
Maybe it’s connected to the heart attack thing. Damn, how can I make myself have a heart attack?
From the staccato banging of his heart against his ribcage, he thought he might not have to wait.
But nothing happened.
What was different? Besides being in my own skin then? The ring, it has to be the ring. Think!
The answer came to him in a rush. The first heart attack came after reading the inscription.
Steeling himself for the expected pain, he held the ring up to catch the sunlight streaking between the buildings and read out loud, “Fear bean beathach tri an aon.”
Still nothing. He shoved the ring back on.
Panic snatched at him. Was he going to be stuck like this forever? He stared at the image in the window again, desperately trying to recall his own features. A clean-shaven pointed chin, slightly twisted nose, broken from street fights, and sandy blond hair. The only thing he recognized were the bright blue eyes Lulu said she loved so much.
Suddenly, his hand tingled. Yanking it up he stared at the ring. The red streaks swirled, forming into circles. The tingling shot from his arm to his chest. His gaze flew to the window. His image blurred, the beard fading from his jaw. Lightheaded, he feared he might black out, but he kept his gaze on the window, willing his facial features onto the reflection. He hung onto the brick window ledge as the tingling sensation and pain, which seemed less than the time before, pulsed through his body.
Bit-by-bit, feature-by-feature, Shaw watched his image change back. As the last strand of hair went from gray to sandy blond, the tingling subsided. Exhausted, Shaw slid to the ground. He shoved the hoodie sleeves up, relieved to find his own nearly hairless arms underneath the stretched-out-beyond-repair terrycloth.
Shit. If this continued he’d need a whole new wardrobe.
Chapter 8
Rhys dropped the file on Captain Williams’ desk. “Got a possible lead.”
The captain peered at Rhys over the top of his reading glasses. “How good a lead?”
“Enough to haul both in for questioning. They threatened Baron’s life.”
Williams flipped through the file. “Martin, get in here,” he yelled. Detective Martin appeared in the doorway. The captain waved the file at him. “Get an APB out on these creeps. I want them in here yesterday.”
Martin took the file. “Sure thing, Cap’n.”
Williams asked Rhys as Martin left the office, “How’s she doing?”
“Chafing under your imposed leave.”
“Any idea who might have broken in?”
“My money’s on the guys in that file. If they don’t have alibis, throw the book at them.” Rhys slammed his hand on the desk so hard a pencil shot across the desk pad. “I’m her partner. I should have been there to protect her.”
The captain caught the escaping projectile. “You can’t blame yourself, Temple.”
“Yeah, I can. I never left a buddy in Iraq who lost a friend. I was there for them. She means much more to me than my war buddies.”
“She didn’t want you there. She needed space.”
“She’s got all I’m giving her. I want next week off. I’m not leaving her alone again.”
“What does she think about that?”
“Doesn’t matter. Whether she likes it or not, she’s getting me.”
“What are you going to do? Hide in the bushes?”
“If I have to. I’ve got hunting camo. She won’t catch sight of me if I don’t want her to.”
“She’s going to kick you out.”
“Only if I let her.”
“You got it bad, Temple.” The captain shook his head and chuckled. “Why don’t you two just do it and get it over with? Clear the air.”
Had he heard right? Had the captain suggested he and Alexi . . .?
“Don’t act so surprised. Everyone realizes it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. The guys in the office are laying bets on when and where.”
Had he been that obvious? Had Alexi heard the rumors? “What are the odds?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
“Getting shorter by the day, especially since Baron’s death.”
Rhys bristled. “What jerk thinks I’m going to take advantage of her?”
The captain shrugged. “Most everybody.”
Rhys struggled to keep his temper even. “Even you? You frown on office fraternization.”
“Normally I do, but the tension between the two of you is affecting your work. Hell, you might as well take off. You won’t be any good to me worrying about Jordan. Now get outta here and take care of her.”
“I will. Tell the office bookies the odds just jumped to a million to one. I’d never take advantage of any woman like that, especially Alexi. Never.”
“Never say never about matters of the heart, Temple.” The captain waved Rhys off. “I’ll keep you updated.”
Rhys frowned. “About the bet?”
“No. About the case. You keep me updated on her state of mind. I’m not convinced she’s doing as well as you think.”
Rhys nodded. For his own peace of mind he’d be monitoring her. No way would he tell that to the captain.
Alexi wouldn’t be any good to work if she couldn’t get past Baron’s death. She wanted revenge. Revenge ate you from the inside out. But if he did anything to keep her from work, he’d never shorten the odds. Odds he wanted to shorten. Either way, he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
Matters of the heart sucked.
Alexi dialed Sylvia’s number. “It’s Alexi Jordan.”
“Alexi, I wasn’t expecting your call so soon.”
“I found some pictures of you and Baron in an old photo album. I have some questions.”
“About me or about the Society
?”
“You . . . and Baron.” She needed to know about the woman’s relationship with her uncle, where she stood. “Could we meet?”
“Of course. Shall I come to your house?”
“No.” The word came out sharper than she intended. “How about lunch somewhere? Tomorrow maybe?”
Sylvia laughed softly. “So you don’t trust me?”
“Should I have a reason not to?” She didn’t like the way this woman saw through her. Her cop sense kicked in a warning.
“Of course not.” Sylvia paused. “I’m not familiar with this town. I’m staying at the Rosebriar Inn. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes.” Near the place where Baron died. Maybe Sylvia knew more about Baron’s death than she said. She might have noticed something or heard talk in the Rosebriar lobby. “There’s a bar and grill called the Dew Drop Inn nearby.”
“I know where that is. Shall we meet there?”
“How about eleven-thirty, tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
“How will I know you? I don’t suppose you look like the teenager in the photos.”
“I am a bit older.” Alexi could almost hear the amused smile in Sylvia’s voice. “Use your powers to find me. I’ll wait for you there.”
The line went dead. Use your powers? What did she mean by that?
Did she mean auras? Why would Sylvia think she could see auras? Sylvia must be able to see them, too, otherwise, how would she know about that Turning Stone power?
Baron seemed anxious when he learned she could see colored shadows around people. He instructed her not to mention it to anyone. Only very special shifters had that power. A chill ran over Alexi. If Sylvia was a higher-level shifter, she needed to be careful.
The doorbell’s insistent ringing drew her attention to the front door. Reaching behind her back, she laid her hand on the grip of her pistol.
“It’s me, Alexi,” Rhys called.
Alexi released the gun and opened the door. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Still jumpy?”
She took a Cantonese Shack take-out bag from Rhys. “No.”
