by Avery Duncan
Mary nodded. “Got it, chickie.”
With her car started and the heat warming her up, she went to the station downtown. Why would they need men outside the door, when they all knew perfectly well that she could take care of herself? It’s not like the man could over-take her.
She was, after all, the pacchetto. Mary had perks with being so high in power, and also an automatic penalty to anyone who tried to harm her. She rolled down her window, wishing she could go home and curl under some warm blankets.
When she pulled into the station, her brown hair a mess, she was greeted with small smiles and waves. Mary only did the polite thing and smiled back, aware that they didn’t mean any of their actions.
Romero was waiting for her in his office.
Around them, you could hear police scanners, shuffling papers, shouts and loud talking, murmured whispers from across them, and the occasional slam of a cabinet.
“Want some coffee?” her brother’s long-time friend asked, standing up.
She wrinkled her nose. “That stuff made out of liquid cardboard?”
Romero shrugged and got out a cup. “Budgets and prickly super-advisers. Don’t blame us for how crappy our coffee is. At least we ain't using dirt from the plastic plant as creamer.” He turned to glare at her.
Mary laughed. “Okay, that was one time and you were freaking out, okay? I grabbed the first thing I could find, and that just happened to be it.”
“Yeah, whatever. We all know you did it out of spite.” A couple years back, right when she had been getting out of college, Kevin had assigned her as an intern at the station for a month. One of the cases that she had witnessed had left her shaky, and it hadn’t helped in the least that Romero had finally snapped.
She could remember purposely baiting him, always teasing and flirting as only a sister of his best friend could. He had asked for coffee, and she had been less than willing to get it. Mary had a natural curiosity streak, and it hadn’t gone well for anyone when she had found her way up to the evidence room.
Her foot had barely touched the cold sterile floor of the dark room before Romero had come pounding up the stairs, and dragging her back, forcing her to make coffee in a sort of immature punishment.
When she had realized that there wasn’t any creamer left and Romero was close to barging into the meeting room furiously, she had grabbed a junk full of the closest things near her. Unfortunately, in her panic to make the cardboard coffee taste better, he had chosen the perfect moment to snatch it from her and stalk out, shoulders tense and eyes full of rage.
Mary had just started going to him to let him know that it wouldn’t be the brightest thing in the world to let him drink it when he had stopped suddenly.
In his cup had been fake dirt, leaves, and a couple other of unmentionable things that interns liked to shove in the plant.
“That was one time!” she defended herself.
“How many times a day do I hear you say that?” he asked, rolling his eyes at her.
She stayed silent.
“That’s what I thought.” They took a seat in his office after getting two cups of coffee. “You’re a bit early, and the guy isn’t here yet, so you might as well hang out and stay out of trouble for a bit.”
His eyes were on her suspiciously. “Wow, okay. You can stop looking at me like that you know,” she said in annoyance, crossing her legs and leaning back into the chair.
“You test the patience of a saint,” he growled, dark eyes glaring at her in return.
“Oh, quiet. We all know that you are anything but a saint. I heard about you and Ulrich, you know. You guys were hardly what I would call priest hood material with that blonde the other weekend.”
His dark cheeks flushed and he stood up, chair pushing back against the desk. “You’re such a brat,” he said, letting out a hard breath. “I’m going to get the report that I printed out before I strangle you. Sit.”
Romero pointed his finger at her before walking out of the room—actually, more like stomping.
Mary held in a snicker. Romero had never been one for patience when it came to her. Which was a good thing, she considered. She took a sip of the disgusting coffee, mouth twisting.
She listened to the busy sound of the station, a faint smile on her lips. This was what you got with order, she thought. Responsibility, choices, decisions. One things, one mile-stone in a person's life could affect everything that followed.
Mary thought back to when she had learned that she was a Chosen. Of course, Kevin had come to her in a dream. Had told her things, gave her things, let her see things, that had made her acutely aware of the world around her. She had only been in high school, a freshman with a decent life.
But that night, everything had changed. For the better, she doubted. For the worse. . . She had no clue.
She hadn’t told her parents, or even her brother. Her closest friend then had been a human and would have thought of her as crazy if she had said anything about it.
One of the men from the cubicle over popped his head in, pointing to the hall around the corner where the interrogation room was. “Mary, he’s here.”
She let out a sigh and stood, fixing her shirt and running a hand through her hair. “Alrighty,” she said. He backed out to let her through and as she headed down the hall, she thought that this was much like when they had thought she was the murderer.
Chapter 8
As Raffaele sat in the chair of the interrogation room, he was acutely aware of the eyes that were staring at him through the one-sided window. Watching, guarding, protecting.
That’s what he got from them, he realized as the door opened slowly.
The walls were a stainless steel, floor tiled, and a security camera was set up in the corner. A table sat in front of him, along with another chair on the other side.
“Really, Romero? Can you calm down and leave me alone?” a feminine voice asked from the open door, the figure hidden behind it.
“Your brother would skin me alive, girl.”
“Like that’s anything new? Gah, just go sit in your chair and be the creep we all know you are.” The body behind the musical voice stepped into the room, and Raffaele held his breath.
The door closed with a slam.
He sat still, praying that his eyes weren’t lying to him and what he was seeing was true.
The lady must have realized his staring because she turned around slowly, the look of irritation draining out her face as his blue eyes met her green ones.
Silence. Deafening, instantly heated silence.
Raffaele stood up respectfully, clearing his throat. Not often was he stuck for words, but staring into her eyes, realizing that this girl had been the one on his mind for hours, and the sudden hotness of the room was what was probably the problem.
Her dark hair hung down freely, the waves catching the dim light of the room. Her over coat was wrapped tight around her and as she walked into the room farther with a forced sureness, her slim hands came to the lapels of the coat, wrapping it tighter about her.
“Hi, my name is Raffaele Jaques.” He almost winced at how cracked his voice sounded. “Leader of the South pacchetto, and also nephew to Jared, a suspect of yours.”
He held out his hand for her, and his heart almost stopped in his chest when the softness of her palm touched his. “Mary Waters. Pleased to meet you,” she flashed a charming smile, seeming to overcome her awkwardness from before. “And I wouldn’t really say that he is a suspect of mine.”
Raff nodded, staring at her lips. That smile. . . It had made him feel as if everything were right in the world. He sat down, feeling like his feet had been knocked out from under him.
“That’s good then. I actually wanted to meet with you to discuss Jared and all of the attacks that have been happening.”
She gave a forced smile, also sitting down. How did she not feel so hot? He shrugged out of his jacket, wishing he could just strip.
He blinked. “What did you say your
name was again?”
“Mary. . . Mary Waters.”
The name brought back images of his dream, the one with Kevin and Stuart, the fight, the blurred words. Was this the Mary that they had been talking about? Although there were probably millions of Mary's in the world, he had asked for the pacchetto of the leader in the Midwest—and her name just so happened to be the one of his dream.
Raff didn’t know whether to be on guard or not, but what he did know was that he had to push his attraction for her away—at least for the time being.
“Okay, so about your uncle,” she said, her voice turning professional. He wondered if she would be so proper and if she knew that he was thinking about kissing the hell out of her lips.
He focused on her eyes. . .her beautiful, deep green eyes. . . Someone should castrate him, he thought. Maybe then he could focus on the problem instead of the woman.
“I believe you might be here to take him with you?” she asked, hitting right on the dot.
“It would be in everyones’ best interest.”
She bit her lip, and once again his eyes strayed to the pearly whites clenching on the succulent flesh. He groaned mentally. I’m so horrible. . .
“I know for a fact that that man would not harm a fly. He risked his life for a stranger, Mr. Jaques. Wait until this is over, let him prove his innocence. If you take him from here it will only detract from his credibility.” Short, concise, and. . .true.
He shook his head. “I can’t lose the rest of my family, Ms. Waters. He is my responsibility, and I can’t leave my pacchetto alone if I stay here for this case.”
“Of course you can. Surely you have a beta for you?” She raised a thin eye brow in question.
He didn’t want to admit a weakness by saying that he didn’t necessarily trust his beta anymore, so he shrugged. “I do what I have to do. Bringing my uncle back is one of those, Miss.”
The lady sighed.
“You would do the same for your family if they were in danger,” he said quietly.
She pressed her lips. “Not if it were against their will.”
“Baby, we both know that ain’t true.”
Her cheeks flushed; he could see the agitation in her eyes.
“I’m not here to talk about my uncle’s free will right now, I’m here to ask you about the accidents and the fact that Jared is in the hospital.”
Raff swore he could feel the burning eyes coming from the window. Maybe they had noticed how much. . .lust he was starting to feel for her, maybe not. Whatever it was, he could tell that they didn’t like how the conversation was going—or the fact that he had called her “baby”.
“Where do you want to start?” she asked, her voice bored. Mary leaned back into the chair, arms crossed over her chest in what he assumed was a defensive manner.
“First attack. When was it?” He had a good memory, but he got out his notepad anyways. It was better to have exact detail than a blurred image.
“About. . .” Her lips pursed, and he moved in his seat, uncomfortable. “Four months ago?”
“Where was it?”
“A couple blocks from here, there is a honey factory. Kind of run down, but there’s a little business going on still.”
“Anything you can remember from the scene?” he asked her as he jotted down what she had said.
She hummed for a second, obviously thinking. “I can remember. . .” Mary paused. “The smell.”
The way she said that had him looking up at her. He felt bad that he was getting such a negative response from her, but the questions had to be answered. The scent in the room was nothing but sweetness, all coming from her. No hint of a lie, at all. He smiled inwardly.
“I’ll get back to that in a second. Was there any evidence left over?”
“A rope. Can of gasoline. No prints, no hairs, nothing other than that. . .stench.”
Raff had read numerous reports about the attacks, all of them revolving around what she was saying now. Why did it seem as if she were giving him more, though? The MO of the killer was gasoline, so whatever this guy had been doing was going to be stinky.
“What did it smell like?” His pen scratched against the pad, the only sound besides the soft sound of her breathing.
“Skin. Being cooked. Horrible. . .God, I can remember walking into the building after Romero had called me. I hadn’t even seen the inside but the smell. . . I had been able to smell it right after I got out of the car.”
Raff’s eyes were trained on her. Her eyes were closed, head bowed, fingers fidgeting with her coat. Mary didn’t seem like the type to get over emotional, nor unrealistic. She seemed smart, capable, and strong—just as a pacchetto leader should be.
For some reason, Raffaele felt a sort of pride that she would allow him to see her like this—even if there were men on the other side of the mirror, she was facing away from them.
“Was there anything out of the ordinary?”
She snorted, the sound angry. “Besides the fact that a young woman, barely out of college, was burned to death in a honey factory?”
He gave her a look. “No sarcasm, please. Could you tell if it was Acutos or Archaeos, maybe even human?”
Her eyes flickered away. “The woman was Archaeos. The person who did it was. . . The reports say he was Archaeos.” There was an audible sound of her swallowing, maybe in nervousness or just of a dry throat he had no clue.
“You don’t believe that, though, do you?”
He could almost feel the earth moving beneath his feet when she shook her head slowly, face slowly paling. “I think it was something. . . More. And it wants us.”
“What do you mean by that, Ms. Waters?” Raffaele was getting chills, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.
“It wants to kill us.
Chapter 9
Mary could feel her chest closing up as she said the last words, the words that she had never expressed to anyone before. At first, it had started out as an inkling, but after the second murder with a man and a woman dead, it had slowly started growing inside her head, in her gut.
As she looked up into Jaques’s eyes, she couldn’t tell if he thought she was being irrational or if he was willing to take her opinion. The whole meeting, he had not let out one ounce of emotion, besides the occasional look at her lips.
When she had first walked in, she had felt the gaze on her. The shock she had felt at seeing the man who had burned her arm was. . .unbelievable. Jaques had said that Jared was his uncle, so this must have been the guy that Jared had kicked out her for.
His voice was deep and rich, soft yet. . .strong. It made her tail curl just thinking about what else he could be telling her, saying to her. . .whispering to her. The way he asked her questions, the way they sounded, made it seem as if he were seducing her. Not asking her serious questions, not asking her about murders and death.
She was helpless to answer.
“Where was the second murder?” Jaques reached under to the drawers of the table. He pulled out a plane manila folder, and opened it, what looked like a million papers flashing as he flipped through them. “It says here that you didn’t go to the site of the murder.”
Mary shook her head. “No, I did. I didn’t go to the third one, I was out of town with my mother when I got the news about it.”
Jaques growled, or made a sound that resembled it. “They need to fix that, then. There was gasoline at this one, too, right?” His eyes were buried in the file, eyes flicking over the pages and then to her.
“Yeah, gasoline and fishing string.”
His head came up. “Fishing string?”
Mary nodded quietly.
“The smell was the same?” he asked absently, going back to the file and then his notepad.
“No. It was worse. And it smelled like. . .flowers.”
Light blue eyes latched onto hers, although his head was still bent. “It smelt like flowers.”
She shrugged. “It was burnt still, but it was like someone spr
ayed perfume. But. . .not. Like, they were burning the flowers. But burnt flowers don’t smell like that, do they,” she mused.
“They don’t,” he murmured, sitting up and sighing.
He looked at his watch, and she could feel her face start to fall. She didn’t know this man, barely knew his name, didn’t know where he came from, what he did, or who he was at all. Yet, she didn’t want him to leave. Mary liked listening to him talk, liked talking to him and watching his movements.
“I think that we can continue this some other time. I have a date that I have to get to tonight, and I can’t miss it.”
Mary felt her heart fail for a second, then shrugged it off. “Okay.”
She stood up and walked away from him, trying to ignore how much she utterly hated that he had a date, that he had someone to go to at all.
“Ms. Waters. . .”
The tone of his voice had her stopped, turning to meet his light blue eyes, eyes that were surprisingly tender.
He walked close enough that he could whisper without others picking it up on the camera, and the dark scent that came off of him almost had her swooning.
Mary started to bring her hands up, flustered at his new proximity. “Yes, Mr. Jaques?”
“I cannot wait till our next meeting.” She looked up in time to see the bright flash of a smile as he grinned.
Trying to stop her racing heart, she smiled back awkwardly before ducking her head and practically running out of the room. Having a brief conversation with Romero and signing some papers, she almost ran out of the building.
When she got to her car, she let her head fall against the wheel, the machine off.
Nerve wracking much? She thought, staring down at her shaking hands. First, she had nearly broken down during the questioning, and then his little. . .act. She couldn’t make herself be angry at the man when she knew that deep down she had enjoyed the sound of his voice, the feel of his breath barely brushing him, the way he had made as if he were going to curl around her.
Mary started to frown, reaching for her keys. She should have pushed him away; he had said he had a date, right? So why had he practically seduced her with his voice in front of the whole police force. Her face started to flame.
