by Avery Duncan
“Ramsey just called me,” Romero started, voice a growl.
“Oh, no! Did he really?” she asked, feigning shock.
“Yes. What the hell was that about? You know you can—”
“Romero, did you bother to ask him why he was off the case?”
“I didn’t bother to because it isn’t official.” The snap in his voice almost had her wincing. She never liked to get yelled at over things that she knew were right.
“Maybe if you knew how amoral his questioning was, you would re-think that,” she said, crossing her legs, feeling the man’s eyes on her.
“What?” he asked, the growl still there but underneath all of the bluster was confusion.
“He was withholding the right to an attorney when I walked in. Several times the man had asked for one, and even if he had, Ramsey was entitled to get him one anyway.”
Silence rang on the other side of the line.
“Fuck,” he cursed, the words after it much more clear and more. . .offensive. Because of Ramsey’s actions, the police could have been sued, so Mary understood Romero’s fury
“My thoughts exactly,” she said smartly, a grin playing on her lips proudly.
“Damnit, Mary,” he growled as if this were all her fault.
“Don’t you go cursing me,” she warned, starting to scowl.
“Let me call your brother and the judge and see if we can get another prosecutor and a better lawyer for this. Has the man called in his yet?”
She shook her head. “Nope, but I’ll have him do it after I’m done talking to you.”
“Alright. I’ll get back to you soon enough. Bye, Mary,” he sighed.
The call ended.
“Do you have your cell phone on you or did he take it back in lock-up?” she asked, closing her phone and handing it over.
“I have it,” he said kindly, giving her a smile with a shake of his head.
How Ramsey could have even thought that this guy could be a suspect amazed her. Everything about him screamed innocent. But, then, Ramsey was a mere human with under average knowledge.
“I’m so sorry about Ramsey,” she apologized, grimacing.
“If you’re worried about me suing or having any complaints, don’t. It was him, not you guys.” He opened his phone and pressed a couple of buttons, then the muted sound of ringing started from the phone.
“Hey, it’s Erickson. Been a while,” he said with an easy laugh, handling the man on the phone easily, as if he owned the world and could care less.
“Nah, just some problems in Iowa. Mind meeting with me? I’ll add a bonus for the flight expense because I assume that you aren’t in town right now.”
Muffled words responded, then the man said, “No, I don’t mind. Just get over here as soon as you can, some people are wanting to question me and I have to get back to business.”
Mary looked the man over as he talked casually to the lawyer on the phone. He didn’t look like anyone too important, dressed in form fitting jeans and a dark blue Under Armor shirt. There was no coat around him, which was slightly stupid because it was starting to get chilly out, no matter the on and off weather.
Black hair flopped over his eyes, large set eyes curiously knowing. He had the muscular build of someone who fought, of someone who could easily over take an attack with a seconds notice. What business was he talking about, she wondered. Again, he didn’t look like anyone important.
Although looks could be deceiving.
“I haven’t yet been introduced,” she commented when he hung up the phone.
He looked at her blankly, then held out a hand with a charming smile. She couldn’t help the errant thought that she much more preferred Jaques’s smile and eyes.
“Matt Erickson,” he said almost sheepishly, while she returned the hand shake.
“Mary Waters. Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before, but I know you're in my pacchetto,” she said, confused.
“I am indeed,” said Matt. “I don’t come in town very often, my grandmother has me out in Manhattan running a production line for her half of the time.”
“What’s that?” she asked, referring to the production line comment.
“Ever heard of Fine Beauty Inc.?” he questioned, leaning back comfortably.
The name took a bit, but then it finally registered and her jaw dropped. “I love their clothing!” she said, surprised.
“Well, yeah. That’s me. I run some business out there for her, she’s getting too old and I get to inherit it,” he said with a sort of dry humor.
“And that’s a bad thing?” she asked, shocked. “I would love to be involved in something like that. The problems I have to go through here are too much sometimes.”
“If you run it out there, what are you doing back here?” she asked, tilting her head. It was easy to forget that she was in a court house with death cloaking them all as she sat here, talking to Matt.
If only she could talk as comfortably with Jacques, without all of those dirty thoughts in her head.
“Marketing,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t like doing things over the Internet, such as email. I much prefer getting a firsthand experience of where the clothing might be. Bad representation really takes a chunk out of profit, you know?”
She nodded, thinking his words over.
“There is a store out here that sells some of your—”
Her phone rang, cutting her off. She sighed while he laughed, answering it.
“The judge said he was just pulling up to the court house when I called him, so he should be there by now. He knows what Ramsey did and I don’t think that man is going to get it easy.”
In spite of herself, she giggled/snorted. “I want to see this,” she said, standing up.
“Well, hurry up and get to his office. He is expecting both of you to be there in less than five minutes. Also, tell the man that he is free till something else comes up. Ramsey isn’t liable anymore, so we have to wait to see if the new prosecutor and lawyers will call him back.”
A grin played at the edge of her lips. “Okay,” she said happily, knowing that the judge would have the moral and political sense to realize that she wasn’t in the wrong. Plus, the man was Acutos, and wouldn’t dare make a fool of her.
And didn’t that just make her happy
Chapter 22
“Hi! My name is Jenna and I’ll be taking your order for you. What can I get’cha?” she asked, a light hint of a southern twang in her cheery voice.
Chase looked up at her, then his menu, then pulled a quick double take. Raffaele watched as Chase’s eyes took on a new light. “You can get me some of that—” he looked pointed at the woman in front of him—”a hotel room, and some good ole—”
Raff smacked the man before he could finish. Hard.
“Pancakes and an orange juice please?” he asked the blushing waitress with an apologetic glance.
“Sure thing,” she stuttered, looking back at Chase. Eyes shooting daggers at Raff, Chase mumbled his order and then she was off, practically running from the table.
“If I get kicked out of this restaurant because you got the hots for the waitress, I swear you will never live to see day light again,” he growled, threatening.
“I doubt she will complain to anyone,” he started, smirking. “If anything, I’ll have her number by the end of breakfast.
His eyes crossed. “I’ll stab you,” he said, deadpan.
Chase rolled his eyes at him, snorting. “Yeah, like you have the right anymore.”
And for that Raffaele was grateful.
He quieted, taking a drink of his water, eyeing the people around him. Jared was ready to be released, so they were having a quick breakfast before they went to get him.
Now that he was pacchetto leader, and had been for some time, he was forbidden to go back to his old job. It had been more of a torture than a job though. The thought of ever going back to that sent him into a feral rage, something that had once caused
the death of an entire—
Raff took a calming breath, eyes closing.
If it had been a different situation, a different time and place. . . It would have been fine with him. In truth, he had actually enjoyed the killing. Had enjoyed the screams of fear and the knowledge that they pissed themselves when they found out that he was their nightmare.
His family, on the other hand. . . God, he could still remember. Raffaele rubbed his hands over his eyes and could have groaned. The hate, the betrayal. . .
Hannah was trying to help, slowly and unsteadily. Some therapy sessions, anti-depressants, things that didn’t really help at all. Only one time had he gone to therapy by her command, and when the woman had tried to get him to talk about what had happened, he had burst out, almost killed everyone in the office.
That had been a couple years ago, and he had toned down a lot since then. Sex helped to keep the urge down, kept the feelings away. Not always, but. . .it helped. And he didn’t condemn Chase for how much of a whore he was.
The table was silent till the flustered waitress came back, looking at Chase from under her eyes. When she set down their drinks and walked away, the blonde man had the most triumphant look on his face.
“Told you,” he said to Raff, winking.
Despite the horrid thoughts he had been thinking, Raff snorted out a laugh.
“Nice, now I have to listen to you moan and groan all night.”
Chase grinned. “You can join in if you want, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Saw her giving you some looks.”
Raff thought of Mary, then shook his head at Chase. “I’ll pass.” It would have felt like he had betrayed Mary if he had even walked into the room.
He scowled. The hell. . . It shouldn’t matter to him if he did anything with another woman, it wasn’t like Mary was his. A tiny voice in the back of his head scolded him that of course she was, and of course he was a bastard for even looking at another woman.
Chase had a knowing look on his face, like he knew the exact reason why he wasn’t going to join him.
He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m excited to see how this will turn out when it comes time to leave.”
Raff just narrowed his eyes darkly, not bothering to express his thoughts.
“Here you are, gentlemen,” said a quiet yet suggestive voice. Raff kept his sigh to himself, moving his cup so that she could place his plate in front of him.
Once she was gone, he picked up his form and got ready to eat his pancakes, reaching for the syrup. “Got anything more on those symbols? he asked, looking up briefly at Chase.
“Besides the lavender being a guide to the afterlife, no. Sorry,” he mumbled in reply, mouth stuffed full of hash browns.
Raffaele frowned, eyeing his friend. “You would think that the way you eat repels women. . .”
Chase snorted out a laugh, covering his mouth quickly before anything could fly out. “Yeah, right. They think that The Shovel is manly.”
He shook his head, going back to his pancakes.
“When do you think the next murder will be?” Chase asked through a mouthful of food.
He paused, fork not making it to his mouth all the way. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly, thinking of Mary and things that he had realized.
Yes, the murders, he had realized after more studying of the files that the lawyer’s had given him, were steadily getting close to her. And the MO was female, fire, and lavender.
His chest tightened as he thought about it.
“Has Mary had any extra protection placed on her?” Chase asked, a frown in his voice.
Raffaele considered the man’s question slowly, then shook off the feeling that tingled along the back of his neck. “I’ll check into it,” he said tightly, thinking of her brother and how he was going to have to actually converse with the bastard.
“You better. . .things will go into chaos if the pachetto is lost or injured. I would know,” he said almost proudly. “I was there for one of the fiascoes over in Italy. It was seriously crazy.”
“I had heard about that,” he commented, taking another bite of his pancakes.
And he had, almost everyone in the whole entire world had. One of the worst traumas that could have happened, a major leader in north Italy had been brutally murdered, found by his daughter of seven and his brother. The uproar after it had been horrifying, almost threatening to ruin their stable community. Luckily, nothing had happened to the leaders older son of twenty. This had only happened a couple years ago, and the place was still reeling from the death of their adored leader.
Raffaele had made several visits to meet the new leader, or the leader-to-be. The young man was young, closed-minded, and unwilling. Since his father was gone, Raffaele was in the position to train and guide the younger man into leadership. After a year of arguing and furious outbursts, Raffaele was close to giving up.
But. . .he couldn’t. That whole part of the race was at stake, and of course it would be an even worse event than the death of their old leader if their new one didn’t take his place. Unlike the gods had intended in the beginning, it was the races nature to have leadership.
Even Raffaele needed leadership, or a sort of guidance, he thought. Stuart had been his mentor from the beginning. He had often asked why none of the other leaders had a guide as he did. And the answer, or lack thereof, had always been a deterrent that had only made him frustrated.
He didn’t know if there were any other people who had the same guide as him, or even had one. Kevin was there, of course. Stuart and he argued every chance they got. He had never seen the two of them together, let alone. The voice, when speaking, would always come from. . .around him. Like he was there, but greater than life.
The pancakes left a sweet taste in his mouth as he finished them off. Wiping his lips with the napkin, he folded it and set it down, ignoring the sound of his friend choking down his food. He was too deep in thought.
As a child, Stuart had been there. Guiding him, showing him the way. While his parents would be out and running the race, he would be sleeping, talking to the only friend that he knew he could trust.
In truth, Stuart had caused him to grow up to fast. Serious, calming, and deadly strict, the Creator had been livid when he had found out what his parents had planned for him years later. His father had always been a week leader, not as great as he should have been.
When Antonio had realized that his life was at stake, he had been drawn back by fear. Childlike and innocent, Raffaele had only been twelve when he had realized that his father was slowly becoming weak with paranoia. The monster that tore down one's mind and body, the awareness that kept them all alive.
He had watched as his father resorted to locking up in his room, leaving his mother and him to fend for themselves. The regular visits of men dressed in striking black had stricken fear inside him. . .and also the knowledge that his father had failed.
Stuart wasn’t one to sugar coat things, to bank on the truth. When Raffaele had asked about his father and his choices, Stuart had said with stark seriousness, “You are the leader, Raffaele. You will take the race and you will prosper. You will not be hindered by fear and cowardliness.”
Those words had been the first time he finally understood what it meant to be an adult. Any other child would have laughed it off, to serious of a conversation to be taken into meaning. But Stuart had made him grow, made him learn.
And he knew that his father had failed the race, his wife. . .and his son.
It was only a matter of time till people lost all respect for him, till even the people who took care of his affairs left him to bleed. At thirteen, his father had sent a man to teach him the ways of life, the way of surviving, and the ways of killing.
That was the first time that Raffaele had ever gone against his guide, the Creator. His father had sent him on missions, to countries that needed handling. The pain, the incurable urge to contact Stuart, who had left him after the first mission, had almost threatened him t
o disobey his leader.
While Stuart was just the Creator, Antonio had been his father, the leader, the man that he had once adored as a child.
Raffaele had become emotionless, doing what his father forced him to. His uncle Jared had not known about the visits, the times when he would be gone for weeks, sometimes months.
Of course, he had gone unscathed. . .for a time. The last mission, the last time that he had gone out for killing, had been his last.
But that final mission had cost him everything.
Chapter 23
“Do you have anyone waiting to pick you up?” the nurse asked with forced casualty as she checked his blood pressure and heart rate.
Jared snorted, hearing the faint, accelerated beat of her heart. She must have heard, he thought with bitterness. Not that it mattered; it seemed everyone had.
The Acutos doctor had hidden the evidence of him being. . .not human. The problem with the leader here was that she was too caught up in the murders to get around to funding the hospital that was being set up especially for the Acutos and the Archaeos. It had been a big project of hers, she had been so proud about it that she had just had to tell him. Jared could remember the slender woman breezing into the counselors room, aura so bright and ambitious that if it had been an actual light, it would have blinded him.
It had been on the list of things to do for a while now. The pacchetto before them had hadn’t been fit to rule, had been taken down from the power. But that wasn’t official, at least from what Jared had heard. No one had heard from the old leader for years, and no body had been found
Although people had held respect for him through his failings, Jared knew that the people loved Mary and could only agree at how great she was getting with her power.
He might not possess the same powers as his nephew, but he knew a strong woman when he saw one. She was kind, careful, and pleasant to be around. Strong, out spoken, aware, and capable of hard decisions.
Faintly nervous hands removed the wrap around his arm, and the rest of the attachments. The cursed dress that he was forced to wear showed his crack and he felt a curl of his lip. “The clothing that I came in. Where are they.”
