Blue Diablo cs-1

by Ann Aguirre

  Three hours later, after a painless border crossing, we arrived in Laredo. I had left the U.S. before they changed passport requirements, but they don’t look too hard at red-haired women at the border. Chance called the cop in charge from the car, who agreed to make himself available at ten a.m. I wasn’t looking forward to it because cops typically got that look when Chance said a victim’s family wanted me to examine the personal effects. I preferred private consultations, as life hadn’t left me any love for local law enforcement.

  By the time we parked outside the station house, I’d worked up a nice set of nerves. “Is he going to give me a hard time?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s not your typical asshole.”

  As we walked into police headquarters, a sandstone municipal building that could have doubled as a mental institution, I rubbed my fingertips back and forth over the new scabs on my palm. In response, he brushed his hand across my shoulder, the sort of thing he’d done eighteen months ago. I used to take heart from his touch. Now I merely hunched my shoulders, glad I didn’t have to deal with Laredo in summer. I thought we’d have to wade through a lot of bureaucratic bullshit, but a detective stood waiting for us at the desk.

  “Thanks for making time.” Chance shook hands with him, and they exchanged polite words.

  My hormones gave a little skip as I gave him the once-over: an intriguing mix of long, tall Texan in battered boots, touched with Latin heat. He had legs that stretched forever in jeans faded almost to white, not the kind bought with designer “wear” but Levi’s washed till the seams and creases got thin. He’d clipped his badge to his belt in plain sight.

  As I checked out the rest of him, I admired shoulders showcased by a rumpled white shirt and a forest green blazer. He had a striped tie stuffed in his right jacket pocket, probably to satisfy the letter of the dress code. Nice face, I decided, if scruffy and unshaven. Frosting the hunk cake was a tousled mess of tawny, sun streaked hair.

  The beauty of being short was that guys didn’t usually notice me eating them with my eyes. Of course, most often, their disregard never changed unless they saw me handle. Still, apart from Chance, I tended to attract Lone Gunman types. They appeared to sense there was something different about me, more than the retrofunky exterior, and if I permitted it, they’d commit me to their lifelong quest to prove the existence of the paranormal.

  The joke was on them; I was the paranormal.

  I concluded my visual inventory of the cop’s assets. Out of my league, I thought with a mental sigh, and a lawman to boot. Crying shame. But as I raised my eyes, I saw the guy regarding me out of bitter chocolate eyes.

  “See something you like?” His smile said he knew I had.

  Shit. Caught me. I’d figured he’d be talking with Chance for at least five minutes before they got around to me.

  “Just window-shopping.” I shoved my hands in my sweater pockets.

  “Thinking about a purchase down the line?”

  Despite feeling like an ass, I grinned. “Now, that’d be illegal, unless we were in the zona, wouldn’t it? Otherwise I’d ask for rates.”

  He extended a hand. “Jesse Saldana. I’m an investigator with the Capers unit.”

  I was familiar enough with the jargon to know he meant the Crimes Against Persons unit, whose purview ranged from terrorist threats to homicide to missing persons. “Corine Solomon.”

  I imagined spelling it out for him. C-O-R-I-N-E, rhymes with Doreen. You want to write it down? And here’s my cell number.

  That would never happen, of course. I lacked the chutzpah to pull off such a maneuver. Plus, I was pretty sure it would be bad form to try to pick up a guy right in front of my ex.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I gave him my right hand. We shook; I felt an odd shock, as if we’d sparked static off each other. I almost sighed in relief when he let go. I still don’t like touching strangers. Though I know it doesn’t work that way, I can’t quite rid myself of the fear that I’ll suddenly start reading people like I do objects, and I can’t imagine anything more objectionable or invasive.

  Chance stepped in then. “You said we could look at my mother’s purse?”

  Nobody else would’ve noticed, but his mouth had pulled tight. If nothing else, I’d succeeded in pissing him off. Maybe I’d flirt a little more. The good detective didn’t seem to take it wrong.

  “Well,” Saldana said. “Let’s take a walk to my office and talk about that.”

  Uh-oh. That sounded like we were about to get played. Chance didn’t look happy.

  He led us down a long hallway painted in the bile green reserved for government buildings. The floors were shiny, though, as the whole building looked pretty new. Saldana shared an office with another investigator, it seemed. At least there was another desk, laden with empty coffee cups and McDonald’s wrappers, but the other guy wasn’t around. After he shut the door, he invited us to sit, which we did, and offered us coffee, which we declined. I felt vaguely disappointed because I hadn’t seen a single doughnut box. What a gyp.

  “Here’s the thing,” he began, and I felt Chance tense beside me. “The lab has it right now, testing for forensic evidence, and afterward, my lieutenant will kick my ass if I let you compromise whatever they find.” He hadn’t cleared it, I guess, when they talked on the phone. No surprise there; nobody in authority ever wants me to handle.

  I forestalled Chance’s eruption. “Where did you find it?”

  Saldana smiled at me, probably relieved one of us was going to be reasonable. Man, he was cute. “Behind some crates in a warehouse. A security guard saw it and called it in.” Over a lost purse? I don’t think so. He hesitated, eyes on Chance. “There was some blood, signs of a scuffle. We’re waiting to see what the lab turns up.”

  The silence hurt me because I knew how Chance must feel, and I didn’t want to be here with him. Not now.

  Finally he said, “She’s A-positive. St. Joseph’s in Tampa ran some tests for her, maybe five years ago. They should have her file.” It was just something to say, of course. Something to fill the silence while we all thought about a delicate Korean woman beaten until her blood stained a cement floor.

  Saldana nodded, standing to pour himself a cup of coffee. I think he just wanted something to do with his hands. So he doctored it with powdered creamer and Splenda. He drank it light like me, I noted. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  The guy had to be ready to evict us from his office, but he radiated unruffled patience. I was willing to bet he was the good cop, every time. Probably his partner was some burly Russian-looking dude with a buzz cut and a bad attitude.

  “How long will the purse be at the lab?” Chance’s fingers curled around the metal arms of his chair, and I half expected to see it melt between his fingers, but his knuckles just turned white.

  “A couple of days, maybe. I’ll stay on them,” the investigator answered in a neutral tone.

  I’m sure Saldana knew we didn’t mean to take no for an answer; he just wanted his ass covered when we went behind his back.

  Chance stood. “We’ll be in touch then.”

  Great. We had time to kill in Laredo.

  Just Like You

  Investigating officer Jesse Saldana walked us out.

  As Chance headed for the parking lot, the cop caught me by the shoulder, and I felt that soft little static shock again where we connected. I gazed at his hand pointedly and he lifted it with an apologetic look.

  “I wanted to speak to you alone a minute.”

  Gay, I decided with a touch of disappointment, not that I’d ever had a shot with Saldana except in my own fantasies. He probably wanted to know whether Chance swung that way, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been queried. It was a little unprofessional, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he intended to wait until the case was resolved before making a move.

  “What’s this about?” My shriveled ego gave a halfhearted thump. Maybe he had a thing for faux redheads.


  His half smile reflected a patient amusement I couldn’t interpret. “You don’t know?”

  Concluding his interest wasn’t sexual and delightfully inappropriate, I lifted a brow. “What I don’t know would fill a set of encyclopedias. Care to be more specific?”

  He touched me then, just a brush of his fingertips against mine, and for the third time, static sparked between us. Because I was looking down, I saw the soft blue discharge. “What the hell, are you wearing special shoes or something?”

  Saldana shook his head, seeming incredulous. “You really don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  I felt myself becoming impatient, and waiting for me outside, his fingers drumming on the Camry’s roof, Chance had no doubt passed that point. Maybe it was small of me, but I enjoyed provoking him. I’d spent years waiting for some kind of emotional display, proof Chance wasn’t as icy as he seemed. The consummate businessman, the ultimate broker—nothing rattled him. At least, it hadn’t. His emotions skated a lot closer to the surface these days.

  Saldana spared a glance for the desk officer who pretended he wasn’t listening. “Perhaps we’d better return to my office.” At my hesitation, he added, “I’ll be brief. Promise.”

  “What the hell.” It wouldn’t hurt Chance to stew a bit, and being annoyed with me would distract him from worrying about his mother.

  “Usually your parents would advise you,” he explained once we reached his office and he closed the door behind us. “I guess it falls to me. That little flare of static is how we recognize each other, although sometimes it comes from someone with a latent ability.”

  I didn’t sit down because he had. My intention was to preserve the height advantage in the encounter, but standing before his desk left me feeling as though I’d been summoned to the principal’s office, so I sank into the chair opposite.

  For a moment I considered feigning ignorance. Ability? What ability? But I was sure he knew I was different somehow and that I’d lose points for pretending. Why his opinion mattered, I don’t know, but I didn’t want him to consider me an idiot.

  “You’re saying every static shock I’ve received came from someone else who has some ability, whether they’re aware of it or not?” My tone sounded skeptical.

  He shook his head. “No, there’s regular static and then there’s what we do. You’ll only see the blue spark when two talents react on each other. It’s quite different, but I guess you wouldn’t know that if you haven’t been educated. To the uninitiated, it’s rather like tasting the difference between types of honey.”

  “There are different types of honey?” I settled back to listen.

  Christ, Chance is going to kill me.

  “Yeah. For now I just wanted to find out whether you have an excellent poker face or if you didn’t know I’m like you.”

  That sounded like a line. He was like me only in that we were both bipedal in nature. “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re doubtful, a little sad. Conflicted about being here. Worried about Chance.”

  I sat forward then, gripping the edge of his desk. “How did you—” Shit, did he know I’d been picturing him naked earlier? Was he going to start bending spoons?

  “And now,” he continued with a grin, “you’re feverishly embarrassed. I’m curious to know why, actually.”

  “Emotions,” I realized aloud. “You’re an empath.”

  “Yeah. It helps in my line of work. Cops work hunches all the time, and what I do doesn’t deviate too far from that.” His dark eyes flickered to my hands, and I knew he must have registered the scars when we shook. “You’re a handler? You can’t come by it naturally, or it wouldn’t come with such a steep price.”

  A reasonable assumption under the circumstances—psychometry is the most tactile gift—but I still felt mild astonishment that a cop, a bastion of law and order, could accept what I did. Could make the mental leap without scorn or fear of the unholy. In that moment, Jesse Saldana became something more than hot.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re right.”

  He acknowledged that with a nod and a knowing look that said he probably understood more than I did about certain things. “For now, I’ll be brief. There’s an underground,” he said softly. “When you ID someone this way, proceed with caution. They may think they’re alone, as you did, and you never know how they’re going to react.”

  I thought about that. “You took a risk in speaking to me.”

  “Somewhat. I won’t go into everything now. Your boyfriend feels like a nuclear warhead in the parking lot.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I corrected.

  Great, that sounded like I wanted him to know I was available when all I wanted from Jesse Saldana was some answers.

  “Used to be?” A spark of interest flared to life in his eyes, quickly quelled. “Never mind. Where are you staying? I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow and tell you everything.”

  “I’m not sure. We came straight from Monterrey.” I knew a flash of longing for the luxurious hotel we’d left behind. Unlikely we would ever find anything like that here.

  “I’ll also do everything I can to get you a look at that purse, although I can’t go through channels.” Saldana gave an apologetic shrug. “But I understand how important it is now.” He regarded me for a moment before adding, “One last thing. Since I found you, that makes me your mentor. If you object, say so and we’ll call it.”

  Found me. That made me sound like a lost dog.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know you well enough to mind. I don’t even know what this entails, so give me your card, and we’ll rectify that. I’ll call when we’re settled.”

  His smile flashed, white teeth in his scruffy sun-bronzed face. “Sure you will, Corine. That wouldn’t be the first time a woman brushed me off like that.”

  “Yes, it would,” I said with no little disgust.

  With a boyish shrug, he admitted to the bullshit, which was better than false modesty. “Here you go. Better head out there before you get left, sugar.”

  By the time I got to the car, Chance looked like he could happily blow things up. Because I was curious I touched him on the arm as I came around to the passenger side. Nothing. No shock. Huh. Whatever Chance did, he did it differently than the rest of us. His power must somehow fall outside the range of “ordinary” human gifted. But then, I’d always sensed something special about Chance, a preternatural polish and grace.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about what I’d learned inside the station. Well, assuming Saldana wasn’t a nut job. And maybe he was; a badge didn’t make him trustworthy. Sometimes it just focused the crazy.

  “Have a nice chat?” Chance asked, turning the key in the ignition like he wanted to break it off.

  Purposefully I gazed out the window. I hated Laredo. When I’d left the first time, I promised myself I’d never come back and yet here I was. Overall, I wasn’t much fonder of the rest of Texas, although I didn’t mind Texarkana. When I passed through in July of last year, it was still lush and green, reminding me more of the Smoky Mountains where I’d spent a few summers camping, before my mama died.

  She hadn’t told me anything about people being gifted or not gifted, or little blue sparks to set them apart. I don’t know if all practitioners react to each other this way or only those with limited talents. I’m also not sure if she didn’t know about all this, or whether she never got the chance to clue me in. But then, she worked her magick through ritual, focus, and dreamy soft chants that sounded like low, husky lullabies.

  If I closed my eyes, I could hear her, even now. Singing.

  It never occurred to me to question her about whether her powers were real or if I should listen to the kids at school who made Bewitched jokes. I guess all little girls secretly think their mamas are magical, and mine gave me more proof than most. My mother taught me everything I know about love. She gave me life, and twelve years later, she died for me. What more is there?

  I didn’t let my thoughts con
tinue to roam that way, but my voice sounded more clipped than I wanted when I finally replied. “Yep.”

  “Are you planning to tell me what that was about?”

  Flicking the card between my fingers, I decided to tell the literal truth. “He wants to take me to dinner while we’re in town.”

  Yeah, I made it sound personal. Sue me. Chance owed me for a lot of bad moments over the years, wondering whether he wanted me or just my gift. Wondering whether he slept with me to keep me biddable.

  His hands tightened on the wheel, incredulity and... jealousy?... warring in his voice. “You made a date with him?”

  “Tentatively.”

  “My mother is God knows where,” he bit out, “and you’re thinking with your crotch.”

  Such language wasn’t like him. He never lost control, never slipped that way, and I felt savage satisfaction at having goaded him to that point.

  I shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m pretty good in bed. Maybe I can win some influence with him. Get him to break some rules. How’s that different from the way you pimped me?”

  He cut me a daggered look as we turned into the parking lot of a shitty La Quinta Inn. “Were you always such a bitch?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t I notice?”

  Because I cared desperately what you thought of me then.

  I shrugged. “Why didn’t you notice a lot of things?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, sounding dazed. “But it turns me on something wicked.”

  I peeked at his lap as he parked the car and decided he wasn’t kidding.

  Killing Time

  With a snicker, I left him to wait the problem out.

  The Chance I remembered didn’t suffer from inconvenient erections, nor did he get horny at inappropriate times. He planned lovemaking, all details in place for a perfect, civilized seduction, everything in its place, everything orchestrated. Me, I like a good bit of cloth ripping, panties on the lampshade, and some shouting before it’s over. He’d never gotten there with me, and I’d figured it was somehow my fault.