The District

by Carol Ericson

  “What did Libby say?”

  “There’s a war against witches.” She bounded up from the bed and paced the floor, threading her fingers in front of her. “How do you think the Bureau is going to react when we hand them this motive for the killings?”

  “Do you think they’ll be less interested just because the victims are witches?” He fell onto his side and propped up his head with his hand, his elbow digging into the bed—her bed.

  “No. I don’t know. Rich will think we’re nuts. He’ll think I’m making things up.”

  “Proof is proof. Evidence is evidence.”

  “We don’t have much of either.” She stopped beside the bed and rested her knee on top of it. “What are the chances that my own sister is involved in this?”

  “She’s not involved, Christina.” He rolled to his back and crossed his hands behind his head.

  “She obviously knows what’s going on. She knows she’s a target.”

  “That’s a good thing, and we have a good starting point here. Libby mentioned another coven. I say we do a little research...tomorrow.”

  “You’re right. I just wish I didn’t have to worry about Vivi on top of everything else I’m worried about.”

  He sat up and cocked his head. “What else are you worried about?”

  She nibbled on her lower lip. Eric Brody sprawled across her bed, for one thing. And continuing to lie to him about their daughter for another.

  She closed her eyes to block out the vision of him, still in his trunks, lounging on her bed.

  Bad idea. She felt his warm breath on her cheek as he rose from the mattress and took her hand.

  “Your sister’s going to be fine, Christina. Whoever drew that symbol on your windshield and blew past you in the car is just playing games, and if he isn’t, if he means you harm,” he said as he wedged a finger beneath her chin, “he’s going to have to get through me first.”

  She blinked. She’d honestly forgotten about her newly acquired stalker, but she could do a lot worse than having Eric in her corner. She never thought she’d be able to say that again.

  She curved her lips into a smile. “Thanks. That makes me feel warm and fuzzy.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?” He pinched her chin.

  “I’m serious. I—I’m glad you’re here, Eric.”

  “I am, too, and I’ll be right next door all night if you need anything or if you have any bad dreams.”

  “You know I probably had that dream about Vivi around the same time she took off. She was communicating with me.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  She searched his face for any hint of humor, but saw only concern. That’s what she’d always loved about Eric—he was a tough guy with an empathetic soul. He’d had enough tragedy in his young life to be able to truly feel what others felt.

  His hazel eyes darkened to bottle-green, and she parted her lips. He brushed his mouth against hers so quickly, she might have imagined it.

  “Call me if you need me. I’m leaving my side of the door unlocked tonight.” He waved his hand in the air. “But I am closing it. Apparently, Darius likes nail polish and perfume.”

  She nodded stupidly and stared at his broad, bare back as he headed into his own room.

  Eric clicked the door shut, and then smacked his forehead with his palm.

  He had no self-control. A kiss? It’s not like she was falling apart at the seams. Christina Sandoval did not fall apart at the seams. She didn’t even have seams.

  A sniffle. A teary eye. That’s as far as it went with Agent Sandoval. She didn’t even seem remotely bothered by the recent threats to her. She seemed strangely removed from those threats. Something else had her going—jumpy, tentative. Something more than her sister, since she’d been acting jittery ever since he walked into the station this morning.

  With the way they’d left things between them, she had every right to be jittery. He’d been an ass.

  He peeled off his damp board shorts and tossed them into the bathtub. Then he brushed his teeth and crawled naked between the sheets.

  As he stared at the blinking green light on the smoke detector, he heard a click. He jerked his head toward the door between his room and Christina’s.

  “Damn.” He’d forgotten his promise to her to leave the door unlocked on his side. He rolled from the bed and padded across the floor. Pressing one hand against the door, he turned the dead bolt. The click sounded like a gunshot.

  He held his breath. Then he turned and crept back to bed. As his head hit the pillow, he heard an answering click from the other side of the door.

  Was that an invitation?

  He pulled the pillow over his head. If you know what’s good for you, Brody, ignore it.

  But when it came to Christina, that advice was easier said than done.

  Chapter Eight

  Christina greeted him in the hotel restaurant with heavy eyes and a yawn.

  “You look like you need another eight hours of sleep.”

  “Another eight hours? Try two.”

  “Are you still worried about Vivi?”

  “Yeah, Vivi.” She dropped into the chair across from him and gulped down some of his ice water.

  “I’ll tell you what.” He reached for his phone. “I’ll give Judd a call and see if he can track her down.”

  “Would he do that?”

  “If he’s not busy.” He scrolled through the contacts on his personal phone until he reached Judd’s number. He tapped the phone and it rang on the other end.

  His brother’s gruff voice rumbled over the phone. “Judd Brody, leave a message.”

  “Judd, it’s Eric. Give me a call. I want you to find someone for me.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see how that guy can make a living with his social skills.”

  “Do you think he’ll call you back?”

  “Like I said, if he’s not on a case taking pics of some cheating spouse.”

  “Is that usually the type of work he does?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “He’ll take just about anything, but he does missing persons, a lot of bodyguarding, too.”

  “Any celebrities?”

  “Here and there.” He raised his brows. “Why? Are you thinking of writing another book?”

  “Another book?” She smacked the table. “I thought we cleared that up? There was no book.”

  He patted her hand. “Take it easy. I was kidding. Is it too early to kid about that?”

  “No, kid away. I’d rather have the bad jokes than the dagger looks.” She waved at the waitress. “That reminds me. I still have those notes. I meant what I said then and now, Eric. Those notes are yours.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do with them now.”

  “You used to be interested in finding out the truth about your father.”

  “I still am.”

  The waitress stopped at their table, and he ordered an omelet with the works while Christina settled for a bowl of oatmeal with berries.

  She planted her elbows on the table and buried her chin in one palm. “What? You’re not interested in your dad’s case anymore?”

  “Sean discovered something recently when he was investigating that Alphabet Killer.”

  “Something about your father?”

  “When the Phone Book Killer started communicating with my father, the department recommended that he see a shrink.”

  “That makes sense—standard operating procedure for a lot of departments.”

  “Sean thought the psychiatrist might have some insight into my father’s suicide, so he tracked down the doctor.”

  Christina hunched over the table, clasping her hands in front of her. “That’s exciting.”

  “Didn
’t end up that way. The guy dropped dead minutes before Sean got there to question him.”

  “What?” She pushed her hair off her face, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

  “He had a heart attack.”

  “Oh, my God. What are the chances of that happening?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What does Sean think?”

  “He thinks the doc may have had some information for him, information someone didn’t want him to have.”

  “Does he have any proof that the heart attack was induced?”

  “That’s when he called me in, but I couldn’t get a toxicology report on the doctor. We don’t know what happened to him. It could’ve just been a heart attack. Maybe he got stressed-out thinking about my father’s case and that brought on the attack.”

  “That’s so strange.”

  The waitress dropped off their food, and Eric dug into his omelet. He pointed his fork at her bowl of mush. “Is that going to be enough?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got brown sugar, bananas, berries. I’m in heaven.”

  “This,” he said, waving his fork with a string of orange cheese hanging off it, “is heaven. Anyway, enough of my father’s case. We have our own killer to find.”

  “We’ll fire up your laptop and do a little research on covens.”

  “Maybe we can get more info from Libby. We should drop in on her again.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Nigel will be around.”

  “So many witches, so little time.” He stuffed another bite of omelet into his mouth.

  They finished their breakfast, and took the elevator back up to their rooms. In the light of day, Eric felt more in control of his impulses. He wouldn’t rule out another go around with Christina, but he wanted to make sure she wasn’t harboring any more secrets.

  He did believe that she never intended to write that book, but she’d kept her relationship with Ray Lopez a secret from him, and there was no doubt in his mind that if Lopez had gotten his hands on those notes, a book on his father dredging up the whole sordid affair would’ve been forthcoming.

  Christina still had something to prove to him, and maybe he had something to prove to her, too.

  Maybe that’s why she was still skittish. She was just waiting for his moody psycho side to make another appearance.

  The elevator dinged, bringing him out of his daydreams.

  “My room?” She tapped on the door with her card.

  “I’ll meet you through the secret door, since I have the laptop.”

  “I have a laptop, too.”

  “Mine’s faster.”

  She sighed. “If you insist. I’ll meet you at the secret door, but you have to do the secret knock.”

  She twirled around and shut her door in his face.

  In his room, he swept his computer from the table and knocked on the door that separated their rooms. “Ready?”

  She flung the door open. “You got the secret knock right on the first try.”

  “I’m psychic.” He wiggled his fingers in the air.

  “Water?”

  “Line ’em up.” He set the laptop on the table by the window and powered it on. “Okay, what should we search for first? Covens?”

  “Give it a try.”

  His hands hovered over the keyboard. “Do the covens actually have names?”

  “I have no idea. Libby wasn’t very forthcoming with the particulars.”

  “And your sister? Did she ever mention a name?”

  “No. I never even knew she was a member of a coven. Her or my father. I didn’t know there were different covens.”

  “Maybe they’re like sororities. You have to rush a coven and they make sure you’re a good fit.” He tapped a few keys.

  She stuck out her tongue. “Don’t be dumb. Remember what Libby said? You don’t join a coven, you just are.”

  He ignored the tongue and stared so hard at the screen, his vision blurred. “I’m wondering if half of what Libby told us was bull.”

  She leaned over his shoulder. “What do you have there?”

  “What’s the difference between witches and Wiccans?” He pushed his laptop toward her.

  As she leaned in closer to the screen, her hair feathered against his cheek and her perfume emanated from the pulse beating in her throat. If he didn’t already know she applied a dab or two of the musky scent every morning, he’d swear it was her original smell, something organic to Christina.

  “I have no idea what the difference is.” She flicked the monitor. “Try this website. It looks like a directory of witches or something.”

  “Witchweb dot com? Catchy.” He clicked on the link and a screen popped up filled with symbols and signs and links to products. “Whoa, we could spend all day on this website.”

  She jabbed her finger at the display. “We may not have to. There’s our symbol.”

  “And it links to something.” He brought up the next page, which contained a brief description of the symbol.

  Running his finger beneath the words, he read aloud. “This symbol first appeared in the Caribbean and has been a part of Santeria practices, but today it is most commonly associated with the brujos of Mexico, especially the coven Los Brujos de Invierno.”

  “I’ve never heard that name before—winter witches.” She dropped to her knees beside his chair. “But Dad comes from Mexico, so it totally makes sense that he’d belong to that coven. Why would someone want to wipe out members of a coven?”

  “Money? Love? Power?”

  “Does it look like these people care about power or money to you?” She waved her hand at the website, and then clenched it into a fist. “Wait. The tarot card. The one with the lion and the maiden means strength. I guess that could be power.”

  “Power and death, right?” He tugged on his earlobe. “I was hoping there would be a directory of witches. How is the killer finding them? We need to figure that out before he gets to his next victim.”

  “And before we go too far down this path, we need to check the witch connection with the other two victims outside San Francisco. So far, we have the occult symbol necklace on Liz, and Nora’s employment in an alternative bookstore and Libby’s assurance that Nora was a member of this coven.”

  “Don’t forget the same symbol on your windshield, which means our killer is still in the city or someone other than the killer knows about the victims’ connection to this coven.”

  She sat on the floor beside his chair, folding her legs beneath her and tilting her head back to look up at him. “We’ll have to turn over all this info to the P.D. We promised we’d share, and maybe they have something for us.”

  “I’d feel a lot better if my brother was in town.”

  “When is he coming back from his extended vacation?”

  “Not until September. He’s with a teacher he met on his last case.”

  “Your brother is actually serious enough about someone to travel with her? A teacher?”

  “I know, a kindergarten teacher. I was kinda surprised, but that cold heart of his had to melt sometime.”

  “Well, I’m glad it was a kindergarten teacher who did the melting and not some red-hot stripper.”

  He laughed and ruffled her hair. “The date he brought to our engagement dinner was not a stripper.”

  “Uh, she worked at The Boom Boom Room at the edge of North Beach, and her name was Candy.”

  “Candy was an exotic dancer.”

  “If an exotic dancer takes her clothes off, she’s a stripper, especially if her name is Candy.”

  Eric pushed away from the table and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge. “Sean dated those types of women because he was always afraid of getting too close to someone. He could keep his distance wi
th them without hurting anyone’s feelings.”

  “Looks like he’s gotten through all that if he’s on vacation with a kindergarten teacher.”

  “Exactly why I don’t want to bother him with this case.” As he stepped through the door to his own room, he called over his shoulder, “I’m getting those files.”

  When he returned to her room, she was huddled over the laptop, her fingers racing over the keyboard.

  “Find anything else?”

  “Just doing some name searches, but there aren’t any websites that seem to have a list of coven members.”

  He dropped the files on the desk. “They probably want to keep a low profile.”

  Someone knocked on Christina’s door. “Expecting someone?”

  “No, unless that’s Darius Cole with more news about Vivi.” She untangled her legs and jumped to her feet. Placing a hand against the door, she put her eyeball up to the peephole and swore.

  “Who is it?”

  She whispered, “No one. We can just pretend we’re not here.”

  With his brow furrowed, Eric stalked toward the door.

  She slapped her hand over the peephole at the same time a voice came from the hallway.

  “C’mon, Christina. It’s Ray Lopez. I know you’re in there, and I want this story.”

  Chapter Nine

  She ground her teeth together and took a quick look at Eric’s stormy face. He may have come to realize she was never working with Ray on a book about his family, but it didn’t mean he liked the man. And she didn’t need Ray complicating this tentative truce she had with her ex-fiancé and the father of her child.

  Shaking her head, she mouthed, ignore him.

  Eric reached across her and pushed down on the door handle. “By all means, let’s hear what the scrappy boy reporter Ray Lopez has to say on the matter.”

  Eric flung open the door, and Ray jumped back into the hallway.

  Ray’s mouth spread into a smile. “Now I know it’s a big case with a Brody in the mix. How the hell are you, Brody?”

  Eric grunted in response and ignored Ray’s outstretched hand.

  “What are you doing here, Ray?” She wedged her hands on her hips, hoping to show her extreme displeasure at her childhood friend’s appearance.