The District

by Carol Ericson

  She blinked, trying to shake off the spell his hazel eyes cast on her.

  “Nobody’s going to try anything at the meeting, especially with a roomful of potential mind readers.”

  The doors slid open on their floor, and all the pent-up emotion between them seemed to flow out into the hallway and dissipate.

  Eric paused at his door, his card hovering above the slot. “The meeting’s not until ten. Maybe we should order room service and relax.”

  “I’m going to relax with that file and see if I can find the connection for Olivia.”

  “Don’t work too hard. I’m going to start putting together a report for Rich and the SFPD.”

  They both slipped into their rooms, and Christina slumped against the door. Relax? How could she possibly relax when the man she’d been yearning for was right next door, within her reach for the first time in two years?

  Within her reach but separated by a gulf called Kendall Rose.

  Chapter Eleven

  Eric fired up his laptop and printed out the picture of Juarez’s tattoo—just like Christina’s. How had he let her talk him into that?

  His rational side replied correctly that it wasn’t his call to make. Christina was his equal partner. She was an FBI agent and a damned good one. She might be soft and pliable in bed, but that’s not where he had her...yet.

  He plowed his fingers through his hair and growled low in his throat. Wasn’t it just a matter of time? He knew it and she knew it.

  His eyes strayed to the connecting door. Maybe he should barge right in there and get it over with.

  Dragging in a ragged breath he pulled out the desk chair and plopped down in it. Work. He needed to get this stuff down in a report to his boss. The SFPD would appreciate a heads-up, too, and would expect it of Detective Sean Brody’s brother.

  He opened a file and started typing, the blank screen filling up with black words keeping his mind off the woman next door.

  He worked for another hour, transferring information from his scribbled notes and random pieces of paper to the orderly file taking shape before him.

  He pushed back from the desk and stretched at the same moment his phone buzzed beside the laptop. He lunged for the phone and saw his brother’s name on the display.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Don’t hate on me, but I’ve been working in Maui.”

  “Good for you, Judd. Glad to see you gainfully employed.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been bodyguarding that little actress from that new werewolf TV series.”

  “Okay, I’m officially hating on you.”

  “But I’ve got good news for you.”

  “You found Christina’s sister?”

  “Are you back with Christina? It’s about time, bro.”

  “I’m back working with her, and you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Vivi Sandoval is in Mexico.”

  “How’d you discover that?”

  “I’m a P.I.—I never reveal my sources, unlike you loose-lipped fibbies.”

  “Is she okay?” Eric stretched out on the bed.

  “Yeah. Shacking up with some older dude. Is she missing or something? She’s a little old to be running away from home.”

  “Christina was worried about her. Vivi doesn’t have her phone.”

  “I didn’t think the two of them were that close.”

  “She’s the only sibling Christina has.”

  “Unlike us lucky SOBs, right? If you’re in the city, have you seen Sean?”

  “He’s on an extended vacation right now—with some teacher.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard something about that.” Judd cleared his throat. “You need anything else? Because right now the actress is getting ready for a private luau—you know, piña coladas, hula girls, warm Hawaiian nights.”

  Eric snorted. “Don’t work too hard...bro.”

  He closed his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head. At least he had some good news for Christina. She’d mentioned her father was in Mexico, so Vivi was probably with him—the powerful brujo.

  The rap on the door jerked him out of dreamland and he rolled from the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he opened the door to Christina’s room.

  She jabbed a finger in the air. “You’ve been sleeping.”

  “I kind of dozed off.” He yawned. “But that report’s going to be in good shape for Rich on Monday morning.”

  “I had no luck at all with Olivia.” She flicked her fingers in the air.

  He grabbed her hand, sporting new black nail polish. “I see you’ve been hard at work at the salon downstairs.”

  “Oh, these?” She curled her fingers and inspected her fingernails. “Thought I’d better get a little more in character.”

  “Do you really think witches wear black nail polish?”

  “Vivi does—and lots of black eyeliner, and let’s not forget Darius.”

  “Which brings me to my next piece of news. Judd called. Vivi’s down in Mexico, probably with your dad.”

  She squealed and threw her arms, black nail polish and all, around his neck. “That’s awesome news. Judd is the best. She’s okay?”

  “As far as his source could tell him, she’s fine. If she’s with your dad, he’ll protect her, right?” Since her arms were still around his neck, his curled naturally around her waist.

  “Absolutely. There aren’t many in the occult world who are going to mess with Octavio Sandoval.”

  He kissed her forehead because, well, his lips were so close anyway. “Good. At least that’s one issue we can put to bed—to rest.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Her plump lips were close, too, and he was hungry, hungry for her touch. “I’m starving, and there’s nothing dampening my appetite now. No barriers between me and the feast before me.”

  Her body stiffened in his arms, and she placed her hands flat against his chest. “Except maybe work.”

  He dropped his arms. “Work.”

  “Do you want to show me that report?” She twirled away from him.

  It took him several seconds to catch his breath and dial back on the lust that had surged through his body parts. Either he’d been misreading her signals or she’d just gotten cold feet.

  Or maybe it’s because she’d gotten the information she needed about Vivi out of him.

  “Report, yeah.” He strode to the laptop and woke it up. The neat report with its bullets and columns and pictures flashed on the screen. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to look at the room service menu.”

  The words on the plastic menu blurred before his eyes. What kind of game was she playing with him? Why was nothing ever as it seemed with Christina?

  “Great job, partner.”

  Okay, she’d just officially put him back in the friend zone. “Thanks, partner. Maybe I should give Olivia’s file the once-over. You could be missing something because you’re too close to this case now.”

  “Maybe.” She wedged her hip against the desk, keeping her distance. “What looks good on the menu?”

  “Depends. Do you want something like a sandwich or a real meal?”

  “If we’re going to be fighting off witches tonight, I’ll take the meal. Steak? Potatoes?”

  He waved the menu in the air. “They have both. Salad, too.”

  “The works.”

  He ordered the food to be delivered to her room. Seemed safer over there.

  By the time the cart arrived, he’d gained control of his senses and his libido. He needed to keep his distance and his sanity.

  He’d ordered the stuffed pork chops and garlic mashed potatoes. Lots of garlic—a remedy for both vampires and romance.

  “How’s your steak?”

  �
��Good. How’s your chop?”

  He stabbed a piece of meat. “Great. Is pork really white meat, and does that mean it won’t go with this red wine?”

  She cupped the half bottle of wine in her hand and read the label. “It’s a cab. It goes with anything.”

  “Your impressive wine knowledge is really coming in handy.” He waved his hand across her body. “What are you wearing tonight, a black hat and robe?”

  “You’re very funny, Brody.” She swirled her wine in her glass. “I’m sure witches come in all shapes and sizes and walks of life. Look at the killer’s victims.”

  “We should at least try to blend in, and that means black, just like your nails.”

  “I can manage that, can you?”

  He tossed his napkin onto the tray. “Absolutely. Ever since Judd got me into motorcycles, I’ve been adding more and more black to my wardrobe. It’s hard to ride a bike in beige khaki.”

  “The next time you talk to Judd, thank him for me. I feel a lot better knowing my sister is probably with my dad, although I wish one or the other of them would’ve called me.”

  “Is your dad in the habit of calling you?”

  “No.”

  “Does he favor Vivi?”

  “Of course. She took up the family line of work, but she needs him more than I do. Her own mother died when she was a teenager.”

  “Was her mother a bruja, too?”

  “No, just another groupie.”

  Eric held up the bottle of wine. “Do you want the rest?”

  “As long as we’re not driving.”

  She held out her glass and he rose from his chair and poured. “How come you never told me all the details about your family before? I never realized their powers went so deep.”

  “I wanted to marry you, not send you screaming for the hills.”

  “And my background with a suspected serial killer for a father is so much better?”

  “That doesn’t reflect on you.”

  “Neither does your family.” He gathered his silverware and dumped it onto his plate. “I think if you had told me, it would’ve helped me understand where you were coming from regarding your interest in serial killers. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten so upset about the notes.”

  “Yeah, you would’ve. It was a bad time for you, Eric. I just wish...” She crossed her own fork and knife on the edge of her plate and glanced up brightly, blinking her eyes. “I wish you would’ve stuck around longer to give me a chance to explain everything.”

  She didn’t trust him not to run out on her again. Is that why she was holding back? He’d had his trust issues. It never occurred to him until this second that she had her own with him. He’d ended their engagement and had escaped to parts unknown—unknown to her. He’d made sure she had no way to reach him.

  He had to be alone to grieve the loss of Noah Beckett and his own urges to recover what was taken from him as the result of his own kidnapping. If he had been able to bring home every kidnapped child to their parents, he believed he could’ve filled that hole in his soul. But he’d failed.

  He had given himself a big mountain to climb and he’d slipped off the edge.

  “Do you want to give me that file before I retreat to my own room?”

  “Oh, are you leaving? You don’t need to. We still have a few hours before we have to get going. I was just going to kick back and watch some TV—unless you don’t think you can concentrate on the file with distractions.”

  He scratched his chin. She was the biggest distraction of all, but if she wanted him to stay he would. “I always work with background noise. Mind if I camp out on the love seat?”

  “Be my guest, and don’t you dare shave.”

  “Huh?” The plate he’d been stacking on the tray clattered as he dropped it.

  “The stubble works—black shirt, stubble,” she said with a grin as she flashed him a thumbs-up, “you’re in with the brujos.”

  He shook his head and hoisted the tray. “Just don’t expect me to cast any spells.”

  Her luscious lips curved into a smile. “I couldn’t imagine that, but the scruff should stay.”

  He opened the door and propped it open with his foot as he placed the tray on the carpet outside. “I’ll keep it. Now let me have a crack at that file.”

  “It’s on the bed.”

  He sat on the edge of the mattress and reached across the rumpled bedcovers to grab the file folder. Christina’s scent engulfed him and he almost burrowed into the covers to get lost in it.

  He gripped the edge of the folder and resurfaced to reality. “I’ll give this a fresh set of eyes.”

  She dropped to the bed just as he cleared it, punched some pillows into place and settled against them. She aimed the remote at the flat screen TV. “I’ll try to keep the sound down.”

  “Believe me, I’ll let you know if it’s too loud.” He sprawled in the corner of the love seat and dropped the folder in his lap.

  Once he got engrossed in the details of the case, the TV really did become background noise. Even Christina’s presence faded to one corner of his mind.

  After about an hour, he tilted his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. As his muscles relaxed, the sounds and smells of the room came back into focus. Once again Christina’s perfume tickled his nose, and the droning voice on the TV began to form actual words.

  He listened for several minutes and then opened one eye. “Are you watching a true crime show?”

  “It’s about that murder up in Seattle, the father who killed his family and tried to blame it on intruders.”

  “Yeah, that guy’s a straight-up sociopath—dead eyes.”

  “Remember when Ray was telling us about that reporter-turned-true-crime-writer who wrote a book on this case?”

  “Yeah, the one who’s interested in my father’s case?”

  She pointed at the TV. “There she is. They interviewed her as part of this show.”

  He dropped his chin to his chest and squinted at the screen. An animated brunette was waving her hands around, punctuating her words with gestures. “Okay, remind me never to talk to her.”

  “She’s fascinating. She interviewed the guy in prison, and he turned on the charm thinking he’d get favorable treatment in her book. Guess she saw right through that because her portrayal of him is not at all flattering.”

  “As a sociopath, he probably thought he had her wrapped around his finger.”

  She muted the sound. “I probably should’ve been watching that dancing show or something.”

  “You don’t have to hide your interests from me, Christina. I already know you’re kind of morbid.”

  “Speaking of which, it’s time to get into character.”

  “I’ll leave you to get ready. I’m going to try to catch a few winks before we go.”

  “I’m too wound up to nap. I’m going to hop in the shower. I’ll knock when I’m ready.”

  “And the file?” He tapped the folder. “I didn’t find anything either.”

  He retreated to his room and spread out on the bed, setting the alarm on his phone for a wake-up call in forty-five minutes.

  It came all too soon. He took a quick shower and pulled on some black jeans, black T-shirt sporting an old album cover from The Who and a pair of motorcycle boots. Just as he stomped the second boot on the floor, Christina tapped on the door.

  He called out, “I’m ready.”

  She peeked around the edge of the door and whistled. “You look hot.”

  “For a brujo.”

  “For anything.” She widened the door and stepped through, her black skirt rustling around her ankles.

  “And you look appropriately witchy.”

  She’d outlined her eyes with black liner and tousled h
er dark hair so that it hung like a disheveled curtain around her shoulders.

  Rotating her arm outward, she said, “The tattoo is the perfect touch, don’t you agree?”

  “Looks like it belongs there permanently.” He took her untattooed arm. “It’s showtime.”

  They took a taxi to The Lower Haight where the crowds were thinner, the Victorians shabbier and the transients more aggressive. They had the driver drop them off up the street from the meeting address, and Eric kept feeling for his nonexistent weapon. He felt naked without it, but he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out of the coven’s meeting for packing heat.

  They reached the location of the meeting, a run-down union hall, which didn’t much look like sacred ground. An unofficial welcoming committee greeted them at the door.

  A middle-aged woman, who looked nothing like a witch in her mom jeans and cardigan, eked out a tight smile. “Newcomers?”

  As soon as they walked through the doors, Christina’s knees weakened and trembled, and her heart started racing. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.

  Eric shot her a curious glance, and then draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her flush against him. “We’re visiting from New Mexico and saw the meeting notice at Kindred Spirits. Is this a West Coast meeting?”

  The woman’s eyes darted toward her companion, a young man with small sharp teeth. Now he could be a witch.

  He pulled a white handkerchief out of his sleeve and dabbed his nose. “Bay Area coven.”

  Christina reached up to pull her hair back from her face, flashing her tattooed wrist. “We like to check in with other covens when we travel.”

  The effect of the tattoo was immediate. Both sets of eyes glommed on to the symbol, following the movement of Christina’s hand.

  “You made it.” A familiar voice called from across the room and Nigel, dressed all in black for the occasion, limped across the floor, his hand outstretched.

  Eric shook his hand and squeezed it hard. If Nigel blabbed about the FBI, it would be all over.

  “Do you know them, Nigel?” The woman narrowed her eyes, still focused on Christina’s tattoo.

  “I met them in Libby’s place. We had a chat, and this young lady’s the real deal, unlike yours truly.”