Shattered Spirits

by C. I. Black

  “So, your question?” she asked, her tone softening.

  “I’m curious about the body in your exam room.”

  “It’s a little out of your town.”

  “By about a three-hour drive. I know. This isn’t official.”

  “I wouldn’t imagine so.” Hiro eased her menu shut. “Cooper’s on the case, so whatever you want to dig around in, it’s covered.”

  “That’s not—”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “All right, maybe I do need to nose around.”

  The waitress arrived with their drinks, and Ryan sat back. If Detective Cooper was on the case, Ryan was going to have to be careful poking into anything. Cooper had been the first cop in line to help Internal Affairs find him guilty of arson and murder, and Ryan doubted the man had lost a night’s sleep over it.

  But that only meant Ryan would have to tread lightly. It certainly didn’t mean he was going to give up trying to find the truth. The waitress put Hiro’s coffee and Ryan’s beer on the table, took their dinner orders, and left.

  Ryan leaned forward again. “I just have… questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  Ah, shit. Now he had no idea how much to ask Hiro. He didn’t know how good her relationship with Detective Cooper was, but if they were friends, it could be trouble for him. And it didn’t explain why Special Agent Jones had been in the exam room when he’d walked in. “If the case is Cooper’s, why was the FBI there?”

  “Covering my bases.” Hiro picked up her coffee and took a long sip.

  “You don’t just cover your bases without letting the lead detective know.”

  Hiro raised a delicate eyebrow.

  “And we both know Detective Cooper would be less than impressed to find out you’d invited the FBI into his investigation.” Ryan lifted the beer to his lips, but kept his gaze on Hiro to judge her reaction.

  “Maybe I have his say-so.”

  “Then why say you were covering your bases?”

  “Touché,” Hiro said, a smile pulling at her lips. “Capri is a friend, and she likes unusual cases.”

  “And what makes this murder unusual? And don’t tell me it’s the decapitation, because while that’s uncommon, I’m not sure if it’s unusual.”

  Hiro’s smile deepened. “I’m not at liberty to say. What about it has your interest?”

  “The victim was…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know the victim, didn’t even know his name, so he couldn’t claim an association. If he did and the man was involved in less-than-legal activities, it might get him in hot water, particularly with Cooper on the case. And if he didn’t say something soon, Hiro was bound to notice the hesitation—if she hadn’t noticed already. “He was a person of interest in a case I had a while back. One that wasn’t satisfactorily resolved.”

  Of course, at the time, he’d thought it had been resolved. They’d found Pete’s charred corpse in the ruins of his house and buried him. But then, maybe this victim wasn’t Pete Matthews.

  “So you want to what? Dig around to try and resolve your old case?”

  “Something like that.”

  The waitress brought their food, and Ryan waited for Hiro to respond. She would either help him or she wouldn’t—and so far she hadn’t even dropped the victim’s name. He contemplated his options if she didn’t help him. Digging around for the man’s address might prove challenging given the size of Newgate, and when he’d agreed to the transfer he’d all but admitted his guilt, leaving him with no friends in the department.

  Hiro set her coffee down and picked up her fork, holding it poised above her salad. “I don’t have to warn you about getting in Cooper’s way.”

  “No.”

  She pushed a candied pecan into the dressing and scooped it up. “But I probably should warn you about Capri.”

  “I just want to answer a few simple questions. That’s all.”

  Hiro laughed, and for a moment Ryan yearned for it to be Jones sitting across from him, laughing. Which was ridiculous. Why would he even care?

  “In this business, few questions are simple.”

  “Just give me the address to our victim’s residence, and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “It’s not my way you need to be careful of.”

  And he doubted it was Cooper’s. “You mean Jones.”

  “When she’s got her teeth into something, you don’t want to be standing between it and her.”

  That, he could believe. She’d been determined to take his case from him in Elmsville, and she’d been less than happy to see him this morning. Yet he still wanted to find himself in her way.

  He suppressed a shiver of attraction. “All I need is an address, and I’ll be done by tonight.”

  “I doubt that.” Hiro popped the nut in her mouth. “But let’s finish dinner. When I get back to the office, I’ll text you the info. Now tell me all about the thrilling metropolis of Elmsville.”

  “Oh, thrilling is right.” But it wasn’t the small town that had him thinking of thrills. He was going to find out if this victim was really Pete Matthews and there was a chance—albeit a small chance, but a chance nonetheless—that he’d run into Special Agent Capri Jones.

  He fought the anticipation racing through him. He shouldn’t want to run into Jones again, and yet, he had to see her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Capri parked her SUV on the street a dozen houses down from Andy Reynolds’s bungalow, not because she couldn’t explain to a curious neighbor why she was searching a murder victim’s house, but because she didn’t want to. Not until she was ready. While her FBI credentials usually gave her a free pass at just about anything, if a neighbor called the police before learning she was FBI, Tobias was sure to find out and then he’d know she was working off the books. At the moment, it was better to avoid anymore attention than necessary.

  Besides, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She might not find anything and she’d hate to have this whole situation blow up on her if her search came up empty. There had to be some kind of evidence that this man was a dragon or that he had a connection to dragons. Except she wasn’t sure what that would be.

  Whatever it was, it was going to be difficult to find. If given enough time, and what looked like painful concentration, Swipe would be able to find the detail, no matter how minuscule. But she wasn’t going to get him involved in this until Tobias made it official… if Tobias made it official.

  If looking into this incurred Regis’s wrath—and given that she didn’t have a Royal Decree, any action she took could be interpreted as treason—she was going to take the fall and keep the rest of her team safe. It didn’t matter that she could argue what she did was for the good of dragon-kind; Regis would see her actions-without-permission as disrespect, and he wouldn’t be able to let it go. He’d have to punish her to keep in control of his coterie and Court.

  Which left her searching for some small, likely impossible to find detail, on her own.

  Right. Well, when the team didn’t have much to go on, they went with the basics: gain a sense of who the victim was.

  Gig’s initial search for Andy Reynolds hadn’t turned up much. He had little debt—save for the mortgage on this house—no family in the area, and he received regular deposits every second Friday from his job as a youth counselor. All of that made her think he was more likely a human than a dragon. Admittedly it was just an initial search, but usually drakes lived a more upscale kind of life with whatever wealth they’d accumulated over the centuries.

  She walked up Andy’s shoveled driveway. It was a small structure with pale siding. In daylight, the siding would have been an unwashed-white, but under the glare of the streetlight it looked more grey or pale brown.

  The house sat on the middle of a slope surrounded by similar houses on a street twisting down a hill. Tall trees, a mix of maple and pine, dotted the front lawns covered with an inch of snow. Behind the house loomed a woodlot, with more towering s
hadows of maples and pines, barely illuminated by the light of the quarter moon.

  She avoided the front steps, which were partially covered in snow. Given that it hadn’t snowed since before Reynolds was murdered, the uncleared snow at the front of the house suggested he used the back door as his primary entrance. True to the assumption, the walk along the side of the house was clear, and she followed it to the back.

  Darkness enveloped her. She blinked a couple of times, pausing for a heartbeat to let her eyes adjust. With her job, she counted herself lucky to be a drake not only with a strong earth magic, but with a few enhanced abilities—better night-sight being one of them.

  She was also stronger than the average human, which meant she could force the back door open. But that would leave unnecessary evidence, and she’d spent a lot of time learning how to avoid leaving evidence, particularly stuff that would make Swipe complain—even if it was fun to listen to him grumble.

  Three snow-free cement steps led up to a new set of doors. She opened the screen, held it with her shoulder, and knelt to get a better look at the deadbolt. Standard lock. Good.

  She pulled out her tension wrench and rake pick and slid them into the lock. Early in her career, and sick and tired of listening to Swipe bitch about how difficult it was to fix a broken door, she’d turned to the Prince’s Assassin, Hunter, for a few breaking and entering lessons—which then had to be done all over again when tumbler locks came into common use around the 1800s.

  With a wiggle and twist, she unlocked the door. Not her best pick. Not her worst, either. No matter how much Hunter had growled at her, she really wasn’t that skilled at lock picking. It had taken her close to a hundred years to get that fast. Thank the Mother of All her human cover was in law enforcement and not crime.

  She eased the door open. The knob squeaked and the hinges groaned. She glanced around, but there was no movement at either neighboring house to indicate anyone was outside and had heard anything. Thank goodness for freezing temperatures. Everyone huddled inside, and no one had a window open. Of course, with the snow, she had to be careful about leaving footprints. There were advantages and disadvantages to everything.

  A cloud scuttled across the moon. She stepped into a small kitchen onto a dark mat, the color indistinguishable in the gloom. To her immediate left stood a small closet with half a dozen coats and a pile of boots and shoes in front of it, making it impossible to close.

  The cloud moved away, and the white floor and cupboards gleamed in the returning moonlight. They were a stark contrast to the black granite countertop running the length of the kitchen to her right. Before her stood the arch to the living room, and to her left was a small table covered with papers. There were two plastic bowls underneath, one filled with water, one empty. It looked like Andy Reynolds used to have a pet. Since nothing came to check her out, someone must have already taken it.

  She shifted through the piles of papers—mostly bills and flyers. Nothing useful, so she moved into the living room, a small space crowded with a large TV and a matching black leather couch and recliner. It looked recently decorated. And actually the kitchen looked recently renovated as well. His counselor job didn’t pay that much. He would have had to be particularly frugal to afford the recent changes.

  Maybe there was more to this Reynolds than met the eye. Modest house on the outside, swank bachelor’s pad on the inside. Wonder what kind of car he drove? She’d been so distracted by seeing Miller at the M.E.’s office, she’d forgotten to ask Hiro for a copy of the file. But she suspected the victim drove something that screamed male and single. The rest of his house did.

  The knob on the back door squeaked.

  Shit.

  She leapt to the arch leading from the kitchen to the living room and pressed her back against the wall beside it. She needed a moment to think. If it was a neighbor, how did she explain her wandering through Reynolds’s house in the dark?

  She couldn’t. Not really.

  The door opened with a groan, then clicked shut.

  Subvocalizing her power word, she activated her earth magic.

  This was going to take some skill and a whole lot of power, since there was no easy way to explain what she was doing. She’d probably need a complete memory wipe of the last ten or so minutes and a replacement memory, which was the second most difficult thing she could cast—a complete memory wipe and total replacement being the most difficult. It had been a long time since she’d had to cast such an invasive spell, and there was always the risk it wouldn’t hold or worse, she’d permanently scar the human’s mind.

  The kitchen light didn’t turn on.

  Huh. Perhaps this wasn’t a friend.

  A beam of light shot through the living room and dropped to the floor. Flashlight. Definitely not a friend. Friends didn’t use flashlights. People who didn’t want to be noticed by the neighbors did.

  New plan.

  Whoever this was could be the connection to dragon-kind she was looking for. Or better yet, evidence there was no connection and Reynolds’s murder was a coincidence. But two decapitations within a week and a half wasn’t a likely coincidence, as much as she wished it was.

  She eased back the curl of magic she’d released, letting the spell dissipate, and shifted her weight to the balls of her feet.

  Two soft thuds on the linoleum floor and then the sigh of paper being shifted around. Whoever had entered, was doing what she’d done. Except he, or she, had gotten to the table in two steps, making them a foot taller than her. Likely a man, given the length and weight of the stride.

  The papers stopped rustling, and the beam of light slid through the arch along the living room floor. Guess he hadn’t found anything, either.

  She lengthened her stance and waited.

  While having the help of surprise on her side, she’d still need to move fast if she wanted to subdue him. She might be stronger than the average human woman, but she was still only five feet tall and a hundred pounds. If he got a good grip on her, she’d be forced to use her magic in an attack guaranteed to do mental damage.

  The footsteps drew closer.

  Just a little farther. All she needed was his wrist.

  The head of the flashlight inched into the living room.

  One more step.

  His hand crossed the threshold. She lunged and grabbed his wrist. With a twist, she yanked him around and slammed him face-first into the wall, drawing a surprised grunt. The flashlight bounced on the carpet, the light dancing over the walls.

  He jerked against her grip. She yanked his wrist up his back and leaned her weight against him, securing her hold. The rich, masculine scent of shaving cream and soap slid over her. He smelled so good… and so familiar.

  He bucked against her. She skidded back, proving she wasn’t going to be able to hold him like that. She wrenched him around, yanked his elbow and shoulder joints into a painful lock, and forced him to his knees.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” She leaned in, putting more pressure on his arm.

  He grunted again and glanced at her.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  It was Miller.

  “I’d like to ask you the same question, Special Agent Jones.”

  “I’m working.”

  “In the dark?” His tone implied there were other things they could be doing in the dark… or was that just her imagination?

  Heat seeped up her neck to her cheeks, and she was grateful for the cover of night. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He pulled against her grip. For a moment she considered keeping him in the painful joint lock, but that kept her holding him. And as much as she wanted to keep holding him, just his wrist wasn’t exactly where she wanted her hands.

  She shoved him away, turned, and paced into the center of the room. She had to get ahold of herself. He wasn’t Eric. He didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him—she wouldn’t let herself love a human again. That would only mean repeating the agony of the p
ast, obeying dragon law, and leaving far too soon.

  “I’m still waiting for an answer,” she growled. “What are you doing here?”

  “And I’m still waiting for mine.” His gaze locked on hers.

  More heat welled within her, pooling low. Light flashed from his eyes, and for a moment, no longer than a heartbeat, she could have sworn he was a drake. An intensity burned there, a determination, and a desire. The shadows accentuated the strong lines of his face. His breath expanded his chest, raising his back and shoulders, making him momentarily bigger, more dangerous.

  Mother of All, it turned her on. The sense of power radiating from him was a match to her drake hiding within. He promised ferocious passion. More than what Eric had ever been able to give her. It crackled against her senses as if it were his earth magic. Which was impossible. He wasn’t a drake. He was human. God damn it. He. Was. Human. She wasn’t supposed to desire him.

  She jerked away from him to the window. But turning her back on him did little to still the liquid desire scorching her veins. There was something very very wrong with her. She was soul sick. That was it.

  But soul sickness didn’t manifest as lust. And really, it couldn’t be lust for Miller. It was heartbreak for Eric. It was just coming out hot and needy and all wrong.

  Outside, a shadow moved at the bottom of the driveway. She inched aside the sheers and peered through the crack. Diablo strode up the steps to the front door.

  Just great. What the hell was Diablo doing here? And if she didn’t want him knowing she was investigating something she hadn’t been assigned, she needed to leave. Now. Could this night get anymore complicated?

  She grabbed Miller’s arm, resisting the urge to use her full strength to get him to move. “We have to leave.”

  Diablo’s picks rattled in the front door. No, they didn’t sound right. It wasn’t a pick, but a key. The man had a key. She tucked that information away for when she had time to consider all the implications having a key might mean.

  Miller’s gaze shot over her shoulder to the door, then he turned, and together they rushed through the kitchen and out the back door.