As he approached, Johanna took a step back, bumping into a couple coming in the door. No escape for you this time, my sweet lass. Harrison tried not to smile, but the big bad wolf couldn't help baring its teeth—even if it was only a grin.
"I'm sorry." Johanna turned with her apology.
The couple nodded and headed toward the O'Briens.
"How's it going?" Harrison asked and felt like a fool for not coming up with a better line. Where were his suave moves when he needed them? He could schmooze any woman into his bed—if he had the mind to do so—but he couldn't even have a decent conversation with Johanna. Then it hit him why. The women he dated didn't expect forever. Johanna would.
Johanna tucked an imaginary hair behind her ear and nervously licked her lips. Her gaze didn't quite meet his. She concentrated on something right over his shoulder. He made her nervous just standing in front of her. His brow furrowed with a thought. What if she felt the undercurrent between them as he did and that was why she was so nervous?
"Um… I'm doing well. Is Izzie around?" she blurted out the question as if changing the subject would keep her from having to talk to him.
"She's in the kitchen, helping Mario with the food." He nodded toward the back.
"Oh."
"You don't have to be nervous around me." He could hold himself back from taking her and kissing her, even if his eyes said otherwise.
She looked at him briefly. She gulped and her gaze dropped to her feet. "I… I'm not. Nervous that is."
His lips curved at her blatant lie. Her heart thumped a mile a minute. His nostrils flared, taking in the sweet smell of her, but he also picked up fear. For whatever reason, he didn't want her to be afraid of him. He reached for her chin, gently lifting it so her beautiful brown eyes met his. He needed her to know the truth. "You can trust me," he repeated.
Her eyebrows drew together over the bridge of her nose. She nodded and took a deliberate step back. His hand fell to his side. "I'm…uh…going to see if Izzie needs any help. If you'll excuse me." She made a wide sweep around him, nervously checking over her shoulder as if she feared he'd follow.
Harrison let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. "Well, that went bloody fantastic." His mobile buzzed. His hand slipped into his pocket as he stepped outside to take the call. "You should have met me for dinner, Garran. I believe our Soul Taker has struck again."
Garran cursed. "That makes two this week."
"He left her out in the open," Harrison stated. "She was already dead. How is this guy staying off the radar? Why haven't the health officials suspected that young women aren't dropping dead from heart failure?"
"The Soul Taker, as ye like to call him, is most likely glamourin' the authorities, but he won't be able to make it last forever. Meet me at the morgue and we'll take a look at the girl."
"Uh…" Harrison looked back toward the restaurant. The place was crowded, all there to pay their respects.
"Why do ye hesitate?" Garran's voice held a note of impatience.
"Isabella kinda asked me to hang around here for a wee bit. There's going to be a vigil," Harrison explained.
"Well then, clearly ye should stay,"
Harrison didn't miss the sarcasm dripping from Garran's words. He cleared his throat. "Yeah right, I'll meet you at the hospital."
Chapter Six
The trick to not being caught was to act as if you belonged. It also helped donning a couple of doctor's coats Harrison swiped for them from one of the break rooms.
Garran glanced at Harrison with his unruly hair and intense predator gaze. Garran was sure if he glanced in a mirror, he wouldn't look harmless either. He'd been told enough times his eyes were unsettling, both in color and the way they assessed a person. Most of the time, the quality came in handy if he needed to intimidate, but tonight he needed to blend in.
Garran had perfected the technique of fading into the background, while he did his business, but there was still an occasional glitch. There were humans who noticed everything and couldn't stand it when their normal routine was a fraction of an inch off kilter.
Unfortunately, tonight proved to be one of those nights.
"Who are you again?" The dark haired, male nurse looked Harrison over with suspicion as if he just witnessed Harrison shifting into his wolf form. "I know for a fact you are not Dr. Lee Yamagawa."
Garran glanced at the stitched name on Harrison's jacket and frowned. "Listen, Briggs." Garran drew the nurse's attention, making eye contact with the man. The nurse resisted, but in the end his pull proved too strong to ignore. "Ye never saw us here. Go back to the break room and have another cup of coffee."
"I don't like coffee," Briggs said in a monotone voice. Even in his trance-like state, he proved difficult to influence.
Garran pushed again with his mind. "Ye do now. In fact, ye love it so much ye're goin' to make a pot of coffee to have later."
"A pot of coffee," he repeated.
"That's right. Now go."
Finally, Briggs obediently turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
Garran threw Harrison a disapproving look. "Yamagawa? Really?"
Harrison lifted a shoulder. "It was either this jacket or Dr. Amy Wineberry."
Garran rolled his eyes and turned to stride down the hall toward the hospital's morgue. He pushed open the doors to the morgue and was pleased to see it stood empty—of employees anyway.
He'd been in here more than a few times over the last month and knew the staff's routine. They had twenty minutes before the medical examiner returned from her lunch break. Twenty would be plenty enough time.
Marcy was laid out on a cold slab, waiting for an autopsy. Her lips were blue and postmortem bruising stained areas of her pale skin where the blood settled after she died.
"I really hate morgues," Harrison mumbled as he waited for Garran to make his assessment.
Along with the formaldehyde scent, Garran picked up the preternatural creature on her, but like the other victims, there were no visible puncture marks on her neck or the inside flesh of her thigh. He slid his finger inside of Marcy's mouth to check for the Soul Taker's signature mark. Rigor mortis had set in, making it a challenge. He leaned down to take a closer look. It was there. "Slight bruising on the roof of the mouth."
"He's sucking the life out of them," Harrison said. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as if he swallowed something large and nasty. "Bullocks, this isn't right. She was so young, so full of life."
Garran lifted a brow. Harrison obviously had taken a liking to the folks at the restaurant. A lone wolf, Harrison was not. The wolf craved friendship and no matter where they settled through the centuries, he made it a point to surround himself with people. He should have been a pack leader, but he refused the position when he would have had to fight a friend for the spot. Some might have considered it cowardly, but it took more courage to walk away and venture out on his own. Lone wolves usually didn't survive for long, but then most didn't become friends with a vampire either.
They made an unlikely team, but their relationship worked for what they signed up for. Keeping the preternatural world in check could be trying. Every territory had a team to patrol the cities. Call it a police force, of sorts, for the preternatural world.
"Sorry, it's just…" Harrison shrugged and inhaled deeply, making his nostrils flare.
Garran understood. No matter how long he lived, it didn't make it easier. It was why he preferred associating with preternatural beings. They understood him better, especially if they lived through the same decades. "Ye don't have to make excuses with me. Ye knew her. I understand such emotions. I'm no' a complete insensitive prick." Garran pulled the sheet over Marcy's head. "We'll find him. Boston isn't big enough to hide in forever."
"Aye, I know, but in the meantime he's killing. This one was a friend." He stared at the sheet then to Garran. "Isabella could bring her back. Just for a moment."
He was already shaking his head before Harrison finished stating
his suggestion. "Even if I agreed to yer insane suggestion, I'm no' sure we could summon her soul back. Marcy's soul is no' behind the veil. It's gone."
Chapter Seven
Isabella was grateful for the turnout. Neighbors, relatives, and friends of Marcy's showed up. Father Dominic from St. Joseph's was good enough to lead them in prayer.
Isabella took a ragged breath, feeling a chill creep up her spine. With her nerves on end, she couldn't help looking over her shoulder and out the window to find the source of her discomfort. She watched people walk by the restaurant, hurrying to their destinations, oblivious that everyone in A Taste of Home mourned Marcy's passing. No one out of the ordinary stood out among these people, but the feeling of being watched made her shudder.
She rubbed her arms as her gaze shifted. In the shadows, at the end of the street, a man wearing dark clothing and a baseball cap stood there. She couldn't make out his features, only the colors of his aura, but something was off with it. The hues mingled and shifted at an alarming rate.
Her brows drew together in surprise as a ghostlike essence materialized beside the man, as if it stepped out of his body. It was Marcy. Fear lighted Marcy's features and she looked right at her. Her mouth moved in a pitiful attempt to communicate.
Isabella stood and walked over to the door to get a better look, but the man must have realized the attention she was giving him and turned on his heels, vanishing around the corner and taking Marcy's spirit with him as if she were nothing more than a helium-filled balloon tethered by a string.
Fear clutched Isabella's throat, warning her of danger, which didn't make any sense. She hadn't completed the ritual to bring Marcy back. Even if Nicholas hadn't interrupted her, her attempts to summon Marcy would have probably failed. She couldn't sense the woman's soul lingering, but just now… She was sure she saw Marcy's spirit. What she didn't understand is why it was attached to that man, as if he bound her spirit to him.
Nicholas walked over to her. She tried to shake off her apprehension for his sake, but her brother knew her too well. "What's wrong, Izzie?" Nicholas spoke softly, so as not to disturb the vigil.
"Nothing." She shook her head. She couldn't tell her brother what she saw. Especially, since she wasn't sure what it was she'd witnessed. "Do we still have the Glock, Uncle Sebastian Pucci gave us?"
"Yes," he answered with caution. "Why?"
Isabella didn't have a good reason other than she felt a threat hovered near. "Where is it?" She turned and saw the concern etched in his features. "We should have it on hand."
"What's going on, Izzie?"
She hugged herself and chewed on her lower lip before she glanced outside again. "Something is… here, Nick, something that shouldn't be. I just can't put my finger on what it is."
"And you need a gun?" He kept his voice low, but the urgency in his words didn't go unnoticed.
She met his gaze. Tired worried hazel eyes so much like hers, like their father's, stared back at her. How could she explain it to him? "What if Marcy's death wasn't natural?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if she were murdered?" She hadn't believed it was possible until she actually spoke the word out loud. Marcy's death was not natural. Someone… or something had killed her.
Nicholas shook his head. "She had a weak heart."
Isabella didn't understand why her brother refused to see the truth. "Marcy was twenty-four and in good shape. She didn't drop dead of a heart attack."
The murmurs of prayer for Marcy were a singsong chant as her loved ones chimed in together, reciting the prayers for her soul to find peace. Prayers were strong and powerful, more powerful than some gave them credit. She hoped tonight's vigil worked to free Marcy's soul from the man who held her captive.
Nicholas ran his hand through his hair. "Do you really believe there's been a cover up to a murder? Why would someone want to murder a waitress from North's End?"
When he put it that way, it did sound ludicrous, but she couldn't ignore the warnings. The tiny hairs on her arms stood up on end and there was the tingling behind her ear she always got when something was going to happen. But the real clincher was the way her stomach lurched, as if she took a joy ride down a steep hill, making her stomach do a flip-flop. Her premonitions of impending doom were never wrong, but they were unpredictable and never clear. Something happened to Marcy and it had nothing to do with natural causes.
"I hope I'm not too late?" Harrison stood in the doorway, expectantly. His whiskey-colored gaze landed on her then shifted to Nicholas. He nodded a greeting to her brother.
Isabella's frown deepened. She hadn't realized Harrison left.
"No, of course not. Please, join us," she welcomed him. She glanced outside, scanning the street for the man she spotted earlier with Marcy's ghost lingering beside him. Everything appeared normal, nothing out of the ordinary, but she knew the dark presence lingered, waiting to strike again. She shut the door behind Harrison as a warning it wasn't welcomed.
Chapter Eight
After the visit to the morgue, Harrison and Garran parted company, deciding they could cover more ground if they separated. Garran would comb the murder site and Harrison would take note if an unfamiliar face showed up to Marcy's vigil.
Harrison never understood it himself, but murderers oftentimes showed up at the grieving family's side to give comfort, as if they got off on the family's pain. Preternatural beings were no different than the human psychopaths in that regard.
When Harrison walked up to the restaurant, he spotted Isabella standing near the door, looking as if she'd seen a ghost. Her lovely olive skin turned nearly as white as his Irish hide. Maybe she had seen a ghost. She could see something extra in the living. Who was to say she couldn't see what was left of a person's energy once the physical body gave up? Whatever she had seen, it made her fearful. His sensitive nose picked up the charged scent of adrenaline.
His gaze scanned the sidewalk and the street, ready to attack if the need called for it, but he didn't sense or see anything other than humans making their way to their impending destinations. When he turned back to look at Isabella, her features shifted to worry, not fear.
The vigil lasted near to an hour followed by the rosary. Harrison had forgotten how long the Catholic ritual for saying goodbye to their loved ones could be.
He did, however, remember how Italian families loved to follow up their wakes with food and drink. This he could relate to with his Irish upbringing. He'd attended a few wakes in his time that lasted days where the food and drink never dwindled. His gaze found Isabella. She stood behind a long table near her brother as they served the guests.
What had she seen outside, because she still appeared apprehensive as she stole glances toward the window?
He shoved his hands into his chinos and made his way over to the table set up with spaghetti, garlic bread, and assorted pastries. Johanna spotted him nearing and hightailed it in the other direction. He sighed. One day he would convince her he wouldn't bite. Well, not unless she asked him to. He chuckled to himself. Where had that thought come from? He'd bite his mate, making her his. It was the way of the Mac Tíre.
His gaze followed Johanna as she retreated to the back of the room with the O'Briens and their brood. She skittered away from him like a frightened rabbit. If she only knew, his inner wolf found that a challenge. This was possibly what drew him to Johanna. God knew the woman wasn't his type, meaning she lacked certain physical characteristics like a full figure, and confidence. However, he couldn't deny there was something there, some redeeming quality in Johanna that went beyond the physical.
"Here you go."
He turned. Isabella stood there, offering him a plate with all his favorites. "Thank you," he said, his stomach growling in anticipation.
"I'm glad you could make it tonight. Marcy would have appreciated it."
"Aye, that she would." He glanced around him at faces he didn't recognize. "Are Marcy's relatives here?"
Isabella nodded.
"So everyone here knew Marcy?"
"Yes… I suppose. Why do you ask?"
Harrison shrugged. "Just curious. There seems to be a lot of people."
"Father Dominic made all the arrangements for the family. They wanted something informal. They wanted to remember Marcy in life not in death, and chose to have her wake here, without the encumbrance of a body to remind them how she was taken from them in her youth. Nick and I offered the restaurant. It was the least we could do."
"That was nice of you."
She pursed her lips then sighed heavily. "She was on her way to work, you know."
Harrison realized she referred to the night Marcy had died. He watched Isabella twist her hands. "What is it, Isabella?" Her gaze touched his and her lovely lips parted. He thought maybe she was going to confide in him, but Nicholas interrupted. Damn, the overprotective brother.
"Izzie, can you ask Mario to bring up another platter of garlic bread? We're out."
Harrison met Nicholas' gaze and knew the man purposely interfered. What did Nicholas have against him talking to his sister? At twenty-one, she was a consenting adult, not some teenager he needed to protect from men. Then again, maybe Nicholas inherited some of his parents' talents. Maybe he sensed he wasn't human.
"Mario's with the O'Briens. I'll get it," Isabella volunteered. "If you will excuse me," she smiled hesitantly at Harrison before heading toward the kitchen.
Harrison took a large mouthful of spaghetti as he scanned the room for preternatural creatures. He inhaled. Not a vampire, Fae, or werewolf, or any other fiend for that matter within smelling range, well, except for him. One more bite and Harrison put down his plate and headed for the kitchen, too.
Soul Taker Page 4
