Otherworldly [McKnight, Perth & Daire 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Beth D. Carter

  “I think I get the picture.”

  She smiled at him and batted her eyelashes. She sat beside his desk with both legs propped up on another chair. A wet towel had been on each kneecap, but when her purse had been returned from the robbery department, she’d taken one of the towels to try to clean it up.

  “So please tell me this was worth it.”

  “No viable prints,” Jonas told her. He leaned back in his office chair and folded his arms. “I think you should go home to Santa Fe.”

  All the humor left her face, and her cleaning efforts ceased. She watched him with a dark solemn gaze. “Why?”

  “It’s not a coincidence that you’ve been a victim twice in a matter of days—”

  “Random burglaries.”

  “Do you really believe that, Charlotte?”

  “Yes?” she responded, sounding very dubious.

  He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I think someone is trying to figure out who you are. Your purse was the only item not at your hotel room, and now he…or she…has your identification, leaving behind some valuable pieces of equipment as well as your cash and credit cards. What random thief does that?”

  “A nice one?” At his scowl she held up her hand to hold his retort at bay. “But, Jonas, who here knows what I can do?”

  Jonas shook his head. “No one, which is why I think this person wants to find out who you are. And now he succeeded.”

  A chill went down her spine. “The break-in happened after the warehouse. There weren’t any media or civilians that I can remember. But there were dozens of people there. It could be anyone of them.”

  “Well, the bigger question is why is he, or she, trying so hard to figure you out. Because as I see it, that person may not have wanted Zach to be found at all, and you being there may have made him aware of you, which, in turn, made him rob you.”

  “Wait,” Charlotte said. Down went her knees as she leaned closer to him. “You’re suggesting that Zach’s killer and my man in the black face paint may be the same man?”

  “It’s a theory,” he told her, his voice low as he glanced around one more time.

  “But that would mean…the only people there at the warehouse were…”

  “Police. Firemen. Medical staff.”

  Charlotte also looked around at the busy office, at the men who had sworn to serve and protect. Another chill went down her spine.

  “That’s why I want you to leave, Charlotte. To be safe.”

  She shot apprehensive glances around the room, to various people. Panic started to gather inside of her, disrupting her nerves. She reached for her purse, but her sweaty fingers on top of the now slimy dusting powder made her drop it. Jonas grabbed her hand.

  “Charlotte, calm down,” he soothed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I just can’t…” she whispered, only to falter and fall silent. She pleaded with him from her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” he assured. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

  She sat back down, though her hands shook. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should go back home.”

  “There’s not much more you can do,” he continued. “Degas won’t be one of those detectives who asks a psychic for help.”

  “Clairvoyant,” she whispered.

  Guilt warred with the desire to flee, and even though her inner voice screamed at her to get the hell away from someone who could hurt her, the knowledge that Zach might have more to say nagged at her.

  The identity of Zach’s girlfriend needled her. If the woman was alive, then why did Zach show her to Charlotte? Was she really the reason Zach was murdered? Or was Zach simply showing her a part of his life where he was happy and content?

  “Take me back to Zach’s apartment,” she said suddenly, swallowing hard.

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I was warned after dropping off the earring not to go there until after they’ve finished processing it, which could be a while.”

  “Then give me the bag that has his possessions.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have to catch this guy. As much as I really want to run home and hide, I don’t think I can. Not when I…I know I can help Zach.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “It’s icky, knowing he has my driver’s license, that he may be looking at my picture right now. It has my address on it, Jonas. How could I possibly sleep comfortably at night knowing that?”

  “Because you’ll be four states away!”

  “What about you? If you don’t know who he is then what if you go out for drinks, or go play softball, and he does to you what he did to Zach?”

  “Charlotte—”

  “No, Jonas, it would break my heart if something happened to you. I can help you. I can still help Zach.”

  He grabbed her hand. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  It was the most emotion they had shared with each other. And though she knew he could only mean in the abstract, for her, the words were like music to her ears. She gripped his hand back.

  “Then you understand my position.”

  He sighed, and to her it sounded like he’d just made a decision he didn’t want to make. “Come on, let me take you to your car and then I’ll follow you to the house. Bring your chicken. And your black purse.”

  “And Zach’s personal items?”

  “Yeah, those, too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charlotte sat on the couch with the paper bag full of Zach’s personal items resting on the coffee table in front of her and a hot cup of tea in her hand. She could feel the pull, the attachment of a spirit still lingering to the memories of the past. And Zach was proving to be tenacious.

  She’d never gotten this far in other investigations, and she didn’t quite know what to do next. Usually, she was hired to try to find the body, and then her involvement after that ceased. She’d never before followed through if the police found the killer or not. Now, suddenly, everything changed, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to go back to how she conducted business before she’d found Zach Braddock-Masters.

  The front door opened and closed, and she heard the thud of shoes on the foyer floor. A second later Jonas stepped into the doorway.

  “The chicken is in the fridge if you’re hungry,” she murmured.

  He walked into the room and sat next to her. “Nah,” he replied with a sigh. “No appetite.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “I suppose.”

  “How many people have you arrested?”

  “That’s an off-the-wall question.”

  She shrugged. “Sixty-three is my number. That’s how many people I’ve found in the ten years I’ve been doing this work. Sixty-three murdered people, but not once did I ever stay to see if they received justice.”

  “That’s not your job.”

  “Right, I’m just the psychic.”

  “Clairvoyant.”

  She glanced at him. “Cute. Can you answer the question?”

  “Not really. I never kept score, but I’m sure it’s in a database somewhere.”

  “Okay. Well, then, how did you become a cop?”

  “Ah, that’s an interesting story.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I was ten and had this amazing bike,” he said with a grin. “My father painted it blue ’cause that was my favorite color. He put a red flag on the back, so with the white wall wheels I felt very patriotic. Man, I loved that bike.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “There was a bully in the neighborhood, and he liked my bike. One day I’m riding around and ventured too far past my house, and he comes and chases me down.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “Yeah. He was big. When I fell off the bike, he jumped on and took off. I ran home, told my dad.”

  “What did he do?”

  “I remember he took my hand and took me back to that corner. The kid was doing wheelies with my
bike, and my dad grabbed the front tire. The kid went sprawling on the concrete. And my father said to this asshole kid, ‘There’s always a choice between right and wrong, and today you chose wrong. Never underestimate the strength of right.’ I never forgot those words.”

  “And they made you want to be a cop?”

  “Yeah,” he said. His eyes were downcast as he stared at the benign plastic bag resting on the coffee table.

  “How did they die?” she asked softly. “Your parents.”

  “Drunk driver,” he told her. “New Year’s Eve. They were coming home from a party.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded. “I was twelve. My aunt and uncle, my father’s sister, took me in.”

  “So you and Zach were really raised like brothers.”

  “The best of friends.”

  She followed his gaze to the plastic bag.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Jonas whispered.

  “Not entirely,” she told him. “His spirit is remaining behind.”

  “Part of me is happy he hasn’t left me.”

  “Jonas,” she said tenderly, “he needs to cross over.”

  He sighed. “I know. Believe me, I know. It’s selfish wanting to hold on to him. But my heart doesn’t want to listen.”

  “You told me you wanted to find Zach’s killer, no matter what.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I need to help him.” She flicked her gaze at the bag. “I didn’t open it yet because I wanted you here. It’s a very intimate moment when I delve into a vision, seeing the life of someone who no longer has a life. And I wanted you to be with me.”

  Jonas stayed silent a long time, just staring at the bag. She could see many emotions flickering over his face, each one struggling with what he wanted against what he knew what was right. She sat her cup of tea down on the coffee table then reached over and took his hand. He gripped hers tightly and just sat there in silence.

  The shadows grew longer as the ticking of the clock became a metronome of time passing. But she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t let go of his hand. And then, finally, he shifted forward and let go of her hand to grab the bag.

  “The strength of right,” he said and handed it to her.

  Charlotte placed the bag on her lap. The first thing she saw when she opened it was a photo. She pulled it out and saw a younger Jonas staring at her. His hair had been longer, brushing the collar of his shirt. He stood with a fishing pole in hand. Zach knelt next to him holding a line full of fish. They were both smiling into the camera.

  She carefully set it on the coffee table. The next couple of items were personal grooming things, deodorant, toothpaste and toothbrush, a travel-size mouth wash. She lined them up, too. There was a half a pack of cigarettes and a near empty container of gum. The cigarettes she picked up and looked at closely.

  “Those aren’t his,” Jonas said. “Zach didn’t smoke.”

  “I know,” she said. “Everything has a pull on them except these.”

  Jonas took them from her hand. “Million-dollar question is who do they belong to?”

  “Let me see what Zach has to tell me.”

  She picked up the toothbrush, locked onto the coldness that swept through her, closed her eyes, and called out for Zach. A second later, she opened them to see Zach grabbing something from her mouth, looking angry. He held up a cigarette in front of her then broke it half. He reached for her hand and pulled the pack of cigarettes out of it, stuffing them in his pants pocket. Abruptly, the scene changed and she saw him brushing his teeth in a break room. He rinsed his mouth with water and dried the brush with a paper towel before putting it back into the locker. Then, just before he slammed it close, she saw him pull out the pack of cigarettes and shove them into the cubbyhole.

  He left the break room with several people. Something compelled her to glance at the clock, and she saw that it was one in the afternoon and figured they had all just come off their break.

  And then the vision ended and she felt Zach fade away. Charlotte blinked as Jonas swam into focus.

  “The cigarettes,” she said.

  “What about them?”

  “They belonged to the girlfriend,” she said. “I stood in for her again. He was angry she was smoking.”

  “So we’re looking for a woman who smokes this brand,” he said with a frown, a touch of sarcasm entering his voice. “Well, that narrows it down. Touch something else.”

  She shook her head. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean gone?” he asked, a slight tremor of panic slightly elevating his pitch.

  “Gone from these items,” she clarified. “I’m sorry, Jonas.”

  She engulfed him in a hug, and he pulled her into his body, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the curve of her neck. She may not have known him long but she knew, instinctively, he wasn’t a man who showed his needful side often. She relished that he trusted her enough to be vulnerable in her arms.

  “Please, I need you,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. “I need to lose myself in you.”

  “Then take me,” she told him.

  He stood up and picked her up in his arms, cradling her as he kissed her hard. His mouth pressed hers open, and his tongue slipped in to tangle with hers. She melted into him, curling her arms around his neck and pressing as much into her body as she could.

  At his bedroom door, he set her on her feet, but her arms still stayed snaked around his neck as they kissed. He walked her backward into the bedroom until they stood near the bed. He broke the kiss as he grabbed the hem of her T-shirt. Charlotte raised her arms as he slipped the shirt over her head, exposing a black demi-bra. Her breasts were mounded over the cups, prominently on display for him. He ran his fingers over the top cup, tracing the lace around to the back, where he reached for the clasp and unhooked the clasps. The bra dropped to the floor, baring her breasts to his gaze. He touched the protruding nipples, teasing them with the barest of touches, and her skin quivered with excitement.

  He expanded his exploration, cupping her breasts and bending his head to bring them into his mouth. His tongue licked over the tip, causing her to arch her body, wanting more.

  Jonas brought the nipple into his mouth, sucking it deeply into the warm recess and lavishing it with attention. She arched her back, feeling the pull all the way into her core, her pussy becoming moist with want.

  Jonas’s fingers traveled down, reaching for the clasp of her pants and easing the zipper down. His hands slipped inside her pants and pushed them down, and she moved her body so the pants fell into a heap around her ankles. Charlotte stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. She stood before him in tiny lace panties barely skimming her cheeks.

  “Christ,” he muttered, grabbing her ass and pulling her into his hard, still fully clothed body. “I want you. I want you naked against me.”

  In response, Charlotte pulled his tie free before unbuttoning his shirt. As she undressed him, Jonas slipped his hands under her panties to cup her smooth, bare skin, holding tightly onto each cheek. His hands were so large that his fingers managed to dip between her crack and tease her outside pussy lips.

  She managed to unbuckle his pants and pull the zipper down before she ran out of wiggle room.

  “Help me,” she gasped.

  Jonas pulled back to allow her to finish undressing him. His pants fell, and she grabbed his boxer briefs to pull them down, too, carefully moving the elastic waistband over his straining cock. And then all that stood between them were her tiny black panties.

  Jonas fell to his knees before her, bringing his mouth even with the scrap of cotton and lace that hid her weeping pussy from his gaze. He blew against her panties, and she shivered at the erotic feeling of the cool breeze through the miniscule covering. And then his fingers were pulling the wispy material down her slender hips and legs until she stepped from them. Jonas’s hands parted her legs, making her stance wider, so he could fit his mou
th directly over the carefully groomed curls where her thighs met.

  Charlotte threw her head back and moaned as he swiped his tongue over her clit. He settled more firmly between her thighs and sucked her sensitive little nub into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue. Charlotte buried her hands in his thick hair as Jonas wrapped his arms around her hips, holding her in place as he licked and cherished where her need was greatest.

  When he pulled back and looked up at her, his lower face was covered with a mixture of saliva and her juices. He picked up his shirt and wiped his face as she pulled him to his feet and pushed him to the bed. He fell back, staring up at her, and she grinned as she got on the bed, crawling up his body on her hands and knees until she found his cock, straining upward. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched her as she explored his length, which had a slight curve up toward his belly. She wrapped her fingers around him, unable to touch her thumb and middle finger because of his sizeable girth. The smooth skin felt like silk as she massaged him up and down. A drop of dew appeared at the tip, and she bent over, engulfing his hard dick with her mouth and sucking him down.

  “Jesus!” Jonas said with a moan and flopped back, his body undulating with her ministrations. “Please, Charlotte. Grab a condom. I need to be in you.”

  She picked her head up and licked her lips, her gaze following to where he pointed to his nightstand. She stretched over him, and he took advantage of the brief position by running his hands over her breasts and kissing her neck. After she’d grabbed the foil packet, she lay on him, chest to chest. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply, their bodies meshed together. With another little moan, she pulled back long enough to rip open the condom and roll it on him. Then she rose over him, straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto him.

  She sank slowly, taking her time to savor every moment as he filled her up. “Oh yes,” she said with a sigh when he’d fully sheathed himself inside her.

  Jonas grabbed her hips as he began to thrust upward, guiding Charlotte in rhythm. As he pushed up, he pushed her down and soon they had a steady pace, building the tension between them.

  “God, I love fucking you,” he gasped, his body shining with sweat. Her hands rested on his chest as she began to undulate her pelvis back and forth as she rode him.