“Everyone, downstairs!” a commanding voice shouted. “Party’s over! Outside.”
“That was quick.” Darius took her hand and led her to the stairs with all the rest streaming from the bedrooms. They filed down the steps as several officers rushed up and past them, including Simpson. He scowled at her as he passed.
Flannery stood at the base of the stairs. Her expression darkened, her lips pulling thin when Tresa’s gaze landed on them.
She pointed a finger at Tresa and spoke to a uniformed policeman next to her. Tresa knew what was coming next.
Reaching the base of the steps, she turned to face Darius. “Don’t put up a fight.”
His eyebrows knit together. “What are—”
Two uniformed officers appeared on either side of Tresa, cutting him off. “Come with me, please? The detective would like a word.”
Darius tensed, his arm lashing out, his hand clamping down on her arm, stopping her from going anywhere with them.
“Sir, remove your hand,” one of the officers demanded, his hand moving to his holster.
A tremor vibrated through Darius and into her. From the glint in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t frightened. And he wasn’t about to back down.
She placed her hand over his. “Darius, it’s all right. I’ll go with them. I didn’t do anything wrong. Just wait for me outside.”
He looked squarely into her eyes. “I don’t see why I can’t go, too.”
“I’m the one who saw… it happen. I’ll tell them the truth.”
“Like before.” He shot an annoyed look at the officers who were listening. Clearly, he didn’t think the truth would get them anywhere.
“It’s fine,” she repeated, her gaze searching his face, communicating to him that it was all they could do. Right now, anyway.
Just then, Erin popped up beside Darius, a friend hugged close to her side. Erin shrugged out of her friend’s comforting arm and latched onto Darius.
“Oh God, Darius! I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone’s saying something happened to Carson!” She grabbed his shirtfront, wrinkling it beyond help.
Tresa was swept along then, a policeman on each side of her. She looked over her shoulder at Darius. Even with Erin draped around him, his gaze was fixed on her. There was some comfort in that at least.
“Ms. Morgan.” Detective Flannery looked as disapproving as ever as she surveyed Tresa.
“Detective,” Tresa greeted her. Looking beyond her shoulder to the swarm of other officers, she said evenly, “You got here quickly.”
“Thanks for calling.” Flannery studied her intently. It was impossible to tell if she was sincere or not. “You always seem to be in the thick of things.” The implication was there. “Do you have anything else you’d like to share?”
“Just that we’re too late. Again.”
“No one’s leaving. We’re questioning everyone before releasing them. And then we’re getting their names.” Flannery considered her for a long moment, her eyes shrewd and assessing. “Why don’t you stay beside me as I question everyone?”
Tresa blinked. “What for? You believe me?”
“I believe you have an uncanny ability to turn up at each of these murders.” She angled her head thoughtfully. “That you know things you could only know if you were a witness to the crime itself.”
Tresa released a breath. Essentially, that’s what she was. A witness.
“And I know you didn’t kill this boy,” Flannery added.
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve had a car tailing you all night. You’ve been back at your hotel for the last three hours.” She almost smiled. It was the first sign of emotion she’d seen from the detective, and a reminder that she was relatively young and attractive.
Tresa nodded. “You’re more thorough than I gave you credit for.”
Now there was no mistaking the smile. “If you truly want to help, this is your chance.” Flannery motioned for her to follow, her long legs carrying her out the door to where several patrol cars idled. “Come on. We need to secure and process everything inside the house. We’ll be conducting interviews outside.”
Tresa followed. Outside, she noticed Darius standing with Erin and her friend in a group of drunk twenty-year-olds. Several officers monitored the group, making sure no one slipped away without first being interviewed.
Darius’s gaze met hers. She sent him a nod and a smile, trying to reassure him that she wasn’t about to be dragged to jail.
His shoulders eased and something lightened in his expression. Something that made her think about the last few hours they’d spent together. Hours that had made her feel almost normal. Normal. And kind of wonderful.
“Ms. Morgan. This way.”
She snapped her attention away from Darius and moved on.
EIGHTEEN
Darius? Are you listening to me?”
Darius pulled his attention from where Tresa stood, across a yard swarming with police and crime scene personnel, and looked down at the girl clinging to his arm.
Part of him wanted to shake her off, but she had just lost her cousin tonight. She deserved some sympathy. And anyway, there was nothing else for him to do while Tresa was occupied with the police. Nothing except continue to keep up his guard and see if any of these girls looked suspicious.
Erin’s face was splotchy pink from tears. She looked like a child, most of her makeup washed clean. “Where did you go earlier? I was looking for you.”
“Tresa and I had something to do—”
“Tresa.” She frowned and muttered, “I thought you two weren’t a thing. You’re joined at the hip.”
He opened his mouth to deny there was anything at all between them, but then realized he didn’t want to say that anymore. He wouldn’t mean it if he did. Staring at Erin, he wasn’t sure why he should want to deny his relationship with Tresa to this girl he barely knew.
Erin’s friend looked from Darius to where Tresa stood in the distance and snorted. “Like they’re not together? Seriously. I don’t think so.”
Erin glared at her. “No. They’re not, Jackie.” She looked back at Darius then, but there was less confidence in her gaze. “Right?”
Darius didn’t have a chance to reply. Just then they carried the body out. A discernable surge of emotion swept over the crowd as they saw the corpse, hidden from sight inside the coroner’s bag. Several of the girls started crying. A few of the guys yelled and shouted profanities at the police, strongly worded suggestions that they find the motherfucker.
“Oh my God! Carson!” Erin buried her face against Darius’s chest, wetting his shirtfront with her tears. Her entire body shook with sobs. She lifted her head and screamed out into the crowd, “What kind of fucking animal would do this?”
Jackie patted her back and made shushing sounds. “Let it out. Let it out.” It didn’t ease her. Erin only grew more upset.
“Coward! Coward! Show yourself, you bastard!”
There was a surge in the crowd, outrage that was palpable. Everyone moved, shouting, clutching each other or motioning angrily. Someone threw a beer bottle at a cop car.
Darius scanned the crowd, looking for anything or anyone out of the ordinary.
His attention halted on one female. Dressed in black cargo pants, she wore a bulky black sweater that hung loosely on her torso. Swallowed by her ill-fitting clothes, she stood with her arms crossed in front of her.
She didn’t move, stood glaring across the yard at Erin, holding herself still, rigid and unaffected by all the furious mourners around her. If looks could kill, Erin wouldn’t be faring too well.
Darius studied her. Did she wear another shirt under that bulky sweater? One that was possibly covered in blood?
He nudged Erin’s friend. “Who’s that?”
Jackie followed his nod. “Oh, that freak? Megan Johnson. Surprised she’s even here. This isn’t really her scene.”
“Yeah? Why?”
The girl leaned in, apparently
eager to impart any gossip. “Well, a few months ago she said a guy raped her at a party here.” She shrugged as if it was of no consequence.
Darius studied Megan Johnson, whose hatred for Erin was a living, breathing thing. He couldn’t detect whether her eyes were demon black across the distance. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything; Balthazar could be absent at this particular time.
She was the only one here not focused on the crime—she was focused on the one person who’d yelled insults at the killer. Was Megan who they were after? And had Erin set her off?
His hand tightened on Erin’s arm. “Stay close to me,” he warned.
She hiccupped and looked up at him, her tearful eyes worshipful. “O-okay.”
If Erin had just put herself in danger, he wasn’t leaving her alone until he and Tresa managed to get the witch behind bars. He wasn’t going to let Balthazar’s witch kill someone else. Suddenly, he realized fully that Tresa’s mission was his.
“Come with me.” He pulled Erin along and cut through all the students waiting their turns to talk to the detectives. Jackie followed them.
An officer stepped in their path, holding up one hand. “What’s the prob—”
“We have information.”
“W-we do?” Erin looked surprised.
With a curt nod, the officer led them to where Flannery talked to a couple of kids who didn’t look sober enough to stand, much less wield a knife.
He went directly to Tresa’s side and pulled her away from the interview she was observing. “I think I know who she is.”
Flannery appeared at his side, overhearing his announcement. “You psychic, too, now?”
He jerked his head in the direction of Megan Johnson. “I think she needs to move up to the front of the line. When Erin started cursing the killer, that girl looked like she was going to come unglued.”
Flannery glanced at Erin and Jackie, sizing them up. Erin nodded, her eyes wide and solemn. Flannery moved off to talk to a couple of officers.
Darius touched Tresa’s arm. “You okay?”
She nodded and drew in a deep breath. “She’s here. I can sense that much. Balthazar… he’s close, too.”
His gaze moved back to Megan.
“You think it’s her?” she asked, following his gaze.
Megan Johnson jerked her arm away as an officer tried to guide her forward. He tried to take hold of her again and she started yelling, “Take your hands off me, you pig!”
At this, the cop dropped all niceties. He seized her arm and dragged her closer. When she fell, he just hauled her back to her feet.
Her wild gaze flew to Erin as she passed. “You bitch!” she shouted, lunging for her.
Erin shrank back against Darius. “She’s crazy.”
Several officers restrained her and dragged her to a police car.
Flannery reappeared, her expression grim but her eyes shining with the thrill of having found a viable suspect.
Erin looked up at Darius with her large, shining eyes. “What a sicko. First she accused Jason of raping her, even said Carson and I helped—”
“Jason Morris raped her?” Darius cut in.
“No!” Splotches of red broke out over Erin’s face.
“That’s what she said,” Jackie inserted. “Total liar.”
“I believe her account couldn’t be substantiated,” Detective Flannery smoothly explained. She glanced at Tresa. “I’m going to go to the station and question Megan Johnson. Ms. Morgan, care to join me?”
Tresa nodded and then hesitated, looking at Darius. “I’ll see you back at the hotel?”
He didn’t like it, but he knew she’d be safe in a police station, surrounded by cops. “Okay.”
She followed Flannery to the car, looking over her shoulder at him once before ducking inside.
He knew he didn’t have to worry, but he still did.
The pressure of Erin’s hand on his arm increased and he looked down at her. “You’ll give us a ride home after this, right?” She motioned to Jackie. “Carson picked us up tonight.”
At the mention of her cousin, she started sobbing again. She burrowed her face against him, her arms wrapping around his waist. He patted her awkwardly on the back.
“Yeah. Sure,” he replied, watching as Detective Flannery’s taillights faded into the night. His chest tightened as Tresa moved farther and farther away from him.
He lifted his face, sniffing the air.
His gut squeezed and clenched. Nothing felt right. His skin tightened. Every sense kicked into hyper-alert. He glanced up at the waxing moon through the labyrinth of tree branches. Never had he felt its pull, its call. The thought of Tresa at risk, vulnerable, a slave to that fucking demon…
A savage heat burned through him. He was beyond agitated. His body couldn’t shift without the full moon, but it wanted to. Just knowing Balthazar was out there…
He imagined he smelled him. The same scent he’d detected when he cornered him before—when he was in possession of Tresa. It was the familiar sickly sweet, loamy odor.
Detective Flannery’s car vanished from view. He didn’t like losing sight of Tresa. Not as long as Balthazar was out there, watching them, toying with them.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered when this had become about keeping Tresa safe. When had it ceased to be about himself and his freedom?
When had everything become about her?
NINETEEN
Tresa sipped the bitter coffee and winced. At least it was hot. The detectives had been interrogating Megan Johnson for hours now. Tresa had been observing through the one-way mirror, doing her best to get a read on the girl.
Darius had been right; she was one angry girl. Megan’s expression revealed nothing. Her eyes stared blankly ahead as if nothing and no one was there. Her lips pressed in a flat, cold line.
There was a lot of pain inside her. And hate. It radiated off her. Tresa knew firsthand what pain and hate could lead a witch to do. The line she could cross if no one was around to keep her grounded. If no one was around to love her.
Flannery entered the observation room. She sighed and dropped a file folder on the table. “That’s one messed-up girl in there. She’s got plenty of motive. True or not, in her mind, Jason Morris raped her. The other vics all knew or helped in some way, according to her.” Flannery released another sigh. “But we haven’t got enough for an arrest. No physical evidence to link her. No witnesses.”
Tresa shook her head in frustration and stared back at Megan through the glass. Her eyes were normal. She wasn’t demon possessed right now, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t Balthazar’s witch. “You’re letting her go then?”
Tresa watched through the glass as Simpson entered the room with Megan and announced that she was free to go.
“We’ll keep a close eye on her. She’s not off the hook.” Flannery looked pensive and uncertain as she watched Megan rise from her chair. The girl hid her arms inside the bulky sleeves of her sweater.
Tresa nodded, cold resolve sweeping through her. Yeah. So would she. So would they—she had Darius. Suddenly she felt lighter inside. She wasn’t in this alone anymore. Whether it was Megan or not, they were close. Together, they’d find Balthazar and his witch.
She deliberately shied from thoughts of what came after that. When there was no more they.
* * *
TRESA GAVE A SLIGHT wave of thanks to the officer behind the wheel, watching as the police car drove away from the hotel. Dawn tinged the sky in soft shades of purple, but she didn’t feel tired. The longer she lived, the less necessary sleep was. An unfortunate circumstance. In the long, empty years, where she had only her thoughts and an occasional pet to keep her company, she had yearned for the escape of sleep.
The hotel lobby was deserted save for the desk clerk. He smiled and gave her a nod of recognition as she moved to the elevator bank.
She pushed the button for floor 7 and waited, tapping her foot against the tiled floor. A slight breeze ru
stled the hair framing her face, warm enough for her to gasp and whirl around.
Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she scanned the lobby. “Balthazar?” she whispered.
She peered at every shadow hugging the corners, trying to gauge whether it was more than a simple shadow, if the air hadn’t just heated up a notch.
“You okay?” the desk clerk called out to her.
She nodded, trying to stop herself from shaking. After all these years, Balthazar could still strike terror in her heart. She hated that. It made her feel so weak. But she knew it would never change.
It was a sobering thought. Made everything in her life, in her future, seem pointless. A reminder that friends, relationships… love—she couldn’t have any of that.
“Fine. Thank you.” The elevator pinged open behind her. Turning, she stepped inside and punched 7.
On the short ride up, she struggled to settle her nerves. Walking down the corridor, she took several bracing breaths. She didn’t want Darius to ask her a bunch of questions because she looked like a basket case. She was stronger than this.
She flexed her fingers around her key card, hesitating. How was she supposed to act around him? The last time they had been alone they had been all over each other. She couldn’t expect that to continue. She bit her lip. She hoped he wouldn’t try to talk about last night. Or apologize for what was clearly a one-night stand. That would be the worst. Sure, it had been a mistake, but if he actually said that—
The door opened before she finished the thought.
Darius stood on the other side, his large frame filling every inch of the doorway. She offered an awkward smile, acutely aware that this was the first time they were alone in this room since they’d made love.
He moved aside for her to enter. She walked in and dropped her bag on the chair. Then she turned around to recap the night at the police station, but he didn’t give her the chance.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his hands on either side of her face, holding her firmly but gently—as though he feared she would slip away.
The kiss consumed her. It felt like the kiss of someone denied a lifetime of kisses. Not like they had just been together hours ago. Her arms snaked around his neck.
A Soul So Wicked (Moon Chasers) Page 14
