by AE Jones
We slid under the crime scene tape and stepped into the house. Dalton and I turned on our flashlights, but Jean Luc didn’t bother since he could see in the dark. The house looked like a cyclone had hit it.
I aimed my flashlight around the room, taking in the kitchen and the mess. The cupboards were open and the contents strewn everywhere. I wrinkled my nose at the spoiled food littering the floor. “God, the police got a little carried away.”
Dalton spoke up. “Cops didn’t do this. Captain told me the place had been ransacked before today.”
“We should split up,” Jean Luc said. “I will take the front of the house. The two of you should remain in the back so your lights are not detected.”
Jean Luc sped off and we went down the hall to the bedrooms. Dalton and I split up, and I took the first room on the right. All I found were a twin bed and a dresser. The drawers had been pulled out, but they were empty. The closet was bare. Shining my flashlight around the room, I noticed a box under the bed. I pulled it out and found items from Cowell’s childhood, probably mementoes kept by his mother.
Next down the hall was a small bathroom. A few toiletries littered the floor. The next door led into a larger bedroom with a full bed and two dressers. Again, the room was bare, with the exception of a sixties wedding photo.
Through the last door across the hall I found another small bedroom, but this one had been used recently. Sheets and a blanket had been stripped from the mattress, and clothes were scattered around the room. Dalton was sitting at the desk in the far corner, going through the drawers.
He glanced up when I came into the room. “Did you find anything?”
“The other two bedrooms were empty. What have you found?”
“Not much. Cowell wasn’t a hoarder, that’s for sure.”
“Well, he was a priest for twenty years, he probably wasn’t too materialistic.”
Dalton stood up. “There’s nothing in this desk, either. Why do you think he was staying in this small room instead of the master?”
“I think this was his childhood home. Maybe he didn’t think it was right to stay in his parents’ bedroom.”
“Well, I can’t believe he wouldn’t have something stashed here.”
“Maybe the cops already took it as evidence?”
“No, I checked the inventory list. They took very little from here. They’re as confused as we are. They did dust for prints to see if they could figure out if the killer grabbed him here.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think whoever tortured Cowell didn’t get what they needed from him and hoped to find it here.”
“Yeah, but where would it be? Wait, maybe he had a secret hiding place.”
“What?”
“When you were a kid, didn’t you have a secret hiding place in your bedroom? You know, somewhere you could hide your treasures?”
“Under my mattress.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t think he could see me in the dark. “Not the most creative place, Dalton. Please tell me you didn’t stick your Playboys there. Your grandma knew for sure about those.”
“I didn’t keep Playboys in my room.”
“Of course not.” I decided to let it drop. “I think the other small bedroom was his childhood room. I’m going to go check the floorboards and the heating ducts in there. You check in here.”
I walked back to the first bedroom, and was crawling around knocking on the wood floor hoping for a loose floorboard when Jean Luc walked in.
“The rest of the house is pretty empty.”
“I’m looking for a secret hiding place.”
Jean Luc nodded and joined the hunt. I loved a male who didn’t ask questions. After a few more minutes, I found a loose baseboard. “Jean Luc.”
He was there in a flash, helping me pry it off. There was a space between the wall and the floor, and I reached in and touched a thin book. Pulling it out and opening it, I aimed my flashlight on the page. It was a drawing of a demon. Quickly flipping through, I found more pictures and writing.
Dalton walked into the room as Jean Luc helped me to my feet.
“I didn’t find anything in the other room.”
“We did. Let’s get out of here before someone notices us.”
As if in answer to my statement, all of our cell phones beeped. It was a text from Misha. Cops R here.
Jean Luc spoke first. “You hide, I will distract them.”
“But, Jean—” Before I could get the rest of the words out, Jean Luc grabbed me around my middle and I was riding an invisible wave of speed. Within seconds, I came to a halt. My knees were knocking as my stomach tried to catch up to the rest of my body. My flashlight had been turned off and placed in my pocket. In an instant he was gone again. I groped around, trying to decipher where I was and touched an empty coat hanger. A closet.
In the next second there was a whoosh of air and Dalton was plastered against me. Jean Luc shut the door, closing us in the closet. “Be quiet. I am going to create a diversion.”
I stood there in shock for several reasons. One, Jean Luc had never used his super speed on me before. Two, it was pitch dark and the cops were right outside the door. And three, I was pressed up against Dalton, and it was more than pleasant.
My heart raced and my legs were still unsteady from my faster-than-the-speed-of-light trip across the room. I trembled a little and gripped the book harder. Dalton reached around me, placing his hand on the small of my back to steady me. I wanted to see his face, but it was pitch dark. I took a couple of deep breaths, which in hindsight was not a good idea, since it filled my lungs with Dalton’s scent and pressed my breasts up against his chest.
My earlier observation was correct. He was rock solid. Before I could embarrass myself further by rubbing against him like a cat, shouting from outside stopped me.
“Stop! Police!”
Footsteps pounded and then the police car took off after Jean Luc, sirens blaring.
Dalton and I stood there for a second longer before he spoke. “We’d better move. They’ll call in backup to help with the chase and come check the house.”
“Let’s go, then,” I replied, my voice sounding strained to my own ears.
Dalton opened the door and reached for my hand, linking our fingers. We walked through the dark house carefully, not daring to turn on our flashlights. Once out the back door, we dashed across the yard and through the trees to the next street.
Misha waited for us in the van. As we piled in, he started the engine. “Glad to see you two. We have to go meet Jean Luc a couple of streets over. He called me a minute ago.” He pulled away from the curb. “This whole night reminds me of a Mission Impossible episode.”
When Misha began to hum the theme song, my normal reaction would have been to reach up and smack the back of his head, but my hand was still warm from Dalton’s touch earlier. Misha could sing all he wanted to.
Five minutes later, we pulled up in front of an all-night laundromat. Jean Luc jumped into the passenger seat, much to my surprise, and Misha’s. “I want to read the book while you drive.”
I handed it to him and he paged through it. After a couple of minutes, my lack of patience got the better of me. “What’s in it?”
“Drawings of various demons. I recognize some of them. Misha can take a look at this back at the office. Cowell’s notes are in Latin and, unfortunately, I am a bit rusty, so I will need to do some research before I can translate it for you. As far as I can tell, the main themes are heaven, hell and damnation.”
Once we were back in the office, Jean Luc and Misha got to work on the book right away. Dalton volunteered to take me home.
We rode in silence, although inside my body was hopping around like a demented bunny rabbit. I hadn’t had a good adrenaline rush in a while. It still surged through me, and being this close to Dalton wasn’t helping it to calm down. He, on the other hand, seemed to be cool as a cucumber. Why couldn’t I control my emotions that well? A
s the silence continued, memories of the closet and Dalton’s body pressed against mine invaded my thoughts. So much for trying to calm myself down.
Pulling in front of my building, Dalton double parked and got out, walking around to my side. He opened the door and I stepped out. Escorting me to my building, he stood there for a moment outside the door.
“You okay?” he asked.
I swallowed. “Yep, you?”
He grinned. “All in a night’s work.”
Before I could move, he boxed me in, arms on either side of me. He leaned forward, his face mere inches from mine. He stared at me for a second as if asking permission. I bridged the gap and our lips met. His were surprisingly soft and full against mine. I wanted to gobble him up. Trying to remain calm, I slowed down my kissing until his lips parted and his tongue slid against my lips, asking for permission to enter. I opened my mouth, moaning slightly when his tongue began to play with mine.
I leaned further into him, pressing against his chest and threading my fingers through his hair. Holy God, it was like a religious experience. Just as I settled into the kiss, he backed away. I blinked at him in confusion.
“I’m sorry, Kyle. This isn’t fair to you or Misha.”
What was he saying? My ears were buzzing. Hell, my whole body was buzzing. What the hell did Misha have to do with this?
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
“This isn’t right.”
“But…”
“Don’t say anything. I don’t want either of us to regret this in the morning. Good night, Kyle.”
He walked over to his car and got in. This was ridiculous. I hurried over to him and he rolled down the passenger window.
Before I could say a word he spoke, “Misha and I need to have a talk before this can go any further.” He rolled up the window and pulled away.
I watched him drive away, my feet glued to the sidewalk. How could something backfire so horribly? Of course, I might have deserved it for trying to be conniving. I was determined, pigheaded, opinionated, yes—but conniving? I called Misha on his cell and got his voice mail. “Mish, call me as soon as you get this.”
Crap.
Chapter 13
I jerked awake, slammed my hand down hard on my alarm clock, and cringed when the plastic knob snapped and came off in my hand. I had been dreaming, but the specifics escaped me. When I reached for the memory, dread filled me like cold fingers wrapping around my spine. I shivered. Remembering the dream was not that important.
I took my phone off the nightstand and checked to make sure the battery wasn’t dead. It was fine, but Misha had still not called me back. Great. Dalton was too damn noble for his own good. Why did he need to talk to Misha, anyway? Even if Misha and I were seeing each other, I made my own decisions about who I got involved with.
I paused my internal rant long enough to get ready. I stopped at the bakery on the way to work to buy warm apple streusel. Since it was Misha’s favorite, I could hopefully butter him up…or at least apologize if he’d already had an awkward conversation with Dalton.
Running up the stairs to the office, the scent of apples and cinnamon trailing behind me, I plowed through front reception into the back room to find both Misha and Jean Luc there.
“Is Dalton here?”
Jean Luc smiled. “Good morning to you, too, Kyle. Dalton called. He has to deal with a police matter this morning. He plans to call in later so we can go over our case.”
I walked over to Misha. “Have you talked to him today?”
“Not yet. What have you brought me?”
I let out the breath I had been holding. “Apple streusel.”
Misha’s right eyebrow shot up. “Jean Luc, I think Kyle has done something wrong.”
“What’re you talking about?” I sputtered, plopping the box on the table with a soft thunk.
“You only bring me streusel when you need to apologize. What’s going on?”
Since when did Misha become so intuitive? “Um, you know a couple of days ago when you told me to be honest with Dalton about us?”
Jean Luc interrupted. “What exactly have I been missing?”
“Dalton thinks Misha and I are a couple.”
“Oh.” Jean Luc grinned.
I looked down and ran my fingers over the pockmarked table. “Yeah well, it gets worse. I didn’t exactly clear up the misconception.”
“Kyle…” Misha grumbled.
“Well, you didn’t help matters.”
“What do I have to do with it?”
“Let’s see. First, you make an offhanded comment about the shirt he was wearing being yours. Then Dalton overheard us on the phone the other day and you were all, ‘Kyle, you know what I like to have for breakfast,’ in your sexy Russian accent. What’s a guy to think?”
“You think my accent is sexy?”
“Mishaaaaa! Stay focused,” I groaned.
“Sorry, I don’t understand what the problem is. I thought you wanted to brush him off.”
“Yeah, well…not so much anymore.”
Misha smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Then why didn’t you just tell him the truth?”
“I was going to last night, and then he got all proper and told me he had to talk to you before we could go any farther. It was just a kiss, for cripes’ sake.”
Jean Luc laughed. I gaped at him in surprise. He was not normally much of a laugher. “Ma petite, you are so adorable. Why do Americans have so much trouble expressing their emotions? I shoved you both into a closet and you still are not talking to each other. I thought proximity might help matters.”
“What?” I blurted.
“It is obvious you care for each other. I personally thought it was both pragmatic and imaginative of me to put you together in the closet.”
Good God, I had my own supernatural matchmaker.
Misha nodded. “I told her the other day humans worry too much about such things.”
I gritted my teeth. “Guys. Stop being so patronizing and help me out here.”
“Did I not say this would backfire on you, little one? You should have jumped him days ago.”
“You’re right. Is that what you want to hear?”
“It’s a start.”
“Fine, I’m sorry for having dragged you into the middle of this. Now eat your damn streusel.”
I stomped out of the room to my office. It wasn’t very mature, but that was just tough. I plopped down to have a good old-fashioned pout, but then realized I hadn’t asked Jean Luc about Cowell’s journal. I walked back down the hall and slowed to a stop when Misha and Jean Luc’s conversation reached my ears.
“I owe Joe twenty,” Jean Luc groused.
“Quit your whining. I owe him fifty. I didn’t think she’d even tell what was going on, let alone apologize.”
I walked into the main area, and tried to count to ten before erupting. It didn’t work. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
Misha actually had the decency to cringe. Jean Luc shrugged at me, making my blood pressure rise even faster.
“Well,” Misha sputtered. “It was Joe’s idea. He thought we should let you confess what you had done, instead of telling you we knew what was going on.”
“Did he, now? And when did he come up with this glorious plan?”
“Yesterday. He asked me about our relationship. I told him the truth, and he wasn’t too happy about you lying to him.”
“He called you last night after he dropped me off?”
All of a sudden, Misha wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Misha?”
“We talked on the way to pick you up last night.”
“The low-down dog.” My face heated and I almost growled. He’d already known I wasn’t involved with Misha when we were kissing.
Misha raised his hands as if to placate me. “Kyle, take it easy. Let’s not make this worse.”
I smiled at him, which immediately ratcheted up the tension
in the room.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word about this to him. And if you ever want me to bring you pastries again, you won’t say a word about this conversation, either.”
Misha reached for the streusel box, probably fearful I would take it away from him now. “Fine,” he replied grudgingly. “But rethink whatever you’re planning.”
Jean Luc shook his head. “It is no use, Misha. This reminds me of your soap operas. No one ever learns their lesson on those, either.”
I was ready to launch a retort, when the intercom buzzed and Dolly’s voice came over the speaker. “Joe’s on the phone asking for a status update.”
I tamped down my anger. This would have to wait. We had a job to do.
Jean Luc replied, “Thank you Dolly, we will pick it up here.” He punched the outside line. “Joe?”
“Yeah, is everyone there?”
“Yes we’re all here,” I answered as sweetly as my teeth would allow me to without sprouting a cavity.
Dalton plowed ahead. “Jean Luc, what did you get out of the book?”
“Most of the drawings are of demons. Misha was able to identify their clans with the exception of two pictures he must research further. I was correct, it is written in Latin.”
“But you have been able to interpret it?”
“Most of it, yes. It has specific, quite accurate descriptions of various demons and their traits. What will take me more time is the writing on the inside front flap. It appears to be a poem, or maybe a psalm, but it is in a language I have never seen before. Cowell was attempting to interpret it himself.”
“What did he have so far?” Dalton asked.
“He translated some of the lines, but they are not complete. It starts with Evil thrives amongst us. Then the word Angels, then some more words which are not translated, followed by the word battle. The next line has the word weapon. Then there is another stanza not translated.”
We sat silently for a minute before I spoke, “Boy, that’s sure a pick-me-up.”
