What had happened in here?
Flipping on the light switch, she saw Mick – or someone – had smashed every single bottle of cologne into the bathtub. Shards of glass decorated the white ceramic tub with deadly glitters. The jumble of scents would have hidden the stink of anything, including a decomposing body.
The cop in her began looking for exactly that. She checked the linen closet and the commode room, finding nothing. No body here.
A search of both the guest bedroom and Mick’s exercise room yielded no cadavers.
She breathed a bit easier, wondering at her paranoia. At least Mick wasn’t dead.
Still, something definitely was wrong.
She just didn’t know what.
The Mick she’d known for over ten years would never have let his bedroom and bathroom remain in such awful disarray.
Back in the living room, she turned a slow circle, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The dim lighting made seeing difficult, and since this room faced the street, she didn’t dare turn on a lamp.
Every book, every frame photo, ever bit of bric-a-brac, seemed perfectly in place.
But wait – she leaned closer. Was that… dust? When she ran her finger across the top of the coffee table, she left a trail. Dust. The one thing Mick went ballistic over.
Around the station, the guys jokingly called him Mister Clean.
Everyone loved Mick though. Despite his almost feminine beauty and unbelievable good-luck, he was warm and caring, a cop who followed the rules yet somehow still managed to see the good in everyone. He had about him a sense of other-worldly courtliness, as though he’d been born in the wrong place and time. Dee had always envied this in her friend. Knowing she was ordinary, she secretly hoped some of his specialness would rub off on her.
So far, her little foray into crime had revealed three things – a dusty living room, a bedroom that looked like it belonged to a drunken fraternity student, and a bathtub full of cologne. All of this meant… what? Pressing the tiny button to light up her watch dial, she saw she’d been inside Mick’s house a little over twenty minutes.
She blew her breath out in frustration. All she’d learned so far confirmed what she’d already known – something was badly wrong in Mick’s life. After seeing his house, if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was the one whose life had gone down the toilet rather than hers.
About to leave, she paused. One other place – she’d nearly forgotten to search the garage. The place was a monument to organization. Mick had hired carpenters to build a workbench along the length of one wall. Tools he never used were hung on pegboard hooks, arranged by color, size, and intended use.
A wall lined with metal shelves held an array of household cleansers, paints, and other assorted items.
In the left bay, Mick’s prize possession, a fully restored 1967 Corvette Stingray occupied center stage. Mick only drove the car once a week and then annually in South Worth’s annual Fourth of July parade. The rest of the time, the Corvette was kept highly polished and well covered.
If the garage was out of order, she’d know Mick had gone off the deep end.
And then what?
Walking through the small laundry room, she swallowed and opened the door to the garage.
Squinting, she inhaled. Normal garage smell. That was good. Since there were no windows in the big, automatic door, she wondered if she dared flick on the light.
A scratching sound from the other side of Mick’s car convinced her. If a rat had somehow gotten in here, the last thing she wanted to do was stumble over it. A brave cop she might be, but not when it came to rats. Rats ranked right up there with spiders and snakes.
One, two… light on.
Blinking at the sudden brightness, she saw the Corvette was still parked in its normal spot, still covered with the custom-made, blue cover.
The workbench, normally a pristine area more for show than actual work, was another story. Tools were scattered haphazardly, some of them covered with grease and dirt. The remains of a half-eaten sandwich which looked to be days, possibly weeks old, sat next to an empty bottle of… Budweiser?
Mick rarely drank beer. On the few occasions when he did, he preferred exotic dark beer from Germany. Jack, his significant other, had been known to indulge occasionally, but he only drank light beer.
Then whose? She moved around the bench, inspecting the mess, touching nothing, when another sound made her spin.
Rat. She didn’t want to find it, scare it, or kill it. All she wanted was to avoid the furry beast. As long as the rodent left her alone, she could safely promise she’d do the same.
Shuddering, she checked the floor. So far, so good. No sign of animal droppings. With a quick glance at the metal shelving, she determined nothing was out of place there. The only abnormality she noticed was the stacked cases of motor oil. Mick had always kept some on hand for the Vette, but he’d gone overboard this time. There had to be seven or eight cases stacked on the floor in front of the covered car. What else? She needed to finish her inspection of the garage and get out.
The car. Mick’s baby. She had to check the car.
At first glance, the Corvette was still tightly covered. A closer inspection revealed the tarp was askew, one corner of the front end folded up, revealing part of the shiny, chrome bumper.
Gingerly, she lifted the cover the rest of the way. Glossy paint, freshly waxed. The car, at least, remained exactly as it’d been the last time she’d seen it.
Was that good? Or bad? She still didn’t know what to make of her discoveries.
Tucking the final edge into place, Dee bent low to tug the last part down.
And met the gaze of the strangely dressed man crouched on the floor on the other side of the car.
Chapter Two
CAUGHT! PRINCE Cenrick of Rune froze, wondering if he should start talking or prepare to fight.
But then, judging from the demeanor he’d observed as she’d stealthily searched Mick’s house, the slender, auburn-haired woman had as little right to be there as he.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” She gazed steadily at him, her voice cool and flat. Despite his size, she exhibited no fear. Rather, she’d rocked back on her heels and appeared ready to fight.
Rising from his crouch, Cenrick eyed the human woman and did a rapid threat assessment. He saw no visible weapon, though metal shovels and tools hung on the wall, easily within her reach. But, if she wasn’t aware he was Fae, she’d have no reason to reach for those. And, in his experience, women rarely acted as warriors, despite their bluster.
He judged her low risk.
“I might ask you the same question,” he said.
“You don’t belong here. Breaking and entering is against the law.”
He tilted his head, studying her. She was beautiful, in the earthy way of human women. Even in this dim light, her hair gleamed with hints of fire and her eyes were the color of amber. He gave her a hint of a smile, extending the proverbial olive branch. “Then you have broken the law as well.”
Glaring, she acknowledged the truth of his comment with a dip of her chin. “True. We’re both trespassing. But Mick is my friend. I’m here because I’m worried about him. Your turn. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Opening his mouth to speak, suddenly the room began spinning. What the—? Bracing his hand against a wooden workbench, he took a deep breath to steady himself. His legs felt weak, as though they could give out on him at any moment. “I…” Blinking, he struggled to focus on her question. “Mick’s my distant cousin. We’re worried about him too.”
“Your cousin?” Her skeptical tone told him she didn’t believe him. “What kind of cousin sneaks around and hides in the garage?”
How to explain? Keeping his gaze on her face while the ground dipped under him. Clearing his suddenly dry throat, he tried to think. From somewhere, he dredged up a combination of words, stringing them together into a coherent sentence.
; Since Fae couldn’t lie, he countered her question with one of his own. “You claim to be his friend, yet you’re doing the same thing. Skulking around without permission. How well do you actually know Mick?”
“Well enough to doubt that you’re family. I’ve known him a long time and he’s never mentioned you, not once.”
“We haven’t seen each other in years.”
“You’re not his cousin.” She crossed her arms. “I know all about Mick’s lifestyle, so you don’t have to pretend. Are you one of his… friends? You look like his type.”
Flabbergasted, he started to shake his head. Oblivious to his shock, she continued.
“Are you the guy Mick dumped when he hooked up with Jack? Were you the one who smashed his cologne bottles and messed up his clothes?”
Dumped? Hooked up with who? Since his legs still felt shaky, he kept his grip on the workbench and held up his other hand. “Hold on. The answer is no to both your questions. I prefer women, am not into men, and I don’t know Jack. Furthermore, I just got here – I haven’t even been into the house yet. I haven’t smashed anything.”
“You started with the garage?”
“Yes.” He swayed. Things were getting more and more blurry. He couldn’t seem to focus.
She squinted at him. “Are you all right?”
Without thinking, he nodded. Again, the walls seemed to dip and ripple. Grabbing on to the workbench with both hands, he waited until everything steadied. “I’m not sure what’s wrong. I…” He briefly lost his train of thought.
“You were about to explain why, instead of calling Mick to let him know you’re here, you arrived unannounced and are snooping around his house.”
“Was I?”
“Something’s going on with him, and I needed to make sure I had all the facts before I confront him. I was asked to come here and check things out, without Mick knowing.”
“Your family sent you to spy on him?”
“You could put it that way.” He wanted to sit down before his legs collapsed, but unless he dropped down to the floor, that wasn’t a possibility. “Especially since you’re doing the same thing.”
Worrying her bottom lip, she gave a hesitant nod. “True. I’m on a fact finding mission, same as you. Something is wrong with Mick.”
The lightheadedness was growing worse. “Maybe we can work together on this. Help each other out. Share information.”
“Work together?” She frowned. “I don’t even know you.”
His head felt like a sledgehammer pounded on his skull. “I don’t know you any better than you know me.”
“That proves my point.” Her sigh seemed extraordinarily loud, like a firecracker going off in his ear. “If you really are related to Mick, you’d know about me. And, you’d know Mick doesn’t have any cousins.”
He couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate, could barely breathe. His head felt like it was about to explode. “What do you mean, he doesn’t have any cousins?”
Arms folded across her chest, she glared at him. “Because Mick is an orphan, just like me.”
“An orphan? No, he’s—.”
They both froze as the automatic garage door made a sound. With a creak, the gears began to turn. Chains clinked, and the door began to slowly rise.
“Busted,” she hissed, looking around frantically for a place to hide.
Cenrick cursed. With the way everything was spinning, he couldn’t run. But he couldn’t let Mick see him. Not yet.
“Come on.” Grabbing his arm, the woman yanked him with her as she dove behind the bulky covered shape that he thought must be another car. Even though he’d worn his gloves as a precaution, he was careful to keep his distance from the metal.
She kept her hold on his arm. Oddly enough, down on the concrete floor his equilibrium returned in a rush. The headache vanished, as though it had never been.
Together, they crouched low.
Headlights swept the garage as a large vehicle – SUV or pickup – pulled into the driveway.
Beside him, hand still on his arm, she didn’t move. He was glad. His heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid Mick would hear. He wished he had something to cover himself with, aware that to his cousin he’d be easily visible. After all, Mick was Fae. Most Fae could spot another Fae’s aura from fifty yards away. Cenrick could only hope the metal of the covered car blunted it.
An orphan? He shook his head. Since Fae couldn’t lie, he wondered how Mick had managed such an outrageous story. And for what purpose?
The vehicle parked outside the garage. Both front doors and one back opened. Three people got out.
Though Cenrick squinted, he could only make out one Fae. Mick. But his aura was surprisingly faint. The others were human, he thought.
“Get into the house.” A woman’s voice, pitched low, carried an unmistakable air of authority. “It’s dangerous out here.”
“Someone will have to help me.” Mick’s voice, sounding weak and annoyed. Not like Mick at all.
“Something’s wrong with him.” the woman whispered in his ear. “And that’s not his car.”
“Shhh.” Cenrick lifted a warning finger to his lips. Still crouched low, he continued to peer under the shrouded car.
“I don’t see him,” she persisted, her low voice worried.“There.” Cenrick touched her arm. “Look.”
A blonde woman and a muscular, dark-haired man came into view, helping support another, taller and more slender man. Mick. He staggered slightly and looked paler than normal.
Drunk, drugged, or merely ill? The result of whatever he was doing to steal Fae souls?
“Look at him.” Echoing his thoughts, his companion sounded worried. “What’s wrong with him?”
Cenrick shook his head in warning. Making a deliberate effort to soften the harsh sound of his breathing, he tried to make himself blend with the cement floor. Though Mick appeared to be the only Fae and thus, the only one capable of noticing his aura, he didn’t want to take any chances. Best to err on the side of caution.
Evidently, the woman beside him felt the same. Hand still on his arm, she held herself motionless, watching the little tableau with narrowed eyes.
The only sounds were the man’s footsteps, the shuffle of Mick’s unsteady feet, and the staccato click of the blonde’s high heels on the pavement. Someone – Mick? – coughed.
The door into the house squeaked as they opened it. The last person in, the blonde woman punched the button to close the garage.
Once they were gone, his companion sat up, inhaling sharply. He saw a glint of silver. Cenrick realized with shock she held a pistol. A revolver. A metal weapon.
That explained her lack of fear earlier.
Despite himself, he recoiled.
“What?” Again her amber eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of guns.”
Already regretting his instinctive movement, he jerked his head in a quick nod. “Not afraid, wary. And with good reason. Where did you get that?”
“It’s mine.” The set of her chin looked determined. “They took my service revolver, but this is my personal gun.”
“DO you know how to use it?”
“Of course. I’m a cop, after all. Just like Mick.” She got to her feet and, keeping a death grip on his sleeve, moved forward. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
Without even looking at him, she reached for the doorknob into the house. “I’ve had enough of this cloak and dagger stuff. If Mick’s in some kind of trouble, I want to help him. I’m going in.”
Despite the gun, despite the chill the sight of so much deadly metal brought him, Cenrick dug in his heels. “Wait.
You need to calm down. Think for a minute. You might be a cop, but no crime has been committed.”
To his relief, she hesitated. “You know, you’re right. I can’t go charging in there, weapon drawn.” She reholstered the gun, letting him breathe again.
“But damned if I’m letting them hurt Mick.” Let
ting him go, she marched over to the door at the back of the garage and opened it. Outside, the motion sensor activated the light.
The dizziness rushed back, making him stagger as he tried to follow. “Where… where are you going?”
“To the front door.” Her cat’s eyes reflected the illumination. “I want to talk to Mick. I’m his friend. They can’t turn me away.” She marched off, leaving him to go after her.
Outside, he could breathe easier. The night air had grown slightly cooler, and the breeze carried the scent of flowers.
Part of his equilibrium returned. He looked up in time to see her vanish around the side of the house.
Because he had no choice, he went after her. He didn’t even know this woman and now he might have to protect her. He kept to the shadows where he had a clear view of the front door in case she needed him.
She pressed the doorbell. When the door opened, she stepped forward, as though she meant to force her way in. A huge man blocked her, speaking in too low of a voice for Cenrick to hear what he said.
“I want to see Mick.” Her rising voice carried. “I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”
The man stepped aside. She entered the house, the door closing behind her.
Cenrick waited.
Though it seemed like an eternity, less than five minutes passed before the door opened and she stepped outside, her rigid shoulders and grim expression telling him of her anger.
She hit the sidewalk at a fast walk, heading down the street away from him.
Feeling even stronger, he jogged after her. “What happened?”
She gave him a sharp glance. “She won’t even let me talk to him.”
“She?”
“The blonde woman we saw with him earlier. The
one that’s supposedly his girlfriend.” Scorn curled her lip.
“She said he was sick and couldn’t come out of his room. When
I tried to push my way past her, arguing that I could go see
him, two of those goons blocked my way.”
Missing Magic Page 2
