Psychic for Hire Series Box Set

by Hermione Stark

  Chapter 17

  DIANA

  When we get back to my apartment, there is crime scene tape on the door. I can see smudges where the techs have dusted for fingerprints. I ask Storm to wait on the landing outside my door while I go in and get my things. He is reluctant to do so, but I point out that my shower is inside my room and unless he wants to perv on me, he’d better wait out here.

  I am too embarrassed to let Storm in even just to check the room is safe. I don’t want him to see that I live in one room, or that it has a shower cubicle inside it. Especially when I have now seen his lovely spacious apartment.

  AngelBeastie turns her nose up at keeping Storm company in the hallway, and insists on coming in with me. I take the quickest shower possible, and change into my black work trousers and white blouse, my usual catering uniform.

  You will need a sexy dress too, says the little voice.

  “Why?” I ask.

  Because we’re going to the Ambassador’s Ball, she says.

  I frown. “Wasn’t telling Storm that I was going to work just a ruse to make him leave me alone? I thought I was going to hunt down Beatrice Grictor today?”

  We are, she says. The Ambassador’s Ball was on Raif Silverstone’s wall calendar. If he was planning to attend, she was too. The Ambassador was her alibi for late on a Friday night. They must be lovers. She is probably his date tonight.

  “Probably? I thought you had something more certain!”

  Rich powerful men love to flaunt their pretty trophy girlfriends, and what more perfect girlfriend for an aging Ambassador than a younger woman who does worthy charitable work?

  “How are we even supposed to get into the ball? Imagine the security! Rosalie stole my shift, and I resigned from my job with remember? I stuffed it into Smithers’s face. It’s not like I can go and beg him for it back.”

  You leave that up to me, she says smugly.

  I huff in annoyance, not liking the sound of this. “Why do we need a ball gown anyway? They never told me we needed special attire for this event. I can’t serve canapes dressed in a ball gown.”

  Not a ball gown, she says. I want that sexy little nude sequined body con dress.

  I know exactly the one she means. “I don’t want to wear that,” I hiss.

  Stop arguing, she snaps. Time’s wasting. She nudges at my mind, and before I know it I have given in and put the dress she wanted and a few other things, including makeup, into my satchel.

  I find Storm prowling outside my room, his fists stuffed into his pockets. He raises an eyebrow. “Want a lift to work?” he asks.

  I wouldn’t have minded a lift, but the little voice insists that it is best to get rid of him asap. I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. And it’s out of your way.”

  We walk down the stairs side-by-side in an awkward silence. I no longer know what to say to him. The little voice has made me feel we are on opposing sides, the last thing I wanted. Outside my building, he surprises me by giving me a hug. It is warm and delicious and over far too quickly.

  “Promise to stay out of trouble?” he says to me.

  “I will if you will,” I say.

  He ruffles my hair affectionately. “I should have known better than to ask. You promise to see Beatrice and ask her for an appointment?”

  “I promise,” I say.

  He seems relieved.

  “Hey,” I say, stopping him as he turns away. I touch his black eye briefly. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  He hops down the front steps and gets into his car and waves me goodbye before he drives off. I watch until he is gone. Then I flag down a cab, knowing I am spending my last reserves of money. I might as well. It’s all or nothing now.

  The cab drops me off outside the catering offices. I scan my employee pass at the entrance, but they have already deactivated it. I am unable to get in. I bang on the door until someone comes to let me in. To my relief it is Ben. He looks happy to see me.

  “Please can you let me in?” I tell him. “I need to beg Smithers for my job back.”

  “I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” he says a little sulkily.

  “Sorry, Ben. There’s been so much going on that I’ve had to deal with lately. I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”

  He looks disappointed at this, and I realize my mistake.

  I slap him playfully on the arm. “Not forever-goodbye!”

  He laughs. He walks me to Smithers’s office door and wishes me good luck before leaving. I stand outside the closed door, feeling reluctant to knock. I really thought I would never have to see him again.

  You want me to do this part, says the little voice. Trust me.

  It takes a few moments of uncertainty before I give in to the fact that she is right. I’ll probably fail miserably. The very moment I decide that I should let her be in charge, it happens very quickly. I feel a change in my mind, as if she is slipping into the front seat, and I am being pushed into the back. She slips into my body as easily as if it is hers, which always feels slightly weird. Like going numb. Like being just an onlooker.

  I am freaking out a little already, even though I know I can take control back if I really want to. She might fight me sometimes, but I always win in the end.

  Yeah whatever, she says. Stop being so smug, and be glad you have me to help you out in times like this.

  She unbuttons the top three buttons of my shirt. She looks down and I can see far too much of my breasts and even a little of my bra on show.

  What are you doing? I hiss.

  Relax, she says. I’ve got this.

  She knocks, rat-a-tat-tat, loudly and confidently on Smithers’s door, and then without even waiting for a response, she turns the handle and strolls right in. Her hips are swaying and her arms swinging as if she hasn’t a care in the world.

  Inside the office, Smithers is at his desk, peering at something on his computer screen. Rosalie is beside him, her hand on his shoulder. She is leaning over him, her face pushed almost right up next to his. They both look up at me. I don’t know who is more surprised.

  “What are you doing here?” Rosalie demands.

  “I’m here to get my shift back,” says the little voice sweetly, batting her eyelashes at Rosalie.

  Rosalie sniggers at me and looks to Smithers to back her up. Smithers is still staring at me. His eyes are on my open buttons.

  “Eric!” she wheedles.

  “Rosalie, sweet pea,” the little voice says, with a smile pasted on my face. “Get out.”

  “What did you say to me?” Her voice is squeaky with outrage.

  “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,” the little voice says. She stalks over to Rosalie, grabs her roughly by the arm and hustles her towards the door. Rosalie squeals in outrage, and pushes me away.

  “Tut tut,” says the little voice. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  She grabs Rosalie’s ear and twists it. Rosalie screeches. The little voice doesn’t care. She presses my fingers tight as a clamp onto Rosalie’s tender earlobe and pulls her towards the doorway.

  Rosalie has no option but to follow, clinging to her earlobe and screeching in dismay. The little voice shoves Rosalie out of the office and slams the door shut. She locks it.

  She turns back towards Smithers. “Well, that was fun,” she says.

  “That was physical abuse of an employee,” he says.

  “I didn’t do it if you didn’t see it,” she says.

  Smithers is standing up now, hovering by his desk, as if uncertain what is going on. She prowls over to him, making my hips swing far more than I am comfortable with. I am beginning to be very glad that I am here at the back of my head, because if I had been in charge I would be turning and running. As it is I wish I could close my eyes so I didn’t have to see this.

  When she reaches him, she puts her hand on his shoulder and applies enough pressure to make him sit down in his chair with a thump. She perches at the edge o
f his desk and leans forward until my chest is thrusting towards him. She slides my hand slowly and sinuously down Smithers’s tie.

  “Eric,” she purrs. “I’ve been thinking it’s a shame you and I never really got to know each other.”

  Smithers is staring at me, his jaw slightly slack.

  “And I bet you’ve been thinking the same,” she says. She slides a finger along his jawline.

  “I knew it. I knew you liked me really,” he says.

  She giggles. “Oh goody. We’re on the same page. Isn’t is great that you didn’t really give my shift at the Ambassador’s Ball away, you naughty boy.” She taps the tip of his nose to emphasize each word.

  “I didn’t?” His eyebrow rises. He thinks he has the power and he is enjoying it.

  She opens my eyes wide and bats my eyelashes. “You didn’t. Because you don’t do what you don’t want to. Rosalie can complain all she likes, but she can’t make you change your mind. Right?”

  “Right,” he says. “If there’s something in it for me.”

  The little voice trails my finger in a wavy motion down Smithers’s chest. His eyes follow it. It makes me feel sick. I want to tell her that I never agreed to this, but I’d only be getting in my own way. She is doing for us what I can’t.

  The little voice makes me stand up. “There is,” she says. “Me. In this.” She reaches into my satchel and takes out the glimmering body con dress. She holds it up against me and she moves, swaying my waist and my chest, making the thousands of sparkly sequins catch the light.

  “I’ve been having this little dream,” she croons. “Of you and me at the end of the night at the Ambassador’s Ball. Under the chandeliers. Dancing. Moving. You wearing your smart manager’s suit and me wearing this little thing. And what happens next… Well… It’s been so frustrating. The dream always ends before I find out. But tonight it won’t.” She purrs those last few words in a sensual tone.

  Smithers looks like he knows this is too good to be true but he is trying to figure out a way to make it real. He really really wants it to be real. He puts his hand on my hip as if testing me. The look on his face makes me want to barf.

  The little voice takes his hand off. She abruptly puts the dress back into my satchel, and she shrugs. “It’s up to you, of course.” She manages to sound sexily challenging and like she doesn’t give a damn all at once.

  “Yeah,” Smithers says, sniggering. “It is up to me. Yeah, I like that.”

  “Good,” she says. “I’ll tell Rosalie, shall I?” She saunters towards the office door and throws him a last sultry look over my shoulder.

  Rosalie is waiting outside the office, pacing back and forth in an agitated manner. She glowers at me

  The little voice smirks. “Eric told you to fuck off Rosalie,” she says. “Because the job is mine.”

  Chapter 18

  STORM

  Storm gets to Agency Headquarters in a better mood than he has felt in days. He had parked his car a little way up Diana’s street and then tailed her to see where she’d go. She had hopped into a cab that drove east, towards her place of employment. It is good to know she has finally let go of her mad ideas about Beatrice.

  He is glad she is finally getting back on track with her life. He plans on speaking with the chief later, to see if the Agency will consider sponsoring her to train as an Oracle. Even better, he can finally focus completely on his job and stop worrying about her.

  He finds his team is already working, sat at their desks outside his glass walled office. As Storm approaches, Leo raises an eyebrow, as if silently acknowledging that Storm came in late, which he never does. Storm ignores it. He ignores Remi’s grin too. Clearly they’ve been speculating about Diana staying at his place last night.

  His scowl only makes Remi smile wider, particularly when he says, “Monroe, arrange a hotel for Diana to stay at tonight until forensics clears her apartment. And give her a call later to tell her about it, will you?” After seeing where she lives he no longer thinks posting an officer outside will work.

  “And make sure it’s somewhere with a good breakfast,” he adds.

  “Yes, sir,” Monroe says.

  He quirks his brow at Leo and Remi. “Update?” he says.

  Remi groans. “It’s first thing in the morning, boss. I’ve barely had my coffee yet.”

  Monroe gives a nervous laugh. “She’s joking, sir. We got something back from forensics. That partial fingerprint that Remi found on the window outside the Everett house? A result came back for it.”

  Storm gestures for the team to follow him into his office. They take their usual seats around the small meeting table in there. Storm deposits the coffees and the box of donuts he picked up on the way in front of them, and they help themselves. Remi snatches the chocolate one before Leo can get to it. She cackles at Leo, who scowls back at her.

  “And?” says Storm, depositing his jacket on a hook and dragging his chair out from behind his desk to join them. He helps himself to a frosted lemon donut. He hands a plain sugared ring to Monroe who has yet to help himself.

  “Plain?” Remi scoffs.

  Storm shrugs. “I get the feeling Monroe is a plain donut kind a guy.”

  Monroe accepts his donut. He gives an apologetic glance to Remi. “He’s right. I don’t like too much sugar.”

  “Ha!” says Storm.

  Monroe grins. He hands over the tablet he has bought into the room with him to Storm.

  “It was Kris Caprio’s fingerprint,” says Remi, inadvertently stealing Monroe’s thunder.

  Monroe looks disappointed. “We matched it to the fingerprints taken for elimination,” he mumbles.

  Remi is unaware. She licks chocolate frosting off her thumb. “It doesn’t mean anything unfortunately,” she continues. “Because in theory Caprio could have been there peering in through the window for some other reason, given that he is Everett’s personal assistant. Heck, maybe Everett makes him clean the windows.”

  “What’s the status on Caprio’s alibi?” Storm asks.

  “He might not have been at the set like he said he was,” says Monroe. “Nobody I have questioned so far remembers seeing him for most of Friday and half of Saturday. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. The set was busy. I wasn’t able to get hold of some of the people I tried calling. I’m still chasing them.”

  “Anything on the murder weapon?” says Storm.

  Remi speaks up. “No prints on it. No DNA other than the victim’s. I spoke with his vampire-hunter TV show people. The props handler said the axe definitely didn’t come from the show set, and they do actually have some real axes there. The killer staged it to look like it was from Everett’s show. Which does throw doubt on the possibility of Caprio being the killer because Caprio had access to the set. He could just have stolen an axe from there to make it genuine.”

  “And Everett’s alibi?” says Storm.

  “Astrid Wikander has not been answering her phone,” says Leo. “I left several messages, and I’ll chase her again today. I did manage to speak to her assistant, Kyra Lyle, who confirmed she had a forty minute video call with Wikander at 8:00 pm on Friday night, the evening of the murder. She saw Wikander walking all around the beach cottage during the call, so there’s no doubt that Wikander was there. That takes her out of the frame for the murder, because there were no flights that would have got her to London in time. But Kyra doesn’t recall seeing Everett anywhere in the video during that call, even though Wikander walked between both the lounge and the bedroom.”

  Storm takes a sip of coffee, mulling it over. “It still doesn’t mean Everett wasn’t there,” he says.

  “Yep,” says Leo. “We’ll need Wikander to confirm it for sure. I’m on it.”

  “And can someone chase forensics and mystics for anything from the envelope Diana got last night?” says Storm.

  “I’ll do it,” says Remi.

  “Anything else?” says Storm.

  Remi and Leo shake their heads. They grab t
heir coffees to leave Storm’s office, Leo reaching for another donut. Monroe hesitates. He is shifting awkwardly on his feet in a way that makes Storm look at him.

  Monroe hesitates for a moment, and then says, “Erm, has anyone seen my stunbommer?” He looks like it was actually painful to get the words out.

  Remi and Leo shake their heads.

  Storm frowns. “You haven’t found it yet? You’d better make a report to lost property.”

  “It’s probably around here somewhere,” says Monroe hastily. “I’ll look for it.”