Storm of Sin
Patricia D. Eddy
Copyright © 2020 by Patricia D. Eddy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Patricia D. Eddy
One
Zoe
Have you ever had a day so bizarre, you spend every waking moment convinced someone is going to jump out from around a corner and yell “Punked”?
Well, it’s happening. To me. Right now.
In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from the laughing stock of the San Francisco Police Department, constantly ridiculed for my insistence there were supernatural forces at work in the City by the Bay, to the newest junior agent at the Bureau of the Occult and the Other.
B.O.O. for short.
Yes. Really. Our name is BOO.
Three Weeks Ago
Zoe
The parking lot feels empty, and the fog is already starting to give the world a soft, white glow. The swelling under my right eye doesn’t help. The stench of the scumbag I arrested this morning still clings to me, even after two showers and changing into the backup shirt I keep in my locker.
The guy reeked of sweat and cheap liquor, and when I found him trying to break in to a bunker out at the abandoned Hunter’s Point Naval Shipyard, he got the best of me and landed a hard punch just south of my eye.
The detective in charge—Randall—sent me out with no backup, then had the gall to keep me out of the interrogation room while he questioned the guy. The rash of vandalism and break-ins at abandoned buildings across the city has been a thorn in the department’s side for weeks, but the perp gave DIC Randall nothing. Just two words. Over and over again.
His eyes. His eyes. His eyes.
I wish I’d been able to talk myself into the room. But my partner, Temple, called in sick three days ago, and apparently, I’m “a loose cannon” because once, I made the mistake of telling Detective Randall that my grandmother taught me to respect the world of the Other.
Well, there was also that one time I accused a sex worker of being a shifter. But I saw scales ripple over the back of her neck when I arrested her. What else could she have been?
Gingerly, I touch the swelling along my cheek and let the wind coming off the San Francisco Bay ruffle my hair. I love this city. Even when it’s cold and foggy and damp. My earliest memory is seeing the bay with my grandmother. I can still feel her hand on my shoulder like it was yesterday.
“One day, Zoe, you’ll understand how special you are. This city, this view…treasure it. Here, you’ll do great things. I know it.”
I miss Nana so very much. I don’t remember my parents, and though I never put stock in her assertion that I was sculpted by the angels, that I was her little miracle, the world of the Other? That’s real. It has to be. Nana knew things before they happened, and when she cried, it always seemed to rain.
Retrieving my keys from my jacket pocket, I skid on some wet leaves a few steps from my car. Shit. I need another shower, a glass of wine, and an ice pack for my cheek. I’m so tired, I’m losing my edge.
A soft footfall registers a second too late. Before I can turn, something hard jabs me in the back, and cold fingers wrap around my throat.
“Not a sound, Zoe.”
“Temple?” I whisper. “What are you doing…?”
My partner tightens his grip, and I fall silent.
“Unlock the car, get in the passenger side, and cuff yourself to the door handle.”
My hand shakes as I fumble with the key fob. Temple sounds strange. His voice is hard and cold, so very different from the kind, jovial, teddy bear with an easy smile I’ve come to know and trust since being promoted to detective six months ago.
“This isn’t you, Temple. Put down the gun and let’s talk.” His fingers tighten over my windpipe, making it hard to swallow, but he hasn’t cut off my air. Yet.
The pressure of the pistol eases, but a moment later, the barrel slams into the back of my skull and I fall against the car, my keys jingling as they hit the ground.
“Pick them up. Now.”
At least he doesn’t have me by the throat anymore. But I’m dizzy, and pinpricks of light dot my vision. Nodding is a mistake, and my knees wobble. He grabs my right arm and twists it behind me, sending pain radiating from my shoulder to my fingertips.
Why didn’t I leave when my shift was over? Two hours ago, there’d have been half a dozen other cops headed out with me, and I wouldn’t be in a deserted parking lot alone. Or about to be kidnapped by the one man I should be able to trust more than anyone else in the world.
My service weapon is under my jacket, but with his hold on my wrist, I can’t get to it.
“Temple, please,” I whimper. “You’re hurting me.”
“Keys. Now.”
Forcing me down, he keeps the gun pressed to my back, and I snag the fob and unlock my car.
It hurts even more when he pulls me up, and I curl my fingers around the door handle.
“Put down the gun!” a man shouts from across the parking lot. “Hands in the air.”
The sharp pressure of the barrel shifts, and I ram my left elbow into Temple’s gut, then stomp on his instep with all the strength I can muster.
A loud crack registers before my ears start to ring, and something warm and wet makes my shirt stick to my side.
Temple grunts as he doubles over, giving me a split second to jerk my wrist from his hold and pull my gun.
The shouts from my fellow officers are muffled, and the world seems to move in slow motion as I draw down on my partner. His eyes are glazed over, his mouth slack, but his gun is still trained on me.
“Temple! Listen!” My voice isn’t steady, and I brace myself against the car so I won’t fall. “It’s Zoe. We’re partners. Friends. Don’t do this!”
A dozen uniforms and half as many detectives surround us, but Temple doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all.
When I meet his gaze, something unnatural slithers along my spine. It’s like his personality, his very soul is gone, and all that’s left is desperation.
“I never would have made detective without you. You’re a good man.” Fire burns through my side, and a quick glance has me stifling a whimper. My light green shirt is stained red with my blood, and the world tilts. He shot me. My own partner.
Temple blinks, hard, then focuses on my Smith & Wesson. “Do it,” he says as a tear rolls down his cheek. “Can’t fight...him any longer.”
“Who?” The burning pain in my side is getting worse, and the gun wobbles. �
�Temple? Tell me...”
“You’re…special, Zoe. Don’t…tell anyone…” His eyes cloud over. “Run.”
I only make it a single step when the crack of his .45 deafens me, and the bullet rips through my passenger window. I don’t think. Training takes over, and I return fire. My ass hits the pavement, with Temple falling an arm’s reach away.
Blood spurts from his neck, and he gurgles quietly as footsteps pound towards me.
“Zoe! Detective Dawes!” My sergeant kneels next to me and presses his hands to my side. “Stay with me. That’s an order.”
Sergeant Perkins isn’t someone you mess with, even when you’re about to pass out, and I clutch his arm. “Temple...”
Sirens blare in the distance, and I fight to hang on. We’re surrounded now. Two uniforms drag Temple away, and every other officer on duty takes position in a solid blue wall around me and Perkins.
I can’t see anymore, and Perkins’ voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. “He’s gone, Zoe. Whatever made him do this...we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
Two
Present Day
Zoe
Pushing through the door of the Red Light Diner on Grand, I stifle a wince as I remove my sunglasses. Macie, the way-too-perky server on the breakfast shift, arches a brow, and I slink into a booth.
“What’ll it be?” she asks, a weariness to her voice that I hear all too often.
“Tomato juice, heavy on the tabasco. And a glass of water,” I say as I pull out a packet of Alka-Seltzer.
“So, the usual, then.”
“Cut me some slack, Macie. You know I’m going through some shit.” I close my eyes, the sandpaper that’s taken residence on the inside of my lids scratching like a bitch. My own fault. I’ve fallen into a bottle more nights than not since I fired the shot that killed my partner.
“That’s what I’ve been doing. No more,” she says sharply. “Temple would be so disappointed in you.”
That hurts. No. It threatens to destroy me. Temple was the only person in my life I could count on. Or so I thought. Dropping my head into my hands, I watch Macie’s sensible black shoes shuffle away. A minute later, a glass lands on the table in front of me with a solid thunk. Then Macie rips open the Alka-Seltzer packet and the tablets plop into the water with a low fizz.
I peer up at her, my bloodshot eyes struggling to focus after yet another sleepless night. And those four shots of Jack. “Thanks.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Macie says, her voice softening. “Temple was my friend too.”
More than that. After three years of flirting, they’d finally gone out for a drink two days before Temple called in sick.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I have. All I can muster, but I feel it down to my toes. And in my scar. That damn two-inch line of raised, reddish tissue from the operation to remove the bullet hurts like hell every time I take a deep breath. According to my doctor, I’ve healed perfectly, so the pain is psychosomatic. Doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“You want breakfast?” Macie asks as she pulls out her order pad.
After the first sip of Alka-Seltzer, I clear my throat. “Denver Omelet. Extra—“
“Tabasco. I know.” She reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “One day at a time, Zoe. And maybe…try a night that ends with tea rather than whiskey?”
“Yeah. I know.”
She heads for the kitchen to put my order in, and I sink back against the vinyl. In an hour, I’ll be sitting at my desk, answering tip line calls. Sergeant Perkins won’t let me back in the field until I can pass my psych eval, and after I told the doctor it was like Temple had been possessed, she tried to put me on antipsychotics. And told Perkins I was off balance.
So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.
My phone vibrates in my hip pocket as Macie drops off the omelet.
Unknown number.
I jab the screen and hold the phone away from my ear. Loud noises? Not so good at this point. “Who is this?”
“Detective Dawes? This is Lieutenant Grayson Eve with the San Francisco division of the Bureau of the Occult and the Other.” The official-sounding female voice enunciates each syllable perfectly, but it takes my sluggish brain a moment to process her words.
“The what?”
“The Bureau of the Occult and the Other. We work the cases in the city that fall…outside the purview of civilian law enforcement.”
“Outside?” Shit. I sound like an idiot.
“The paranormal, Detective Dawes. I don’t think I need to explain further, do I?”
Straightening, ignoring the painful twinge in my side, I forget all about the omelet in front of me. “No. Sir. Ma’am. What…um… Why are you calling me?”
“I’ve read through your files.”
“Files? I have…files? From where?” Darting a glance at Macie, I force a smile and wave her off as she starts to approach. Wherever this conversation is going…it needs to be private.
“SFPD, FBI, NSA… Everyone has been watching you for a while now, Dawes.”
“Watching? Shit. I sound like a broken record. I’m sorry, but—“
“But you’re hung over.” The judgement is heavy in her words, and I look around wildly, searching for someone. Anyone who might be showing an unusual interest in me. Spying on me.
“Zoe, you’re highly intelligent, curious, and, dare I say, aggressive. In your time with the SFPD, you’ve pissed off three separate commanders at three separate precincts because you’ve shown them up within six weeks of being assigned to their squads. Your instincts are spot on, and you know—know—without a doubt, that there’s more to this world than what meets the eye. Like the death of your partner. Need I say more?”
“What do you want with me?” I push the omelet away without even touching it, but I’m not hungry. Not now.
“I want you to work for the Bureau of the Occult and the Other. Permanent assignment. It’s already been cleared with your sergeant.”
“I’ve been digging into Temple’s case since I got out of the hospital, and I haven’t gotten anywhere. What do you have?” Hope is a powerful motivator. She’s also cruel and likes to flee as soon as you invite her in. But I grab on and don’t let go.
I need the past three weeks to finally make some sense.
“Temple’s case is…complicated. I can’t let you touch it. But working for us, you’ll finally be able to put your very unique talents to use. One-eleven Cargo Way. Be there in an hour.”
Sin
“You cannot be serious.” Hunger churns in my gut, and every moment I spend staring at Lieutenant Grayson Eve makes it harder to control myself. She slides a file across the desk, and I snatch it from her long fingers.
Zoe Dawes.
SFPD detective, junior grade, and currently riding a desk.
Thirty-four. Human.
The product of a Catholic grammar school, a Jesuit high school, and a private college.
Oh, she’s going to love me.
Turning my attention back to Eve, I arch a brow. “You do realize pairing her with a demon isn’t the best way to introduce her to the Bureau, right? Try one of the mages. Or a shifter.”
“I’m not doing this for her, Sinclair. Your last assignment was a disaster. Hell, it was almost as bad as Tucson, and I won’t save you from yet another raving mob after your head.”
“That was a one-time lapse of judgement.” Running a hand through my black hair, I wonder if I’ll ever live that fiasco down. “If you had not insisted I work seventy-two hours straight, I would have fed on my own, and—“
Grayson rolls her eyes. “Enough with the excuses, Sinclair. I warned you there’d be consequences for your actions. Now, get the fuck out of here. Your new partner will be here at noon, and you might want to take care of your little…problem before then.”
My problem? Fuck. Shoving the commander’s door as hard as I can with my stomach twisting in on itself, I stalk through the bullpen.
&n
bsp; Damn earthquake. Barely a three-point-five, but it was strong enough to cause everyone at Midnight Sin—the nightclub I purchased a decade ago when I moved to San Francisco—to evacuate before I could settle on a snack for the evening.
I catch sight of my reflection in the two-way glass outside Interrogation Room Three and curse again. When I’ve fed, I’m normal enough. But as hungry as I am, I look like a cross between Matt Bomer, Jason Momoa, and Channing Tatum. That is if any of them had irises rimmed with crimson.
Bursting out of headquarters, I turn half a dozen heads—mostly women, but a few men as well—and three of them make a beeline straight for me.
“Are you a movie star?” The meek little mouse who reaches me first doesn’t have enough power in her for a snack, let alone a full meal. But she might be able to take the edge off.
“No,” I purr as I take her arm. “But I’ve often thought I should be. What role would you like me to play?” Steering her towards an alley, I scan the rest of the crowd, ensuring my glamour has taken hold and they see nothing as my tasty treat prattles on about how I’d make the perfect action hero.
“Or you could be a vampire,” she says with a giggle. “And drink my blood. After you...bite me.”
“What’s your name, love?” I have one rule. I refuse to feed from anyone without knowing their name. Well, two rules. No killing. I’m a demon. Not a monster. Not anymore.
She gazes up at me with wide brown eyes. “L-Laura.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Laura.” Choosing the cleanest section of wall in the alley, I cage her, pressing my forearms to the bricks. “May I kiss you?”
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