Spirelli Paranormal Investigations Box Set 2

by Kate Baray

  “So how does that work?”

  “How should I know?”

  “No super-secret dragon knowledge about blood sacrifices? Or what about Ewan? Is he ever going to get back to us on the death magic aspect?”

  “When he has something, he’ll let us know.”

  Jack’s phone chirped with a text alert. “Can you get that?”

  Marin entered his passcode—a code he’d never given her—and tapped the screen. “Chris is sending a background for each of the victims and a summary of some interesting financial data on the church. Give me a sec, and I’ll pull it up on my laptop. On the hotspot I only use for work. That I pay for myself.”

  Jack mentally added cell and hotspot reimbursement to the offer he had prepared.

  A few minutes later, Marin whistled. “The Church of the Book is loaded.”

  “Albright must have propped them up. A small church in an area with a dwindling population that’s been decimated by drought—how else does a tiny church have full coffers?”

  “Wrong. I’ve got a list here of donors that boggles the mind. Albright, the sheriff, a deputy—no, two deputies—a county judge, and a few connected politicians who aren’t local to the area. And those are just the high rollers.”

  Jack felt a pulsing throb in his temple. “The nasty stench of that cover-up you suspected is growing stronger. How do you think Harrington would feel about a cross-county cover-up if all this goes sideways?”

  “Pissy.”

  Jack swallowed a laugh. Pissy wasn’t a word that came to mind when he thought of Harrington.

  “Given our track record, we might just see.”

  “Yeah, about that—maybe let’s minimize the damage?”

  “I’m wounded. I always do my best.”

  Marin declined to respond and turned the music back up.

  So things occasionally blew up. And he got shot at pretty regularly. And there was that time he was possessed. Jack figured a cleanup call to Harrington almost definitely loomed in his future.

  Jack turned off the main drag to one of the few side streets located in downtown Lorietta. “Hard to get lost.”

  “Forget that. With a population of around five thousand, it’s hard to imagine so may big-fish donors in the area, especially given the recent economic climate.” Marin pointed. “Up there on the right. You see it?”

  “Uh…” He didn’t see it, unless the Church of the Book was masquerading as an old metal building. It looked more like a warehouse than a church. Then he saw the sign with clear block letters reading “Church of the Book.” The sign was old and faded, and, much like the building, gave an impression of limited funds and a long history.

  “Not spending their cash on rent.”

  “No.” Jack pulled into the gravel lot and parked in the shade under a massive live oak. No other cars were in the lot. Unless church employees parked elsewhere—assuming the church was even big enough to have any—the building appeared unoccupied.

  As he approached the metal building, he realized why the place had such a familiar feel. It looked like any other small-town community center in any other underpopulated Central Texas town. “If the appearance is anything to go by, I doubt the building’s occupied except for services.”

  As they reached the door, Marin pointed to the small placard with the church’s hours listed. Two services on Sunday and an evening service on Wednesdays. They might be out of luck to meet the minister or staff, since it was a Tuesday.

  “Three services for a small church that gives the appearance of being underfunded and serves a town of five thousand?” Jack asked.

  “Don’t forget the other two locations. The same pastor serves all three churches.” She turned to try the door then glanced back at Jack when it swung open. “Maybe someone’s cleaning?”

  Jack paused at the threshold, then whispered, “We’re thinking about moving to the area.”

  “Sure, honeybunch.”

  Jack nodded, and Marin opened the door wide.

  The temperature difference as he crossed the threshold made him pause. Old metal buildings were notorious for having poor insulation and being a bitch to keep comfortable, and yet the interior of the building was cool and dry. And on a day with no services, and not one car in the church’s lot.

  He paused at the entrance, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. By the time he could see well enough to differentiate large shapes, a man had spotted them and was approaching. Maybe letting the dragon with preternaturally keen eyesight go first wouldn’t hurt.

  “Hello. Welcome to the Church of the Book. How can I help you?” A man in pressed khakis and a polo shirt stood smiling at them. His medium brown hair was close-cropped and his smile automatic.

  Jack extended his hand. “I’m Jack and this is my girlfriend Mary. We’re looking at moving in the next few months. You know, get out of the city, away from the high property taxes and the traffic. We saw the sign and figured if anyone was in…”

  As Jack spoke, the man shook his hand firmly and then turned to Marin. She smiled in greeting, but didn’t offer her hand.

  “Yes, of course. I’m Pastor Rick, and I’m happy to help if I can. What questions do you have?”

  “I guess…what’s it like to live here?” Jack took a casual step closer to Marin, putting her at girlfriend rather than colleague distance.

  “It’s quieter than Austin, certainly. We’ve got a mix of farmers and ranchers. Can I ask what you do?”

  “Oh, sure. I’m a writer. Living in the country, writing on the porch…” Jack shrugged. “It’s always been a dream of mine.”

  “And I do medical transcription, so I can really work anywhere.” Marin had pitched her voice higher, and she sounded so unlike herself that Jack had to stop himself from doing a double take.

  “Well, you won’t want to be too far out of town so your internet service is more reliable. I know of a few houses that might fit the bill. Are you looking to buy or rent?”

  “It really depends on what’s available.” Jack looked around the room, at the neatly lined up chairs and the altar. “Do you get a good turnout for services?”

  “We do. I’m fortunate that Lorietta’s residents are a devout group.”

  Jack paused, waiting for an invitation to join the service scheduled for the following day. When none was issued, he said, “So are you from here originally?”

  “No, Dallas, but I’ve lived here for several years.”

  “Basically a local, right?” Jack gave him a genial smile. “Do you live here in town? Or out in the country?”

  “A little out of town.”

  Marin leaned closer to Jack and bumped against him affectionately. “That’s what I think we should do, but Jack would rather be directly in town.”

  “Well, if you don’t have any other questions…” Pastor Rick looked in the direction of the door.

  “Right, we need to get going.” Jack turned to the door, then paused and said, “One last question: if you were looking to move out of Austin, would you settle in Lorietta?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you, Pastor Rick. We appreciate your time.” Jack reached out and shook the man’s hand again.

  “Good luck to you both.”

  Jack and Marin exited the church in silence, and only when they’d both settled into the Range Rover did Marin comment. “That was weird as hell.”

  “Damn right it was. Sure—move to our town, but don’t come to our church services. No invitation to Wednesday’s service, no tour, and no questions about our own religious beliefs. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a church, but that should be standard. He’s a man of God; you’d think he’d express some interest in our beliefs after we walked into his church.”

  “Yeah. And I agree, if something shady is happening in Lorietta or with the church, you’d think he’d have warned us off the town. Turn right.” Marin pointed at the exit. “We can see if our pastor might be parked in the street.”

  �
��And I want to circle through the main square then get a room at that sketchy motel we passed on the way into town.”

  “Don’t suppose I have a choice.”

  “Not really. What, don’t tell me you have plans?”

  “Apparently I have plans for a midnight break-in,” Marin said. “No wards that I could detect, but they could very well be arming them when no one is there.”

  Jack scrubbed his jaw. “We haven’t encountered anyone with magic yet. I’m betting no wards. Old-fashioned security, maybe, but no magic. This entire case has a very mundane feel.”

  “Except for the stench of death magic all over the bookshop, I’d agree. I don’t really understand how these people got mixed up with death magic. Any hint of death magic unleashes the wrath of the entire magical community.”

  Jack coughed back a laugh. “We’re in Central Texas—what magical community? The Lycan? They have their own problems, and this wouldn’t appear on their radar. The Coven of Light? Hell, they’d join in.”

  “No, not the Coven. I mean, yes, they would join in—I think we know how enamored of death magic they are—but there’s no indication of their involvement. And what’s with the players? A judge, cops, a council member, the large geographic spread…it’s all so improbable without some larger context.”

  “If the church is involved—and my money’s on them being ass-deep—then that’s the nexus. And what do all of the contributors have in common?”

  “Wealth, power, influence.” Marin buckled her seatbelt. “Cop up ahead. Pretend like you know how to drive and where you’re going.”

  Jack drove exactly the speed limit as he passed the small police station with a single cruiser parked out front. Could the entire town be involved? If the minister of the Church of the Book was a key player, then what were the broader implications?

  The sensation of being watched, like a bug under a magnifying glass, made him glance around the empty streets. Suddenly, this typical Central Texas small town felt like the setting of a horror flick—eerily empty and suspiciously run-down.

  A few minutes later, when they were about halfway to the motel, Marin said, “Don’t make a fuss, but I think we’re being followed. The car behind has made the last three turns with us.”

  That might explain the uneasy sensation he’d been feeling since they’d left Lorietta. Unfortunately, there was a long stretch of road ahead with no turnoffs. He kept traveling, the same speed and without obviously checking his rearview mirror, until they reached the motel. He verified the dark blue sedan was still behind him, and then kept driving past the motel. “How far to the interstate from here?”

  Marin pulled her phone out and fiddled with her navigation. “About three miles.”

  Jack had only gone another mile when the old blue sedan sped up and passed them. He took his foot off the gas, and watched as the car sped past.

  “I hate to sound overcautious, but maybe skip the motel?” Marin scanned the area.

  The Range Rover was hardly inconspicuous, and even less so in a dive motel parking lot. “We’ll camp out at the shop. Between your place, my place, and The Junk Shop, it’s the shortest drive to the church.”

  “You’re sure that’s still a good plan? If they were following us—”

  “Right, I get it. Pastor Rick sent them. Let’s say you’re right? Getting out of Lorietta isn’t a bad idea. And we’ll just return…cautiously.”

  He pulled out in the road, ignoring Marin’s mumbled reply. “Cautiously my ass.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jack set his alarm for eleven that evening, just in case he fell asleep and Marin didn’t keep a close eye on the time. Hitting the church somewhere between midnight and one seemed like a good idea. No neighborhood dogs abutting the church property, poor street lighting, no neighborhood watch signs, and a tiny police presence all combined to make their break-in job easier.

  Marin poked her head into the room. “I’m going to sort through those last few boxes of inventory before we have to leave again.”

  “The junk I picked up after that big garage sale in the ’burbs shut down? I thought you finished that stuff already.”

  Marin gave him a narrow-eyed look but didn’t respond before she left.

  Oh, yeah. He’d mentioned helping with stocking and pricing when he’d unloaded them a few days ago. And then forgot. Since Marin was still an employee—for now—she could suck it up.

  He cleared some paperwork, some miscellaneous junk, and an old blanket off his couch. When he lifted the blanket, he found Bob curled up snugly under it. Bob cracked one eye open then the other.

  “Mind to share, buddy?”

  The little guy stood up and yawned, stretched, and then moved to the end of the sofa.

  Jack still found it unnerving that Bob looked so much like a corkscrew-tailed Labrador puppy, and yet he understood more of the events around him than many people Jack knew. “And why do they call you guys lucky hedgehogs? You and your buddy Nelson don’t look anything like hedgehogs.”

  Jack thought he saw a hint of a smile on Bob’s canine-like snout. Unfortunately, without Marin, he couldn’t communicate with Bob. Except for that one time, but that had been a one-off, and had happened right after he and Joshua had done their energy-essence merging thing.

  Jack slipped his shoes off. “Watch the feet, little guy.”

  Bob scooted further toward the corner of the couch and closed his eyes.

  He was such an agreeable guy. If Jack could find a roommate for the house that was half as helpful… He stretched out and fell asleep.

  A nudge against his side. A nibble on his fingers. Wakeupwakeupwakeup. A tickle at the back of his neck. Watched. Watching. Someone watched.

  Teeth scraped sharply against his knuckles.

  “Ow.” Jack jerked upright as Bob disappeared. “What the—”

  Hands jerked his shoulders, his ankles. He tumbled to the floor.

  His right hip throbbed.

  His gun. He reached for his ankle holster…too slow. Pain exploded in his shoulders.

  Arms twisted high above his head, he looked but couldn’t see Marin.

  Another jerk. This time his ankles. The muscles in his legs strained.

  His head thumped against the concrete floor.

  He needed to get up; he couldn’t. Large hands pulled, yanking—across carpet, concrete. Concrete abraded his jaw, his cheek, the back of his head.

  The pressure on his joints released. His numb hands and useless legs dropped to the floor.

  A ripping sound—duct tape—and his ankles were bound. He struggled—tried to struggle—but a man slammed his head against the floor.

  He tried to roll, push away—anything. Wrists taped, feet taped—he couldn’t move.

  Every fiber said fight… his body wouldn’t move.

  Acrid, choking. Smoke.

  Marin…

  Stinging eyes. More smoke.

  Where was Marin?

  One man at his feet, another at his shoulders. Joints strained, he swayed in the air, floated.

  Jack swallowed back bile. The smoke. What was with the smoke?

  A last glimpse of the store—one corner charred. No flames. Only smoke.

  Where was Marin?

  His shoulders fell; blood rushed to his head. His vision narrowed…

  The floor vibrated. Jack’s eyes watered when the floor lurched. The sudden, sharp pain in his head brought him back to the present. He was in a car, in a trunk. The same damn blue sedan that had followed he and Marin earlier, if he had to guess.

  No telling how long he’d been out. He lifted his taped hands to his head. Some of the blood was dry—so a while.

  Marin.

  Shit. What had happened to her?

  Hell, he didn’t have time to worry about her. He had to save his own ass. He rolled to face the taillights. Too late he remembered his bruised hip, and a grunt of pain escaped. He lay still, waiting for some sign his attackers had heard him. But the car continued on at the
same speed.

  He tried again, this time steeling himself for the wave of pain. Cold sweat coated his body as his head thumped painfully in time with his pulse. He would not puke in the trunk of a car. No. Just—no.

  When he’d caught his breath, he felt for the release latch. With any luck, the assholes who grabbed him hadn’t thought to disable it. With each twisting effort, his head thudded. The constant reminder that he was concussed wasn’t doing much for his patience. He fumbled a third time but couldn’t find a release.

  Shit. It was that old damned sedan—no emergency release.

  And breaking out the taillights would only alert his captors that he’d awakened without improving his chances of popping open the trunk.

  He rubbed his ankle against the bottom of the trunk. And they’d taken his gun. Not surprising, but it pissed him off anyway.

  He inched his body away from the rear of the trunk to give himself some maneuvering room, then lifted his hands to his mouth. With enough time, he could get the tape off and at least come out of the trunk fighting. Just because they wanted him alive now, didn’t mean they intended to keep him that way.

  He’d worried about a quarter-inch tear in the tape around his hands when the car decelerated. It felt like they were exiting a highway or interstate. Jack focused all of his energy on the duct tape. If they arrived before he freed his hands and feet, he’d be helpless. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head that said they’d be armed, and, bound or not, he was screwed. But that little voice wasn’t any damn help. None at all.

  Half an inch. Just a little more time—

  The car slowed and turned, the crunch of gravel under the tires giving away their location: the Church of the Book parking lot. Jack would bet cash on it.

  The car rolled to a stop.

  Chapter Eight

  Jack calmed his breathing, pushed away the pain, and readied himself for a final effort.