The Cursed by Blood Saga

by Marianne Morea

  She stumbled out of the elevator and dropped her purse, the sense of foreboding gripping her full force.

  An overweight man in an ugly brown suit looked up from behind half-moon glasses, as he sat at his desk off to the side of the elevators. “May I help you?”

  People milling around turned in her direction, and three sets of eyes, each one more quizzical than the last, inspected Lily as she steadied herself. “Yes,” she said, straightening her jacket. She bent to retrieve her purse. “I’m here to see Chief Phillips. He’s expecting me.”

  The man checked her I.D. and her building pass, then hefted himself out of his seat. “This way, please.”

  He led her down the corridor to an office in the back, sweating and red-faced from the exertion. He knocked on the door, and a muffled, “come in” echoed from the other side of the door.

  “He’s all yours.”

  “Thank you,” Lily said, watching him trundle back to his desk.

  She’d worked many cases for the Chief of Detectives, but had never actually been to his office. So why the invitation now? Her guess, the brass had insisted on it. They wanted to see her pull something out of her hat.

  Without hesitation, she turned the knob and opened the door. The room was large, with black leather and chrome furniture, and a wall of frameless glass windows overlooking the grounds.

  Besides the Chief of Detectives, there were two other men in the room. Talk about home court advantage. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Bring on the rabbits, baby.

  “Lily. Good. Glad you could make it,” Mark Phillips said, coming around the end of his desk to take her hand. “It’s good to see you. I hope you got my note about Terry…I’m so sorry.”

  She shook his hand. “Yes…thanks. It’s good to see you too, Mark.” The minute her fingers clasped his, she knew his words were genuine, and she gave his hand a little squeeze. “So, what’s so important you couldn’t bring me up to speed on the phone?”

  “Please, sit down. Let me introduce you to Detective Sergeant, Michael Shaw and Detective Ryan Martinez. They’ll be working closely with you on this case, should you choose to take it.”

  Lily nodded to each. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Phillips leaned on the front edge of his desk and exhaled. “I’m not really sure where to begin.” He gestured futilely. “We’ve had three separate, multiple homicides in the past month. That’s a lot, even for a city this size. But what’s worse, each one a veritable bloodbath. The first took place about a month ago near the Roosevelt Island Bridge, the next, in Hell’s Kitchen a couple of weeks later, and the latest down on Ninth Avenue in the East Village. All less than savory locations, if you know what I mean. We’re really up against it this time Lily…”

  “What Chief Phillips means, is we are at a dead end.” Detective Sergeant Shaw interrupted. “In each case, we found only D.O.A.s, and the crime scenes didn’t provide much in terms of leads or evidence.”

  Lily didn’t miss the look that passed between Shaw and Martinez. Shaw was a skeptic, and probably had balked at the idea of having to work with her. Well, what else was new?

  That one look told her both detectives had more up their sleeves than they were willing to share. It was rabbit-pulling time, and her magic hat was primed and ready.

  She leaned back and crossed her legs, her elbows on either arm of the chair, and her fingers laced together in front. Detectives were specialized, trained in the art of interpreting body language and reading between the lines. Lily wanted it clear, if unspoken, that she had nothing to fear and nothing to hide.

  “One doesn’t need to be a profiler, gentlemen, to see there’s more here than meets the eye. You’ve gathered hard facts about this difficult case, and as Chief Phillips has explained, you are to be commended. You’re seasoned veterans, and doubtful about me, and what I can bring to the case. That’s understandable. What I do can’t always be quantified. I, myself, don’t always understand how I know what I know.”

  Lily paused, waiting for someone to interject, but no one said a word. The hostility coming from Shaw was palpable, and her earlier suspicions ratcheted up a notch. The man wasn’t just skeptical he would derail her entire role in this case if he got the chance.

  On the other hand, Martinez’s curiosity was piqued. Unlike Shaw, whose body language was closed and defensive, Martinez leaned forward in his chair, his eyes trained exclusively on hers.

  She glanced up at Mark, and at his nod, continued.

  “Regardless of whether you choose to believe it or not, the truth is, I see things, feel things and know things others don’t. It’s called parapsychology, and I understand how hard it is to put faith in anything labeled beyond normal. Profiling goes hand in hand with psychic ability. However, that doesn’t mean I want to be a one-woman show. I want this to be a team effort.”

  Shaw’s face looked as if he’d sucked on a lemon. He cleared his throat, and with a grunt, shifted in his seat. But Phillips was resolute, no matter how much the Detective Sergeant resented the idea. The hierarchy of the police department was a political hornets’ nest, and perhaps that was the reason for his overblown opposition. His authority had been subject, and subsequently overruled.

  “What can we do to help?” Martinez asked, obviously ignoring Shaw’s disapproving cough.

  Lily ignored him, as well. “I’m a purist, as Chief Phillips will attest to, and prefer you not to tell me the specifics. The only thing I need is a jumping-off point. That way, there won’t be a question about what I learn versus what you’ve told me. It’s the way I do things, allowing for us to work together rather than against each other…or God forbid, have the situation become a battle of one-upmanship.”

  Phillips’s face was a full-on smirk. “I see your leave of absence hasn’t tempered you one bit. Good, because we’re going to need every ounce of that infamous tenacity to solve this case.”

  Lily couldn’t help but smile. She should have known Mark would have her back. “Besides having little evidence and only D.O.A.s, was there anything about the crime scene, anything unusual that might give me a place to start?”

  “Take a look for yourself,” Phillips said, gesturing for Martinez to hand over the case file and the Medical Examiner’s report.

  “I thought you just said you didn’t want specifics,” Shaw objected, crossing his arms in a huff.

  Lily shot him a look, taking the file from Martinez’s hand. The detective’s fingers brushed hers in the transfer, and a rush of disjointed images and thoughts spilled into her mind. She sucked in a breath and locked her narrowed gaze on his.

  Phillips pushed himself up from the edge of his desk. “What? What just happened?”

  Lily’s eyes didn’t leave Martinez’s as she answered. “I need to get to the morgue…now.”

  ***

  The elevator doors slid closed, and Martinez pushed the button for the ground floor. He looked straight ahead at nothing, though the weight of Lily’s stare was heavy and intent.

  “How did you know each victim had been drained dry?”

  Martinez’s head whipped around, and his mouth fell open. She couldn’t have stunned him more if she suddenly grew scales and swallowed a live rat. Still, she stood unflinching, with her arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes fixed on his, almost daring him to lie.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Lily exhaled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, and don’t tell me your theory was just an educated guess. You knew. I saw your thoughts,” she said, her finger jabbing the air between them.

  In a heartbeat, she had gone from teamwork cheerleader to a dagger-eyed complainant. He hadn’t said a word to anyone about what he had sensed, and he certainly hadn’t included it in the police report. What was her game?

  His guard way up, Martinez pressed his lips together, collecting himself before he started an all-out war. “First off, don’t point your finger at me. It’s rude, and I don’t appreciate it. Se
condly, lose the accusatory attitude or this conversation is over. Shaw may doubt your specialized set of talents, but that doesn’t mean I share his skepticism. I asked what I could do to help. Remember? He’s the one who wanted to keep things hush-hush until he was satisfied you weren’t some kind of a kook. I’ll be the first to admit there’s more to this than what we’re seeing, so why don’t you just back the hell off?”

  Now it was his turn to stare her down. Angry, he shrugged into his overcoat, stretching out the tension in his shoulders and neck. Neither said a word as the elevator opened onto the main lobby.

  He never lost his cool, not even when he dealt with the rat squad over at Internal Affairs. So why was he allowing this woman to get under his skin? The chief wanted them to work together, so he’d play nice with the psychic, even if it meant biting his tongue until he tasted blood.

  “Since I’ve been appointed the designated driver, I suggest we take one car. Traffic is a mess down here no matter what time of day, and parking is bound to be an issue. My car is in the municipal lot next door, unless you’d prefer to follow me over. The D.O.A.s for this case are being held at the morgue at Bellevue Hospital.”

  Lily shook her head. “No, it’ll be easier if I go with you than take my own car. I can always catch a cab home from there if we’re not needed back this way. If you’ll excuse me, I just need to make a quick call.” She walked away, already scrolling through the numbers on her cell phone before Martinez could object.

  He watched her expression change from resolute, to irritated, to sarcastic and back again, before she hung up and walked back toward him. Great. She was a veritable mood swing acrobat. Did Phillips say psychic or psycho? Play nice…you said you’d play nice.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  The two walked in silence across the frozen sidewalk, taking the outside elevator to the second level of the parking garage.

  Rows of patrol cars and other official vehicles were parked on a diagonal across from the elevators. “This way,” Martinez said, gesturing toward the far corner, and the jet-black Chevy Camaro parked along the wall. A telltale chirp echoed through the concrete parking structure as he unlocked the doors. “Get in.”

  Lily buckled her seatbelt as he put the car in gear and backed out of the space. “I’m sorry, Detective. I apologize for being so abrupt. It’s just, images come unbidden sometimes, and when you handed me the file…”

  She stopped, and Martinez glanced over to her in the passenger seat.

  “It’s okay—I get it. And it’s Ryan.”

  “Ryan?”

  “My first name. When we’re alone, we can forego departmental formalities, since you’re not exactly personnel,” he said, as they headed down the exit ramp and out of the parking garage.

  “All right. Will you answer my question then, Ryan? How did you know about the victims?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea how I know what I know,” he said, leaning over the steering wheel, watching for an opportunity to merge into traffic.

  Lily raised an eyebrow. “None?”

  “Nope. I just know. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Maybe that means I’m a bit of a psychic too,” he answered, pulling out into the street.

  Her expression soured again. “Detective Sergeant Shaw will be so impressed. I’ll have to remember to put in a good word for you with special services.”

  “Are you always this pleasant to work with, or is it just me?”

  Lily exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this prickly. It’s just I don’t appreciate having to work against a stacked deck. Phillips’s word should have been enough, if you know what I mean.” She paused. “It’s hard enough doing what I do without having to deal with attitude, as well as red tape.”

  He smiled. “Understood. But let’s remember who’s on which team, okay? That way we keep friendly fire to a minimum. This case has thrown everyone for a loop, and I for one hope you’re able to shed some light on what’s happened. You talked about needing a jumping off point. We have dead bodies and a cold crime scene. That’s it. Anything you can give us—location, descriptions of faces, vehicles, anything— it would help a lot.”

  “I’ll certainly do what I can.”

  Martinez glanced at the petite honey blonde in his passenger seat, watching again as her face showed everything. For a psychic and a NYPD profiler, she certainly wore her emotions on her sleeve. Not that it mattered much.

  The buzz around the department said she was formidable, and not just on the paranormal side. She had the reputation for being deadly. A triple threat: Smart, beautiful and as good with a gun as she was with the weird shit nobody wanted to touch.

  He inhaled. God she smelled good.

  “Have you always been psychic?”

  “No. I woke up one morning after my parents died and voilà. People said my ability was a gift that God had given me, a way to still talk to them. But I never could. My talents never ran as far as that until recently.”

  He looked directly at her. “What do you mean? Like channeling the dead?”

  “Yes and no. I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened to my partner. She was killed quite suddenly, and for a little while, I was able to see and talk to her.”

  “No shit! What about now?”

  “No. She moved on, went into the light, or wherever it is spirits go. Since then, nothing. Not that I’m upset about it or anything. The last thing I need is for my life to turn into the movie Ghost Town.”

  “Sounds like it could be pretty cool. Talking to stiffs would certainly make my job a lot easier.”

  Lily smirked. “Yeah. Try living it sometime.”

  Martinez chuckled, pulling the car up to a red light. He glanced sideways, but rather than finding the amused sarcasm he expected, Lily’s expression was pensive, and he wondered what shadows stirred behind her beautiful eyes.

  “I just get impressions, you know, strange smells and such. I hear things too, faint sound too low for most people to perceive. But even that small hint of the unusual has more than a few people freaked out, and believe me, I’ve caught flack about it,” he added, pressing a bit.

  He watched her face, surprised at the empathy he saw there. So the hard-ass paranormal investigator understood what it felt like to wear a label. No big surprise there, all things considered.

  “So, Phillips mentioned you’re pretty handy with a gun.”

  “And reading between the lines. I’d bet you’re dying to ask why and how, right?”

  “Very perceptive. But since you brought it up…” he chuckled. “Your level of skill isn’t exactly commonplace, especially for a woman, not unless you’re a covert Special Ops Agent.”

  She smiled. “No, nothing as glamorous as that. My parents died when I was ten. After that, my best friend’s family took me in and raised me. My foster dad was a real outdoorsman. Hunting, fishing, camping, you name it—and the rougher the conditions, the better. He was the original Survivorman.

  “He believed girls should know how to protect themselves, but Terry—she wasn’t really into the whole Annie Oakley thing. I loved it, though. He taught me how to shoot—guns, rifles, bows and arrows—the crossbow was a favorite of his. And he taught me to be wicked-quick with a hunting knife, too.”

  Ryan caught himself staring at her, watching her mouth as she spoke. It was warm in the car, and she had unbuttoned her coat. His gaze traveled from her face and the curve of her jaw, down to where her cleavage peeked out from beneath the décolleté of her blouse. Her chest rose with each breath, her full breasts unconsciously pushing against the thin fabric. From nowhere, his fingers itched to sample the creamy silk of her skin, and an image of her straddling him, her back arched and breasts heaving flashed into his mind. He felt himself grow hard. He blinked, giving his head a hard shake. What the fuck…

  “You okay?” Lily reached out, touching his forearm.

  His cock jerked at the feel of her soft fingers, and heat rushed into
his groin. An almost uncontrollable urge to grab her and force her into the backseat, to take her, violently, with or without consent washed over him. He yanked his arm away, causing the car to swerve in traffic to the blare of car horns and expletives from other drivers.

  “Stay out of my head, Saburi. You were brought in to investigate the stiffs, not me.” A fine sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead. Never had he felt such a callous rush where women were concerned.

  Lily pressed her lips together. “Saburi? What happened to first name basis? I thought we were on the same page here. And just for the record, I don’t trespass in people’s minds just for the hell of it. You looked freaked out for a second, that’s all.”

  “I’m fine.” His words were clipped and tight, and he ran the back of his hand across his forehead, as much to clear his internal tension as clear away his sweat. She unnerved him, and for more reasons than he cared to admit. Thank God, irritation had trumped her powers of perception for the moment, and she sat with her arms crossed, waiting for him to answer. He took a deep breath, but kept his eyes trained on the traffic. “We are on the same page. However, if you want us to stay that way, I suggest you keep those antennae of yours pointed away from me.”

  A confused frown spread across Lily’s brow. “Have it your way…” She stopped and looked over at him. Ryan tensed. If she got even a sniff of his little fantasy, it was game over.

  Pokerfaced, he turned to meet her gaze.

  “Detective, whatever it was you sensed, you’re going to have to share it with me at some point,” she said softly.

  Again, her expression didn’t match what he expected, and it wasn’t lost on him that she’d caught herself, dialing it down on the boss lady bit. She acted as if this was routine, same shit different day, but maybe it wasn’t, and her over the top attitude was just a cover. He unclenched his jaw and exhaled quietly. Either way, it didn’t matter. He was here to observe and to make sure she played by the rules.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I get touchy when it comes to talking about things I sense on the job. I’m sure you can understand why.”