Inked Magic

by Jory Strong

  It didn’t change anything. For all she knew, it might be a lie.

  “Etaín, can I call you that?” He didn’t wait for an answer but continued on. “I’m Detective Lee. My partner is Detective Corwin. Why don’t we try to start over? Take this from the top?”

  He pulled a photograph from a folder on the table in front of him, turning it and placing it so she could see it. Not one of the dead, or even a picture taken at a crime scene, but her on the Harley, taken as she followed Cathal through the gate of his uncle’s estate.

  Lee used a red marker to circle the sketch pad bungeed in place on the saddle. He pulled a second photo from the folder. It was date and time stamped on the bottom right, same as on the first one, only taken this morning instead of yesterday.

  He circled the pad and she knew what came next. A departure shot, and this time a red circle with only the bike showing because the box of pencils was in the saddlebag.

  Seeing the date and time-stamped photographs deepened the pain, spreading the ache of suspicion to encompass Parker, and the possibility he’d made her bait for the Harlequin Rapist. “Why do you have these pictures? Where did you get them?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. That’s not important.” Lee’s expression radiated compassion and concern. He tapped the circle empty of the sketchpad. “Save yourself from being charged as an accessory to murder, Etaín. However you got dragged into this, I believe you went in thinking you were doing a good thing. Now do the right thing. Tell us about the drawings you did for the Dunnes.”

  Corwin leaned forward, hot breath in her face as he said, “And before you waste your time and ours by coming up with a load of bullshit, I’ll tell you that we already know. This is vigilante justice for what was done to Brianna Dunne and Caitlyn Llewellyn.”

  The outburst gained him a frown from Lee. But nothing of what either detective said changed her intentions. Ignorance was deadly, and she now knew enough. “I’d like to go home.”

  “Not going to happen,” Corwin said, angry satisfaction in his voice.

  She forced her arms away from her chest, rubbed damp palms against her jeans before balling her hands into fists beneath the table. Why hadn’t Eamon intervened by now?

  The sense of betrayal she felt expanded beyond Cathal and Parker and the captain to include Eamon as she remembered what he’d said outside the bar, and thought he held off, teaching her a lesson, demonstrating how much she needed him if she was going to survive her gift and the magic it was tied to.

  She spoke to Lee because he was the more reasonable, or at least playing the good cop role. “If I’m not free to leave then I want a lawyer.”

  His eyes filled with what looked like genuine regret. “I’m sorry to hear that. It tells me you’re guilty and you know you’re going to go down for accessory to murder. But if that’s the way you want to play this . . .”

  She didn’t fall for the ploy. If something good still remained of the years she’d lived in the captain’s house, believing he was her father, it came from the times she and Parker had avidly listened to stories of arrests he’d made and confessions he’d gained.

  Cops didn’t have to tell the truth. They could lie to get a confession, even use manufactured evidence as a prop. And beyond that, no DA would risk the public black eye that would come from filing charges against her when there was nothing to substantiate them.

  “If I’m not free to leave then I want a lawyer,” she repeated.

  Corwin and Lee left without speaking again or gathering the photographs, the door closed and locked behind them.

  Twenty-six

  Strains of an Irish dirge filled the room. Somber and desolate, like a banshee’s wail in the fog. A soulful lament about love and loss.

  Brianna grieved.

  For her friend. For herself maybe.

  Denis didn’t know what she’d remembered since those moments in her bedroom. He didn’t ask. Hopefully those memories were wiped clean, the same way four of the five boys were now erased, though missing the last one, Mason, left a bad taste in his mouth.

  He lifted the glass in his hand and took a swallow, washing the temporary failure away with whiskey.

  The fifth one could wait, at least for a little while. None of Etaín’s pictures showed him touching Brianna.

  Denis took another swallow, thoughts lingering on Etaín and bringing with them a feeling of gratitude. What she’d done for his daughter was a miracle. A spooky, creepy one he didn’t intend to dwell on, but a miracle all the same.

  Deep down he hadn’t thought he’d ever get Brianna back. He’d wondered if one day her torment would demand a different act.

  His faith told him suicide was a sin. He didn’t know if he believed that, but when it came to Brianna, he’d hedge the bet in her favor.

  He wasn’t a man who’d lock his daughter away in a crazy bin, no matter how exclusive, and leave her to the mercy of others.

  He had blood on his hands. It’d been there since he was Brianna’s age. One more death, this one done with compassion and love—

  Denis shook off the dark thoughts. No need to go there now, thanks to Etaín.

  He closed his eyes, letting the music wash into him like a cold tide along a desolate stretch of shore.

  Brianna had done this after Margo’s death.

  She’d done this after Brian’s.

  Playing the piano for hours on end, drawing him from the isolation of his own grief so they shared it.

  He’d sat with her, both of them finding solace in the music.

  This was how Brianna dealt with her pain.

  Better that she let it go this way.

  Eventually happier songs would work their way in. When that happened, he’d know it was okay to let her go back to her everyday routine. Until then he’d keep her protected, cocooned and safe from anything that might set her back.

  Like the boy’s death. The one she believed herself in love with.

  The thought of her crying over him made Denis’s hand tighten on the glass. The news of the murders would die down quickly. It always did. But tomorrow he’d start making arrangements for a vacation. No cell phone. No computer. He’d get Brianna out of the country for a while, occupy her with the things she loved.

  The notes faded but rather than sliding immediately into a new song, Brianna said, “Hi, Uncle Niall.”

  Denis opened his eyes to see his brother lean down and give Brianna a hug. “Beautiful as always, Brianna. Can I take your dad away for a few minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave the top of her head a kiss before they retreated to the office.

  “The police have Etaín,” Niall said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on the desk. “I just got word they took her from her apartment.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “The Hall of Justice.”

  “One of the boys wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He must have spooked and gone to the police figuring jail time was better than grave time.”

  “What he says will get them looking, but without the pictures there’s nothing solid. It’s her testimony they’ll build their case on. It’d be golden considering who her father and brother are, and the work she’s done for them.”

  Denis shrugged. “If she cooperates, she’s dead.”

  “There’s more,” Niall said. “The guy who called said he thinks ATF and FBI agents are in the queue to talk to her.”

  “Looking into whether or not she’s got enough of a connection with Cathal to plant her in exchange for immunity and protection?”

  “That’d be my take on it.” Niall took a sip from his glass. “Cathal will have heard about the boys by now. It’s all over the news. He’ll know he needs to be careful about what he says in front of her in case she’s got ears on her.”

  “Assuming he’s not thinking with his dick when he’s with her.” Denis poured more whiskey into the glass. “I shouldn’t have rushed this. I should have spread it out.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t blame you for handling it like you did.”

  They drank in silence, each of them contemplating options. Each of them knowing with a call it could all be made to go away.

  “What do you want to do about this?” Niall finally asked.

  Denis tried, but he couldn’t shake the gratitude he felt toward Etaín. She deserved the benefit of the doubt for what she’d done for Brianna.

  “I say let it ride for now. I wouldn’t mind having Etaín in the family if it turns out Cathal wants her enough to marry her. Let’s see what she does, where her loyalties lie and if she can be trusted not to betray us. Worst case, Homeland Security gains more leverage and wants us to branch out to accommodate their interests. We serve their purposes. They clean up this mess for us, including Etaín if it needs doing.”

  “Fair enough. What Homeland Security wants will trump what all the others want.”

  The walls continued closing in on Etaín, the room shrinking so it was difficult for her to breathe. Chills swept over her skin, the only warning she got before the mental barrier ruptured and her reality drowned under Brianna’s again.

  “Beer? Rum and Coke?”

  She didn’t want Adam to be embarrassed hanging out with her. “Beer.”

  “Just Coke,” Caitlyn said.

  “One beer, one Coke coming up.”

  He disappeared along with Adam and the boy named Mason. When they came back, everybody sat on the couch, listening to tunes.

  Heaven. It felt like heaven to be sitting next to Adam.

  Slow dancing felt even better. She didn’t protest when Adam started touching her. Little sparks of fire burned in her breasts and between her legs even though a part of her said she should make him stop, or at least make him take her somewhere private.

  She wanted to be with him. She wanted him to be her first. But not like this.

  “Finish your beer,” he told her in between kisses. His lips were incredibly soft.

  She finished it, the bottle falling out of her hand and onto the carpet. She wanted to fall, too.

  Another beer was pressed into her hand. She watched it lift, a hand covering her hand and couldn’t seem to make herself resist, even when she realized it was Carter’s hand instead of Adam’s.

  Confusion filled her. When had she stopped dancing with Adam?

  She opened her mouth to say she didn’t want more beer but ended up swallowing it instead. She couldn’t help herself.

  And then Carter was leading her to a bedroom. A scream welled up inside her at seeing Caitlyn naked on the bed with Jordão on top of her. This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Carter pushed her down on the bed next to Caitlyn. She tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But it was.

  Jordão rolled off Caitlyn and Mason got on top of her. She felt her clothes being removed and tried to protest. She thought she said no, even when she saw it was Adam above her, but she couldn’t be sure.

  It hurt. Inside and outside.

  And when he was done, Carter was there. Then Owen.

  She went away in her head and came back—

  Rough hands shook her, then jerked her into a sitting position. Etaín’s eyes snapped open.

  It took long moments for the drugged haze of Brianna’s memory to recede. It took all the mental strength she possessed to flatten that separate reality into imaginary words in a book about someone else’s life.

  Two strangers were in the room with her. A man and a woman. Feds this time. She recognized the stamp on them.

  They took the seats vacated by Lee and Corwin, the woman turning the photographs facedown, the man saying, “I’m Zimmerman, she’s Rachlin. FBI and ATF respectively. We can make this problem go away for you, guaranteed immunity. We know you’re not a killer. You have a record of helping put the bad guys away. All we want is your cooperation in sending the Dunnes where they belong, to prison. They’re organized crime. Parasites living off the pain and suffering of others.”

  He tapped the back of one of the photographs. “They screwed up here. Understandable given what happened to Brianna Dunne and her friend. There was a fifth boy involved, but then you know that already. His parents couldn’t get him here fast enough when he spilled his guts after finding out his buddies were dead.”

  Zimmerman sighed and glanced at Rachlin. “I give him less than a fifty percent chance of surviving, even if he’s segregated from the regular prison population. The Dunnes will get to him. I give her zero percent. You agree with those odds?”

  The ATF agent nodded. “Sounds about right to me. She helped them, but she’s still a loose end they’re going to need to take care of.”

  “Unless they think she’s going to be joining the family,” Zimmerman said. “That might get her a stay of execution.”

  Rachlin frowned, pretending to study her. “She’d have to be a damn good actress to keep sleeping with Cathal now that she knows what he is.”

  “Yeah, but if she wants to work that angle in exchange for immunity. . . .”

  Etaín saw where this was going. She shivered, aware of how her shirt clung to her, wet with sweat and stinking of fear. “What I want is to go home. Now. And if that’s not going to happen then I want a phone call and a lawyer.”

  “Bad choice,” Zimmerman said, standing. “Last time I checked, the phones were all in use and this room needed to be vacated. I’m sure there’s a cell free somewhere in the building. We can stash you there to wait for a chance at the phones.”

  A hard tremor went through her. There was no preventing it. But anger came to her defense, that Parker or the captain had told them how she’d once been reduced to begging and crying, to pounding on the walls and, finally, curling into a fetal ball beneath the bed.

  “Sure you don’t want to talk to us?” Zimmerman asked.

  “Positive.” She let them hear the angry determination she felt.

  They moved to the door. Zimmerman opened it and left.

  Rachlin paused and turned, false sympathy on her face. “We’re the best chance you have of surviving this. Cathal used you. Here’s your chance to pay him back for it. The Dunnes are cold-blooded killers. Don’t wait too long to reach out for our help.”

  The ATF agent left, closing the door behind her, the lock clicking firmly into place.

  Etaín stood and paced the square of the room, using movement and anger to keep the mental barriers in place. Counting each step as a way to block any other thought.

  When the door opened next, Parker was there. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Fear dumped into her, overwhelming the pain and anger. “Where?”

  “Your place. Mine. I’ll give you a lift wherever you want to go.”

  Relief made her shaky. It suppressed all other emotion until they were driving away from the building. Then the anger returned, washing into her with the pain.

  His appearance wasn’t a coincidence. He was probably meant to gain her confidence.

  Fists slammed on the steering wheel, making her jump. “Christ, Etaín! Why the fuck did you get involved with the Dunnes?”

  She fought back instinctively. “What’s it to you? Afraid they’ll kill me before you’re finished using me as bait for the Harlequin Rapist?”

  The car jerked to the right and came to a jolting stop along the curb. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  His fury engulfed her, beating back some of her own, though not all of it. “They had pictures of me going through the gate at Denis’s house.”

  “Duh. That’s because the fucking Dunnes have been under investigation for years. Christ, Etaín. If you let them pull you into their world—”

  His jaw clamped on whatever he intended to say. He reached into his pocket and tossed her cell phone into her lap.

  She stilled, knowing it had been in the jacket she’d slung over a chair when she’d first entered her apartment. Had he been there all along? Tucked away in a dark sedan as they manhandled her into the back of the police cruiser?

  Had he been
watching a video feed of her in the small interrogation room? Advising them when to approach her. Finally suggesting they cut her loose for a little while and let him work a different angle.

  She didn’t ask him. Ignorance might be deadly but it could also be aless painful, and the evidence she held was already enough to convict him.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face then attacked. “Goddamn it, Etaín. Why can’t you just fucking toe the line like the rest of us do?”

  The familiarity of the words didn’t lessen their impact. The refrain with its message of denied acceptance only caused the ache in her chest to grow so it equaled the anger.

  “Maybe because I’m not a Chevenier. Not even a pretend one.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re my sister despite some fuck-all paternity test.” Parker slammed his hands on the steering wheel again. “This stunt is going to get you killed if you don’t cooperate. Tell me what happened with the Dunnes.”

  His outburst should have made her heart sing. Instead his pressing her to confide right after claiming she was family only deepened her suspicions.

  But if he wanted to know what had happened with the Dunnes, she wanted it more, for a different reason. She’d let Cathal get too close and now she needed the truth, so she could put him behind her.

  “Just drop me off at Saoirse.”

  “Goddamn, Etaín. If you go to the Dunnes now I’ll—”

  “What? Stop calling me? Oh, that’s right, we only see each other when a case warrants it.”

  Exposing the vulnerability, that it bothered her to be called only when he needed her to touch a victim, pissed her off. She reached for the door handle. “You know what, Parker, forget the ride. I’ll call a cab.”

  She was out of the car before he could stop her. And then he was out, standing next to the driver’s side. “You can’t fucking run away this time, Etaín.”

  Watch me, she said, hearing the hollowness in that internal voice.

  Twenty-seven

  Etaín pushed through the crowded club, using her shoulder and the force of her anger to cut a path toward Cathal’s office. They must have told him she’d arrived, or he’d seen it on a security camera because steps away from his door, he opened it to allow her inside.