by Paige Tyler
Beside him, Cassidy stirred and blinked up at him sleepily. “Who is it?”
Trace covered the phone with his hand. “Muncie.”
On the other end of the line, the cop cleared his throat. “It turns out Del Vecchio only talked to one person on a regular basis—that EMT you wanted me to check out. His name’s Russell Martin.”
Trace felt his heart race. Hot damn, his gut had been right. Even if this Martin guy hadn’t been the one who had brought Del Vecchio back from the dead, he could almost certainly tell Trace who did.
“Why the hell didn’t the cops ever check him out?” he asked Muncie, not caring if he offended the other man by the question.
“Why the hell would they look to see who Del Vecchio had been talking to on the phone? The cops never heard of Del Vecchio until that pretty blonde friend of yours pushed him off the balcony. After that, there wasn’t much reason to put together a concrete case against him. Del Vecchio was dead and the cops working the case used his DNA to tie him to the other murders. That pretty much closed up everything with a nice, neat bow.”
Trace supposed that made sense. If he’d been working the murders, he probably would have done the same thing.
“Anyway,” Muncie continued, “I talked to one of the dispatchers over at emergency services and found out that Martin responded to the scene of every single one of Del Vecchio’s murders, including Darcy Warren’s. I could understand the cops not checking the phone records, but wouldn’t you think his coworkers would have at least noticed something? Someone should have wondered why the hell Martin happened to show up at every crime scene.”
Trace silently agreed.
“Thanks for pointing us toward the creep, Trace. I’m not sure how the hell you knew it was him, or even how this maniac is getting into those women’s apartments, but I’m sure as hell going to drag his ass in here and find out.”
Trace’s gut clenched. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to kick in his front door as soon as I can get a warrant. I’d have one already, but I can’t find a judge who will answer the phone at this time of the morning. You’d better believe I’ll be sitting outside his office with a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts the moment the courthouse opens, though. I’ll have that murdering scum in a holding cell by eight at the latest.”
Shit. That was exactly what Trace hadn’t wanted the cop to do. “Muncie, you can’t do that.”
“What the hell do you mean, I can’t do that? Why did you point me at this guy if you didn’t want me to arrest his ass?”
Trace didn’t answer right away, mainly because he wasn’t sure what to say to the other man. It wasn’t as if he could dump the whole ghost angle on Muncie. His friend was pretty open-minded, but not that open-minded. Trace knew one thing for sure, though. He couldn’t let Muncie lock up the only lead he had on Del Vecchio’s ghost. Whether Martin had simply taken the body and found someone to resurrect the serial killer or whether the EMT had brought the bastard back himself, he was the key to getting rid of Del Vecchio and putting an end to the murders.
“Muncie, listen to me,” Trace finally said. “I know this looks as if you’ve got the murderer right in your hands, but you have to trust me on this one. Martin isn’t the guy. I promise if you work with me on this, though, he can lead us to the person we’re after.”
Muncie swore under his breath. “Wait a minute. You’re trying to tell me that a perp who not only just so happens to show up at every single crime scene, but who also happens to have a direct connection with the Stamford Stabber, isn’t our man? That he’s not involved at all?”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t involved, but if you bring him in for questioning, he’s going to lawyer up. Besides, you don’t have any evidence to link Martin to the murders. You’ll get nothing and the bodies will keep piling up. You’ll look like an idiot and I’ll lose the only chance I have to find the thing that’s doing this.”
Trace glanced at Cassidy. She looked as worried as he was. If he couldn’t figure a way to talk Muncie out of arresting Martin, he would have no choice but to pick up the EMT before the cop could get to him. He’d always had a knack for getting perps to talk when he was on the force, and without all the rules he had to stick to, he’d probably be even better at it now. If it meant saving Cassidy, he’d be willing to do whatever it took to get the information he needed. It might take a while to get a guy like Martin to crack, but it would be better than letting him waste away in lockup for a week or two while Muncie tried to tie him to the recent murders.
“What do you mean, thing? You’re making it sound as if whoever is behind these murders isn’t human.”
Shit. Trace hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but Muncie had him off his game right now.
“Is this one of those things everyone whispers about you chasing after, but no one wants to believe in?” the other man asked quietly.
Trace hadn’t expected Muncie to go there. Maybe the cop was a little more open-minded than he’d given him credit for. “Yeah, without going into too many details, that’s pretty much what it is. I think Martin has a connection to the thing that has been murdering these women. I need the guy out on the street so he can lead me to it. Once he does, I’m going to end this. My way. You can have Martin after I’m done.”
Muncie was quiet for so long that Trace thought maybe he had pushed too hard, too fast. But then the other man spoke.
“What do you have planned?”
Apparently he hadn’t pushed too hard. Trace was surprised Muncie had given in so easily. The other man had always struck him as a strictly by-the-book kind of cop and this was as far away from that as a cop could get. Muncie had to know if anyone found out about Trace’s involvement and tracked it back to him, his career in law enforcement was over.
“I’m going to head over to Martin’s address, then sit on him until he leads me where I want to go,” Trace said.
“You can’t stay on him the whole time by yourself,” Muncie protested. “You go more than twenty-four hours on a stakeout without sleep and you’ll be worthless when it does come time to make a move.”
“Maybe, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Yeah, you do.” Muncie sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll take the first watch on Martin.”
Trace lifted a brow, stunned by the offer. “Isn’t the brass going to wonder what you’re doing?”
“I’ll say I’m following up on a lead one of my informants gave me.”
“Okay. But you have to promise if Martin goes anywhere or does anything, you’re only going to observe and report. Don’t make a move on him without me.”
“Sure,” Muncie agreed quickly. A little too quickly.
Trace ground his jaw. “Dammit, Muncie, I’m serious about this. You remember what I told you the other day about waiting for backup before you went into a crime scene where the light bulbs were flickering? Well, that’s what I’m talking about here. You follow Martin into a dark, little hole and I guarantee the only way you’re coming out is in a body bag, just like those women. Understand?”
“Yeah, Trace, I understand. You don’t have to keep selling it. I get that this is some of your patented weird shit. I have no desire to get hacked up by some piece of crap that can apparently walk through walls whenever it wants. You want me to observe and report. I can do that.”
“Good.” Trace took a deep breath. “Give me Martin’s address. I’ll meet you there tonight at eight unless he moves first.”
Trace fumbled for the notepad and pen he kept in the bedside table so he could jot down the address.
“Stay in contact and don’t do anything foolish,” he warned Muncie again.
The minute Trace was off the phone, Cassidy was all over him with questions. He quickly explained everything Muncie had told him about Martin and the EMT’s connection to Del Vecchio.
“It might take a while for Martin to lead us to Del Vecchio’s body, though,” Trace added. “It could be days or ev
en weeks before he does something to tip us off.”
“And in the meantime, more women are going to die.” She frowned. “What if Martin isn’t the one who took Del Vecchio’s body or raised him from the dead? He might not even be involved.”
“There are too many connections between Martin and Del Vecchio for it to be a coincidence. Not only was he the one having those long, meaningful conversations with Del Vecchio at all hours of the day and night, but he responded to the scene of every one of Del Vecchio’s original murders. He’s still doing it now. If he didn’t bring Del Vecchio back on his own, then he found someone to do it for him.”
She let out a sigh. “I hope you’re right about him being involved. I want this whole thing to be over.”
Trace pulled her into his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I know, baby. It will be soon. I promise. As soon as the EMT makes a move. I’ll go after him.”
Cassidy snuggled against his chest. “You mean we’ll go after him.”
He immediately opened his mouth to correct her, but then closed it again. He didn’t want to argue with her and that was exactly what would happen if he told her there was no way in hell she was going with him. Not only would they be facing the serial killer’s ghost, but also an EMT who was as insane as Del Vecchio. An EMT who might also be some kind of wizard, warlock or any of a half-dozen different kinds of magic makers. He couldn’t put her at risk. Not after everything she had already been through, and definitely not considering the way he felt about her.
Which was how, exactly?
Words like protective, attracted and mesmerized immediately came to mind. On their own, those emotions could be potent, but feeling all of them at the same time for a woman could only mean one thing. He was getting serious about her, and he hadn’t felt that way about a woman in a long time. Somehow, she had slipped past the wall he’d put up around himself.
What would happen when the threat to Cassidy’s life was gone, though? If he was right about Martin leading them to Del Vecchio’s body, then she wouldn’t need his protection for much longer. Would she still want to be involved with him after she went back to her old life? He couldn’t help but wonder how much of the connection on her part was a result of the situation and how much of it was real. Would Cassidy want to put up with the paranormal insanity that was his life on a daily basis?
Trace was still trying to come up with an answer to that question as he drifted off to sleep with her on his chest.
* * * * *
Cassidy woke up a little after ten. She stretched and rolled over to snuggle closer to Trace, but the bed was empty. She frowned as their conversation from the night before came back to her. Worried he’d left to go find Del Vecchio’s body on his own, she threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, only to stop halfway to the door when she heard sounds coming from the living room. She shook her head, chiding herself for being so paranoid. Trace would never leave without telling her.
Realizing she was naked, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top before going out to the living room. Trace was tinkering on his motorcycle and he looked up as she walked in.
“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t realize I’d slept so late. Have you been up for a while?”
“I got up about eight.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “I made coffee, if you want some.”
Since there weren’t any dirty dishes in the sink, Cassidy assumed Trace hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, so after she poured herself some coffee, she took the bacon and eggs out of the fridge.
“I checked in with Muncie,” Trace said from the living room. “It looks like Martin’s off from work today. He went to a health-food store and a new-age place, then made a quick stop at the grocery store. After that, he went back to his apartment and has been there ever since.”
Cassidy dumped the scrambled eggs into the hot frying pan and stirred them around. “Hopefully, that means Del Vecchio won’t be going after another woman today.”
“Maybe,” Trace agreed. “But that murder last night was brutal, even more so than the other ones. Up to this point, he’s been satisfied with killing every few days, but if the violence is escalating, at some point the frequency probably will, too. He might not take a day off because Martin is.”
Cassidy frowned. That wasn’t a very reassuring thought.
Giving the eggs a few more stirs with the spoon, she transferred them to the plates, along with the bacon and toast she’d made. When she set them on the table, Trace made to sit down, but she motioned to the sink.
“You’re filthy,” she told him. “Wash your hands at least.”
Trace grinned but went over to the sink to wash the grease from his hands. “I didn’t want the eggs to get cold.”
Cassidy gave him a wry look as she poured the coffee. “This coming from the guy who eats cold pizza for breakfast?”
He chuckled. If she wasn’t there, he probably would have eaten breakfast with his hands that dirty. He really needed a woman in his life, she thought.
Trace dug into his eggs the moment he sat down. “These are good.”
Cassidy couldn’t believe the silly sense of satisfaction she felt at knowing he liked her cooking. They were just eggs, and from the way the man ate, he was likely to love anything and everything. She couldn’t help but smile as he shoved half a piece of toast into his mouth, then downed most of his coffee cup in a long swallow.
“Are you going to have some of your paranormal contacts check out Martin?” she asked as she sipped her coffee.
Trace nodded. “I already called Finley.”
“He must have been thrilled you woke him up so early.”
“He wasn’t asleep.”
“I thought since he worked in a late night club, he’d sleep away most of the day.” Unless the bartender hadn’t even gone to bed yet when Trace called.
Trace polished off the last bite of his toast, then looked forlornly at the whole piece on Cassidy’s plate. She tore it in half and gave one side to him, then watched as he used it to wipe what was left of the scrambled eggs off the plate.
“Finley doesn’t sleep,” he said.
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, he doesn’t sleep?”
“Just what I said. He doesn’t sleep.”
“Ever?”
“Never,” Trace said. “He’s a demi-demon. Or at least he’s got some demon in him. A little warlock and vamp, too. Maybe even some angelfire. I’m not sure. Whatever he is, though, he doesn’t need to sleep, which makes him a perfect bartender at a club that runs twenty-four hours a day.”
After everything she’d seen, she shouldn’t be surprised to learn there were creatures out there that didn’t need sleep, but she was. “Has he worked for you long?”
“He doesn’t work for me. He just does me—”
“Let me guess,” Cassidy interrupted. “He does you favors in payment for some work you did for him. What did you do, save him from the troll that lives under the Brooklyn Bridge?”
Trace chuckled. “Not anything that dramatic, though there is a rather nasty creature that lives under that bridge. No, I helped him get custody of his kid in a nasty divorce fight. I don’t normally get involved in stuff like that, but the mother was planning to sacrifice the girl when she turned thirteen, so I figured it was better if Finley had her.”
“Finley has a thirteen-year-old daughter?” The guy looked as if he was in high school himself.
“Actually, she’s fifteen now. She’s a sweet girl, too. Just a plain, normal, nonpracticing witch. Nothing like her mother at all, who is also a witch, if you haven’t guessed.”
She shook her head. “This world you live in gets weirder all the time.”
Trace pushed his plate aside and rested his forearms on the table. “Does it freak you out? Knowing there are creatures in the world you thought only existed in horror movies, I mean.”
She finished her eggs, then popped the last b
it of toast in her mouth. “It did in the beginning, but not now. It’s actually sort of cool. When they’re not trying to eat me, that is.”
Though Trace nodded, she thought she detected a little smile tug at the corner of his mouth, as if he was pleased by her answer.
After they finished breakfast, Cassidy loaded the dishwasher while Trace went back into the living room to work on his motorcycle. When she was done, she walked over and joined him.
Trace glanced up as she perched on the arm of the couch. “I figured I could get a little work done on the bike while we wait for Muncie to call. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “Though I have to admit, I haven’t met a lot of people who keep a partially dismantled motorcycle in their living room.”
His mouth quirked. “Yeah, it is a little odd, I guess. I could work on it out in the garage, but this bike is kind of special. It always felt wrong to let it sit out there.”
“Was it was payment for a job?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It was my dad’s.”
Her ears perked up at the mention of his father. Even though she’d told him a lot about her family, he hadn’t said anything about his. “It looks kind of old. He must have had it a long time.”
“It’s a 1953 Blackhawk Roadmaster Chief.” Trace lovingly ran his hand along the leather seat. “Dad was a cop in New York City and worked crazy hours, so he never had time to fix it up like he wanted to. I’ve been working on it on and off since he got killed. I promised him I’d get it running one day.”
Cassidy felt a twinge of regret. She hadn’t meant to bring up sad memories. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your father…”
He shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. I’ve come to grips with it.”
From the flicker of pain in his eyes, she wasn’t so sure. “How old were you?”
Trace picked up a wrench and used it to tighten one of the bolts he’d put in. “Fifteen. I was at school when it happened. My dad and his partner responded to a domestic disturbance call. The guy had a gun pointed at his pregnant wife and would have ended up killing her if my dad hadn’t put himself between them.”