“I’m not an idiot.” After a pause, she added, “Though I’d also be furiously trying to work a spell to trap the son of a bitch.”
“Exactly my point. You’d build a trap, so I could run him into it and finish him off at my leisure. That’s why we make a good team.” Jake sighed. “I didn’t mean to undercut you with those assholes tonight. If I’d had any sense, I would’ve hung back and watched -- only stepped in it looked like things were going to get messy. The thing is, it was about to get messy. That asshole Martin…”
“Yeah, I was worried about him too. And I do appreciate the backup. Knowing you were there made me feel a hell of a lot safer.” She gave him a long look. “But that doesn’t change the fact that your stepping in made me look as if I couldn’t defend myself. And that is not a message you want to send bullies.”
“The next time it happens…” Jake’s first impulse was to give her an easy assurance that he’d stay out of it, but he realized he’d be lying. And she’d know. He broke off and started over. “You know, I’d have done the same thing if they’d been giving Dave a hard time…”
“None of those little fucks would’ve had the gall to say one word to Dave Frost.”
He laughed. “Oh, not now they wouldn’t. But back in the day…”
“… When he’d still been human.”
“He is still human.”
She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Of course, he is. I meant when he’d still been a biped.”
A memory surfaced, and Jake grinned. “Remember the time he got in that bar fight with those Navy SEALs? Dave was in his civvies, so they didn’t realize he was a Feral, and the bar was dark enough they didn’t notice his eye color…”
“As I recall, everybody waded in on that one, including me.”
But since it was fellow serviceman they were fighting, none of them had used magic; that would have been cheating. “It wasn’t until it was over that Dave manifested his cat. Then he said…”
Erica finished the quote, grinning. “‘You boys need to remember you’re not the Frogs of the Jungle.’ I laughed until I cried.”
“Point is, none of us stood back, including you.”
“That was different. Those boys needed a lesson in manners.”
“Pretty much what I was thinking tonight.”
She sighed, her breath blowing warm across his nipple. “Will you at least wait until I ask for help?”
“That depends. Will you get around to asking for it?”
Now she looked annoyed. “I call for backup plenty.”
“On the street. I’m talking about when it comes to the asshole brigade. I’m afraid you’d be so intent on proving the size of your brass balls, you’ll be lip deep in shit before your ego lets you call me.”
Anger flashed in her gaze, only to fade into a sigh. “Just promise me you’ll try to let me handle it.”
“I’ll try.”
They fell silent, and he stroked one hand up and down the length of her bare back until her breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep.
Just how much danger had she been in from Martin, Green, Clary, and Hampton? Jake knew the scent of the various flavors of aggression, from bullying all the way to murder. He had the ugly impression that confrontation had been about more than some stupid dominance play designed to put her in her place.
Yeah, maybe Green and Clary were just giving her shit, and Mary Hampton hated her guts. But Martin… Martin had scared the fuck out of him.
And it hadn’t been the first time. On several occasions, Jake had been forced to report the bastard to Johnson for losing his shit with somebody. You didn’t hit a handcuffed suspect, period, no matter what said suspect might have done. Not only was it against regulations, it was just fucking wrong.
Most cops were decent people. Many were idealists who actively wanted to make the world a better place. But there was also a certain segment of the asshole population who had no business with a badge. Martin was one of those.
Which was why Jake really hadn’t liked the way Martin had smelled during the confrontation with Erica. At all. It had been the sheer vicious anticipation in the bastard’s scent that had driven him to interfere. He didn’t think Erica realized how close the situation had come to spiraling completely out of control.
If it came right down to it and Erica really was in danger, Jake would do the same thing again, no matter how much it pissed her off.
He’d lost Bobby. He was damned if he was going to lose Erica. One midnight regret over a lethal mistake was enough. So in the final analysis, he’d do what he had to do. And hope she could forgive him for it.
* * *
It was just before noon when Erica answered a call at a strip mall on the outskirts of Laurelton. It wasn’t that big, as Laurelton strip malls went, consisting of a consignment shop -- New 2U Treasures -- a used bookstore, and something called Killer Ink.
A gray haired woman who looked like someone’s grandmother stood on the sidewalk, arms folded in a pink pea coat worn over yellow polyester pants. A couple of plastic shopping bags hung from one elbow, and a white leather purse bumped her hip. She was a head shorter than Erica, with a soft, rounded figure that suggested she probably gave excellent hugs.
Just now she wasn’t in the mood.
When Erica parked her patrol car and got out, she found the old lady’s hazel eyes snapping with anger. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line that pleated her face in deep wrinkles.
After Erica identified herself, she snapped, “I want to report a witch.”
Oh, brother, here we go. Erica wished she could hide that damned pentagram pin. The job’s to serve and protect, Humanists included. “Yes, ma’am.” She pulled out her notebook and a pen. “But I’m going to need to look to get a little information first. Do you have any ID?”
Some folks would have immediately started ranting something like, “I’m not the one who committed the crime,” but the woman just reached into her purse and excavated her billfold. “Of course.”
Ten minutes later, Erica had Wanda Jeffries’ name, address and phone number, and was ready to get down to business. “Were you the victim of a crime, Mrs. Jeffries?” Because being a witch isn’t illegal.
“Yes, I was.” Opening one of her shopping bags, she pulled out something small and handed it over.
Erica examined the object, eyebrows climbing. It was a cocktail ring, with a green-tinted chunk of faceted glass the size of her thumbnail mounted on an imitation gold band.
“Meghan O’Reilly, the owner of that shop there --” Mrs. Jeffries jerked her head toward New 2U Treasures -- “told me this was a real emerald. And I believed her.” She grated the last words with such outrage, it was obvious that was what she found most offensive about the whole situation. Pointing a gnarled forefinger at the ring, she demanded, “Now, does that look like an emerald to you?”
“No, it’s obviously glass.” Frowning, Erica looked up, studying the angry swirl of the woman’s aura. Mrs. Jeffries believed what she was saying: there was no trace of orange.
“Exactly. But that woman charged me four hundred dollars cash for it.”
Erica raised her brows and eyed it again. “I’d be surprised if it’s worth twenty bucks.” And nobody but a five-year-old would think otherwise. Wanda Jeffries didn’t strike her as that gullible. “And a real emerald that size would be worth thousands. How did she know you had that kind of money?”
“I’d just cashed my Social Security check, and she saw the money in my wallet when I bought a scarf for my daughter-in-law. So then she says, ‘I’ve got something really special you might be interested in,’ and brings out the ring. Now, I may be old, but I’m not senile. It’s obvious that’s not an emerald, but I didn’t even question it.”
Yeah, sounded like Mrs. Jeffries had been scammed. This kind of bullshit was the reason Norms thought all Talents were con artists and thieves. “Do you have the receipt?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Jeffries reached into her shopping bag
and pulled out a cash register slip. “The dollar amount says forty. Which is definitely not what I paid.”
“What happened then?”
“I left the shop and got in my car. I was so excited, I wanted to look at my ring. And then I saw… that.” She gestured contemptuously at the trinket. “I about had a heart attack. That’s when I realized she must’ve put me under a spell, because there is no way I would’ve fallen for such an obvious lie otherwise.”
“What did you do?”
“I went back in the store and demanded my money back. She said I was crazy, that I hadn’t given her any four hundred dollars. Well, if she thinks I’m going to let her get away with this…” Now a swirl of yellow rolled through the red in her aura, so intense with worry Erica felt a stab of pity. “Look, I need that money. How am I supposed to buy groceries or my medications or…”
And what kind of asshole preyed on an old lady? “Let’s go have a word with her.” All but growling, Erica headed for the shop and pushed open the door, Mrs. Jeffries at her heels. Bells jingled merrily, announcing their entry.
New 2U Treasures looked like the set for an episode of Hoarders. Scanning the place, Erica noticed items ranging from dented metal Coca-Cola signs, to delicate ceramic figurines, to antique furniture -- even a yellowing wedding dress in a transparent plastic garment bag.
At the heart of it all, a long glass counter supported an ancient cash register. There was no sign of the proprietor.
Erica’s instincts twanged. There was barely enough room to swing a cat anywhere else in the shop, yet the floor around the counter was completely bare. When she reached for her Talent, she wasn’t surprised to see dim glyphs orbiting it.
Mrs. Jeffries had been right.
Examining the symbols, she realized the spell was designed to make anyone standing inside it trust the person on the other side of the counter.
Erica lifted her voice and let it ring over the shop. “Meghan O’Reilly? I’m Deputy Erica Harris, and that’s an illegal spell. I suggest you get out here and talk to me, because otherwise I’m arresting you.”
As she’d expected, rapid footsteps sounded as the shopkeeper emerged from behind a hulking armoire. Dressed in a cheerful red sweater over neat black slacks and rubber-heeled black shoes, the woman was about forty, a couple inches shorter than Erica, with a long face carefully made up under artistically cropped brunette hair. “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped indignantly, though she looked a little pale. “I’m not a witch.”
“I am,” Erica said flatly. “And judging by your aura, so are you.”
O’Reilly tilted her chin up and lied, even as vivid orange pulsed through her aura. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s no spell here.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.” Erica gestured at the rotating glyphs. “That’s an active spell.”
Mrs. Jeffries frowned down at the floor. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because there isn’t anything to see,” the witch lied, trying to sound outraged. She wasn’t a particularly good actress even without the telltale orange in her aura.
“No, it’s because you painted the spell circle on the floor in ultraviolet paint that’s invisible in normal light. But to activate the spell, you had to infuse the paint with your own dried blood. Which will show up when the crime scene investigator sprays it with Luminol. A DNA swab will prove you’re the one who cast the spell.” She took a step closer, deliberately looming over the shopkeeper. “This ends one of two ways. I can charge you with breach of trust by magical means, a felony carrying a minimum of five years…” The witch blanched. “Or you can give Mrs. Jeffries back her four hundred dollars and scrub that spell off the floor.” Erica gave the woman her best icy cop glare, letting the rage she felt show. “I’d better not find you’ve repainted it when I come back. And I promise you, I will be coming back a lot.”
“This is…” The shopkeeper paused to swallow. “This is all a misunderstanding. I… I didn’t take anything, but I’ll be happy to refund the money to clear this up.”
Erica turned to Mrs. Jeffries. “Is that acceptable to you?”
The old woman blew out a breath in relief. “Yes.” A smile dawned across her face. “Yes, I’d be fine with that.”
The shopkeeper pulled a bank bag out from under the counter and counted out four crisp hundreds, then handed them to Mrs. Jeffries. The old woman thanked her with automatic courtesy, said goodbye to Erica, and started toward the door.
“I’ll walk you out,” Erica told her, then added coldly to O’Reilly, “I suggest you start mopping.”
Once they were out on the sidewalk, Erica said, “We’re all not like that.”
Mrs. Jeffries waved a wrinkled hand. “Of course not. My daughter-in-law’s an Arcanist, and she’d never use her Talent that way.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, there are a lot of crooks in the world. And they keep giving the bigots ammunition.” When Erica blinked at that, Mrs. Jeffries gave her a smile as she started toward a twenty-year-old Mercury Sable. Over her shoulder, she added, “Thank you, dear. I had no idea what I was going to do without that money.”
“Glad I was able to help.” Erica watched her drive away, then turned on her heel to stalk back in the shop.
O’Reilly looked up from her mop bucket and glared, muttering something under her breath.
Erica folded her arms. “What was that?”
“Do you enjoy selling your own people out to the Nazis?”
“You are not my people. And you just tried to rip off a little old lady on Social Security.”
“Norms steal from Norms all the time!”
“And it’s illegal when they do it too.” She curled her upper lip. “I’m not bluffing. If I ever walk in here and find another spell circle on the floor, your ass is going to jail. Because we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve defrauded one of your customers.”
“Not for anything big!” Meghan threw her a flaming look over one shoulder. “So maybe they pay a few dollars more…”
“Four hundred isn’t a few. And it’s a hell of a lot to an old woman on Social Security.”
The Arcanist’s cheeks flushed. “I wouldn’t have done it, but my boyfriend’s a real prick, and he told me if I didn’t bring in at least --”
“Shut. Up. The only reason you’re not going to jail right now is if I charged you, Mrs. Jeffries’ money would have to go into evidence until the trial. She can’t afford that. But this is the one and only break you’re going to get.”
The woman subsided, growling. Erica growled back, putting plenty of Clarence into the sound.
* * *
With O’Reilly squared away, Erica continued on her patrol of the businesses, neighborhoods, and schools that made up 22 Zone.
At two o’clock, she started toward Wooten Elementary School, where she usually parked somewhere obvious on the side of the road. Nothing like the sight of a black-and-white to deter those who might otherwise blast through a school zone.
As she drove, her mind drifted to X-rated memories of her night with Jake. The shower had been only a warm up, followed by another session in the USS Jake’s Bed. After a surprisingly sound night’s sleep in his arms, she’d awoken to the rough wet velvet of his tongue swirling over her nipple.
Beats the hell out of an alarm clock.
Erica smiled, but before she could drift into another delicious memory, a red Camaro shot past on the two-lane road. She stared after him a moment, her jaw dropping. He had to be doing at least ninety. “What the fuck?”
She hit her lights and sirens with one hand and scooped up her radio mic in the same motion. Stomping the gas, she sent her black-and-white roaring after the speeder. “Dispatch, Laurel Alpha 22 in pursuit of a red Camaro going approximately…” She paused to do an estimate. “… Ninety-five in a forty-five zone.”
Her heartbeat thundered as adrenaline flooded her body. What the hell is he doing? What kind of idiot passes a marked car at that speed on a d
ouble yellow line? He’s just begging me to chase him. I do not like this at all.
Her instincts had good reason to howl. High-speed chases were extremely dangerous -- and even more so when pursuing someone who seemed nuts to begin with. Even aside from trying to catch the subject, adrenaline had the physiological effect of causing tunnel vision, reducing peripheral vision until you saw only whatever was directly ahead. That made it impossible to see someone approaching from a cross street -- with potentially fatal results.
To make matters worse, it was two o’clock on a school day. Should I break this off before this asshole slams into a school bus?
Even as that thought flashed through her mind, Erica realized the Camaro was slowing down. She blew out a breath in relief as the car pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. Her heartbeat began to slow as she parked behind it.
Sitting back in her seat, Erica paused to do a minute or so of combat breathing, bringing her heart and respiration back under control with a series of deep, slow breaths to a count of ten. Once her voice was steady, Erica picked up her mic and told dispatch she’d successfully pulled the car over, then rattled off the tag number.
That done, she reached for the laptop mounted on the passenger side of the dash and swiveled it closer. Logging into the state’s Department of Motor Vehicles system, she typed the Camaro’s license plate number into the search field.
Frowning, Erica studied the results. The car hadn’t been reported as stolen, but that not might not mean anything. Could be the owner just didn’t know it was missing yet.
A quick check of the National Crime Information Center revealed no outstanding warrants connected with the car’s owner, but she wouldn’t know for sure until she ran the driver’s license information from whoever was driving the car.
Her heart began to pound again as she got out of the car, activating the body cam clipped to the front of her shirt.
Now for the tricky bit: finding out why this fucker wanted to get pulled over.
Arcane Heart (Talents Book 2) Page 15