by Casey Wyatt
“Yes, ma’am, I was,” he said, the aw-shucks grin growing on me.
“Please, no ‘ma’am’. It makes me sound really old. Call me Radiance.”
“Pardon me for asking, but that is an unusual name.” Gabriel led us to a table near the kitchen.
“Yeah, well, my parents were celebrities,” I said, as if that explained everything.
Gabriel blinked in confusion, setting placemats and silverware out. “I don’t understand why that matters.”
“It’s a sign of status. The higher on the A-list you are, the weirder the names you can bestow upon your children. My mother once told me that my sister and I were named in honor of the moon.”
“And her name is Luna then?” He held out a chair for me.
I laughed. Luna like lunatic. “No. Her name is Selene.”
“Ah, also a beautiful name.”
At his plaintive tone, I re-appraised Gabriel. Young, buff, and handsome as hell, he’d be perfect for Selene. Yeah. No. Not happening. There was no way I would drag her into my fucked-up world. Resigned, my career as a matchmaker over as quickly as it started, I sat down.
After some chair jockeying, Luca ended up at my left and Gabriel sat across the table. The collective mood in the joint went from alert tension to alert relaxation once the diners realized we weren’t there to capture them. A fresh-faced waitress approached the table. Gabriel issued quiet orders before sending her on her way.
Moments later, she reappeared with a pot of coffee and three slices of mile high apple pie adorned with fist-sized scoops of ice cream and puffy whipped cream.
Luca frowned when I gave a squeak of girlish delight. I loved pie. Didn’t matter the flavor, because it was all good. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, not caring if he was embarrassed by my obvious enjoyment. Then again, maybe he thought the pie would go to right to my waistline.
“Gabriel, this is so good. I haven’t had anything like this since my grandmother’s.” The flaky crust melted in my mouth. Tart apples, perfectly tender and coated with cinnamon and spices that exploded with flavor. And the ice cream, so thick and creamy, it had to be homemade.
“I’m pleased you like it. This was my family’s recipe.” A wisp of sadness threaded through the air. He smiled and chewed another bite.
“It’s a wonderful way to honor them. By keeping their memory alive through food,” Luca said, shocking me.
I almost pointed out my surprise at his sentimentality, but the grim line of his mouth made me think twice.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is this place?” Since we’d arrived, the customer demographic had shifted. Not only were there ghosts, but people with their pulses intact had also taken tables, seemingly oblivious to the spirits around them.
“This is a way station. An in-between place where souls with unfinished business mingle with the living. The souls hope to resolve their issues and move on. Maybe apologize to a loved one, make amends or to reassure themselves that their families will survive without them. No vengeful or violent spirits are allowed here.”
No. That’s when Luca and I stepped in, capturing the souls that didn’t go gently into that good night. “Does reconciliation happen very often? Some of these souls seem to be from another place and time. Like they’ve been waiting a long time. Aren’t their contemporaries dead by now?” I watched the Victorian hostess seat an elderly couple. What chance did she have of moving on?
“Time works differently in this place. And sometimes, the soul’s respite comes from helping others in the here and now. Everyone’s road to the Hereafter is different.” Gabriel replenished the coffee cups while the waitress cleared the empty plates. Good thing. It kept me from doing something embarrassing like lick mine clean.
I was about to ask Gabriel what flavor of supernatural he was when Luca’s hand squeezed my knee, his eyes begging me not to ask the question. I assumed it must have been some kind of professional faux pas, so I canned the curiosity. Despite his earlier gruffness, I liked Gabriel. I could tell the souls mattered to him and that kind of compassion made him a good guy in my book.
“We’ve been asked to investigate the recent spate of murders.” Luca passed Gabriel the crime-scene photos from the police file.
Gabriel grimaced as he flipped through the set several times. When he remained silent, I remembered what I had in my pocket.
“Does this have any significance?” I placed the fortune cookie on the table. “I tried getting a reading, but there was nothing there.”
“What?” Luca snapped. “You should not have done that. This could be a dangerous object and after what happened with the charm—”
“Okay.” I cut him off. I’d rather Gabriel didn’t know about my total breakdown when I touched Reg’s vile present. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”
Gabriel’s gaze assessed the two of us, a smile brightening his face. Whatever his conclusion was he kept it to himself. Luca gave him a withering look, clearly not pleased.
I smiled, enjoying the show. One of these days, I’d find out what the deal was with the two of them. Not quite buddies, but not enemies. Frenemies didn’t fit the bill either since they seemed to respect each other. Maybe a little bromance?
Gabriel turned to me. “Did you say it felt null? How so?”
I shrugged. “It’s like I see a black hole. A void.”
Luca and Gabriel exchanged worried looks.
“Care to fill me in, gentlemen?” I tapped the table. “Could you include me in the meaningful look club too?”
“I don’t know what the void means, Radiance,” Gabriel said. “Whatever this is, you need to find it and contain it quickly.”
“That is the plan,” Luca stated. “Have you ever seen this kind of carnage before?”
Gabriel rubbed his perfect chin, stubble scraping against his fingers. “Yes, but I’ll need to check some things out. See if I can narrow it down for you. What I know for certain, the level of violence will probably increase. Once a soul gets a taste of flesh, it craves more.”
Dessert sat in my stomach like a lead ball. I sealed memories of the gruesome murders in a far corner of my mind. “What about the cookie? Should I open it?”
“No!” They both shouted nearly in unison.
Luca palmed the cookie off the table, the wrapper crinkling. “How about we learn what this red paper means first?”
“Red paper? That’s not a normal fortune color. I’ll factor that into my research.” Gabriel said. “I’d go to the cookie’s manufacturer. If it’s sealed inside, then the paper was put in during packaging.”
“How do you know so much about fortune cookies? Sounds like you’ve spent time in China.” An innocent way to fish for more information about Gabriel without asking him directly about his past.
He laughed. “Not exactly. Fortune cookies are an American invention. I used to live in San Francisco. There was a factory on the outskirts of my neighborhood. When the cookies are still warm, a machine puts the paper inside. ‘Course in my day, they used manual labor. Little Chinese ladies with chopsticks.”
Cripes, how old was this guy?
Gabriel studied all the photos again. “The take-out cartons all appear to be from the same restaurant. Golden Dragon.”
“A possible connection?” I asked, leaning across for a closer look. Maybe the press wasn’t so crazy after all.
Luca added, “There are several locations downtown. Allen Chen owns them. Ashworth Industries has business dealings with him.”
“Right. He ran for Mayor last autumn. Lost, if I recall,” Gabriel said.
I remembered his campaign. A vote for Chen is a vote for justice. The poor man didn’t have a chance to win against the good-old-boy establishment firmly entrenched in the city’s culture. “Well, it’s a place to start. Maybe he can tell u
s the name of his fortune cookie supplier.”
“Good thinking, annwyl.” Luca gathered the photos then shook Gabriel’s hand. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I find something.” He flashed his baby blues at me, amusement in his voice. “Come back and visit me anytime, Radiance. Feel free to leave the grouch behind.”
Luca grumbled something unintelligible as he ushered me onto the sidewalk.
“Somebody’s jealous,” I teased, adjusting my coat collar. The sun had gone down and chilled air tickled my neck. Funny, when we were in Soul Kitchen, bright afternoon sunlight had filtered inside.
“Am not,” Luca insisted, fists clenching and unclenching.
“Then how come you look like you want to hit something?” Or someone.
The limo glided alongside the curb. Luca held open the door for me. He settled next to me, grumpiness practically oozing out of him. The car door thudded shut.
He was on me in an instant. Large, gentle palms cupped my face. Broad thumbs stroked my cheeks. His focused gaze captured mine before rough, needy kisses landed on my cheeks and forehead.
Fire raced through my blood. Every fiber in me screamed—surrender.
“Let me kiss you,” he rasped, his warm breath searing my skin.
Warmth flooded my body at his simple request. I throbbed. I ached. His lips trailed down the hollow of my throat.
“Luca,” I panted, trying to form a coherent thought. “Give me a minute—”
“No.” His tongue darted to the sensitive spot behind my ear.
Damn. That was good.
“Don’t think. Feel.” He eased away, staring at me, gaze hooded. The timbre of his voice dragged a thousand tiny jolts of pleasure across my skin.
Well, when he put it that way…
With a tilt of my head, I leaned forward, closing the distance between us. Luca held my body close to his, his mouth slanting over mine. He tasted of cloves and cinnamon. I threaded my fingers through his hair, softer and silkier than I’d imagined.
Pleasure pulsed through me. He lifted me into his lap. I eagerly straddled his hips, rubbing against his hardness, our tongues dancing, unable to get enough of each other. Too many layers of clothing separated his skin from mine.
Luca growled. As if reading my thoughts and without breaking our kiss, he dragged my coat off my shoulders, dumping it onto the car’s floor. Strong, firm palms skated up my ribcage, skimming under my shirt. His thumbs skimmed under my breasts, then darted away to caress my back.
Inflamed by his touch, I wiggled on his lap, undoing shirt buttons, until I found bare flesh. God, he felt better than good. Hard muscles under silken skin glided beneath my palms. For weeks, I’d known how chiseled he was from our various workouts, but touching him this way was divine. I tweaked his tight nipples, overcome with the urge to nip him.
Luca purred, “Careful, cariad, I might bite you back.”
At the mere suggestion, dampness soaked my panties. Anticipation surged through me. “Promise?” I bit my bottom lip, ready to—
A loud knock against the limo’s partition stayed my hands.
“Devil’s balls!” Luca kissed the tip of my nose. “Regretfully . . .”
“I know. I know. Duty calls.”
Chapter 6
The smallest deed is better than the biggest intention.
“Is Mr. Chen expecting you?” The receptionist, a smooth-faced Asian man, barely looked up from his tablet computer. His casual indifference to our presence reminded me of Julian. He had that same close-faced lack of emotion—the classic poker face.
“No.” Luca’s short, clipped answer gave the assistant pause. “Please let him know a representative of Ashworth Holdings is here.” Then Luca said something in Chinese. I couldn’t speak the language, but even I could tell it was a threat.
The man’s face paled. The desk chair spun in his wake as he bounded down the hall.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Luca shook his head. A moment later, a well-dressed man approached. His almond-shaped eyes flicked between Luca and me, recognition finally settling on Luca. It was a suit-to-suit moment—each of them in expensive, tailored outfits –sizing each other up. It was as if I didn’t exist to Chen. I hated to think that because I was a woman, he assumed I was inferior.
“I’m Allen Chen. Please pardon my assistant’s rudeness, Mr. St. Crow. Right this way.”
As he led us down the hall, I whispered to Luca, “You have a last name?”
“Only when dealing with mortals. When we get in his office, feel free to touch all the items you can. Discreetly.”
I snorted. “Don’t you worry. I’ll touch away.” Mr. Chen had already discounted me as being unworthy of notice and I planned to use that against him. I may not have liked having the touchy feely thing going on, but, hell, I might as well take advantage of it. Plus it was nice to know that Luca thought my control had evolved.
“Sit down, Mr. St. Crow. Can my assistant bring you anything?”
Wow. I really did not like Allen Chen. He was a rude, chauvinistic jerk wad. Luca looked amused. Good for him.
“No, thank you.”
While they chatted about businessy things, I wandered around the fringes of Chen’s office. Sleek modern desk furniture dominated the room. Black-lacquered shelves were loaded with all kinds of figurines. Some jade, others metal. There were a lot of porcelain vases and teacups.
As unobtrusively as possible, I touched each object with my fingertips. While some of the impressions were interesting, like the gold Buddha had once belonged to an Imperial scribe,—I sure as hell didn’t need to know that the last person to drink out of the blue willow teacup had also given Chen a blowjob. Eww. In short order, I finished a circuit of the room, not learning anything significant. But, I would have paid cash for a bottle of brain sanitizer.
Smooth as glass, Luca wrapped up the conversation and escorted me out of the office. Whatever he’d said to Chen must have relaxed the guy because his face had lost its pinched concern. Or it could have been that he was relieved to see us go.
Once we were out on the sidewalk, Luca said, “So?”
“Nada. Unless you want to know some of the more sordid details like Allen’s recent blowjob.”
“Thanks. I’ll pass on that.”
“How about you? Learn anything?”
Luca grinned broadly. “I secured us a tour of the fortune cookie factory.”
The limo pulled up to the curb. Warm delicious thoughts ran through my head.
Funny, I hadn’t thought about our backseat make out until now. The power of denial at work. What the hell had I been thinking anyway? I seriously needed to get to the bottom of the Luca lust thing. And stat. “When’s the tour?”
“Right now.”
The factory was on the outskirts of the city, down in the older industrial district. There weren’t many businesses left, most having moved overseas. Ironically, fortune cookies were not a hot commodity in China, so the company—Shaw’s Happy Fortune—stayed in the United States. According to Luca, Tien Shaw was the latest in a long line of Shaw’s that owned the company. Family roots went deep.
I could understand that. The Ashworth family had been in California for at least three hundred years. One of these days, I’d find the family archives and take a look at the old family tree. Rumor had it that Sebastian had a secret office located somewhere in the mansion. As kids, Selene and I had spent many a boring family gathering searching for the fabled inner sanctum. We never did find it.
“This place smells yummy,” I said, inhaling the piping, sweet aroma of fresh-baked cookies. As we approached the plant’s entrance, the door buzzed and unlocked.
“Same as before. I touch, you talk?”
“Yes,” Luca said, holding the door o
pen.
Inside the vestibule, a man clad in all white—hairnet, coveralls, and shoe booties—greeted us with a polite handshake. Yellow earplugs dangled from a long black cord strung around his neck.
“I’m Tien Shaw,” he said with a white toothy grin.
Tien was a handsome guy. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, but instead of brown they were vivid green. He offered to shake my hand first. This guy was closer to my age and he didn’t ignore me. I liked him already.
“I’ll need you both to suit up if I’m going to take you to the factory floor.” He motioned to cubicles against the wall. “Health code requires it. Not to mention, no one likes hair in their food.”
Once we were dressed in enough white to make even a bride cry, we were allowed to enter the plant proper. Tien motioned for us to put in the earplugs, then opened the door with his pass card. The factory floor was a sea of motion. Row upon row of heavy machinery whirred and clacked. A cluster of industrious employees manned each station, either watching the production line or moving the ejected contents through to the next part of the process.
Tien gave us the nickel tour. “This line’s function is to pour the batter into circular disks. As you can see, a conveyor takes them through an oven where they are lightly baked.”
The smell of the batter was sugary and delightful. He removed a warm cookie, tore it into three pieces, handing one each to me and Luca. “Delicious, right? But they have to remain soft. It’s impossible to fold a crispy cookie.”
We walked further down the line into another area. Machines intercepted the dough, their mechanical spider arms folding the bendable cookies into their signature shape.
“Where do the fortunes come from?” I shouted.
Tien led us to large rolls spooling out the papers in one continuous strip. “They’re cut right before the fortune is folded into the cookie.
Luca and I exchanged a look. There was no way someone could just slip random fortunes into this high-speed machinery. Maybe this wasn’t the right company. Unless . . .