My hands were already fumbling with his belt buckle. “Yes, dammit. I’m too horny to wait for you to drive me home. I want you, right now, Cole. The need is so intense it’s choking me.”
He bent, brushed my lips lightly with his own. “Me, too,” he whispered.
“Well.” I snapped his belt open, unzipped his fly. “What in hell are you waiting for?” I slipped my hand inside the waistband of his pants and smiled. He was rock-hard. I took his staff in my hand and moved it up and down, and I moaned in delight as I saw his eyes go even blacker.
“You should be careful, doing such things, Morgan,” he whispered. “I have no self-control where you’re concerned.”
I twisted so I faced him. His hands fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, and with a strangled cry, he tore the thin fabric, peeled it back, exposing my lacy bra. He had it undone in a second, and my round globes spilled out, smacked against his chest.
His fingers trailed over one rosy nipple. “No self-control at all. God, you are beautiful.”
I twined my hands in his thick dark hair as he bent his head and took first one breast, then the other, in his mouth, teasing my nipples into hardened stones with the tip of his tongue. I leaned my head back, let my hair stream down my back, as I reveled in the pure pleasure of his touch.
“Don’t stop, Cole,” I muttered, my voice thick with desire. “Please don’t stop.”
He glanced up, eyes dark. “Be careful what you wish for.”
His mouth fastened greedily on my throat, sent little flicks of heat pulsing through my body. I started to twist away, but he cupped my chin in one hand.
“I’m not going to bite you,” he whispered. “Just little love nips. Think of me as a newborn kitten.”
I relaxed against him. “Lion cub, perhaps. Kitten? Doubtful.”
“We’ll see.”
His lips blazed a trail down my soft column of neck, to the valley between my breasts, before closing once more over the sensitive flesh. I let my body go limp, dragged my fingers through his hair, across his shoulders. He flipped me on my side and the next thing I knew, we were tangled in a heap in the backseat of his sedan. I heard him suck in his breath, felt his arms go round me.
“Your knee, Morgan,” He whispered.
“What about it?”
“I believe it’s in a delicate place of my anatomy.”
“Oh, sorry.” I tugged at his pants, got them all the way down. “Let mommie kiss and make better.”
His eyes went darker yet when I stroked his staff with my lips, he hoisted me up and over him. My pants went flying into the front seat. The two of us lay, totally naked, half on-half off the rear seat.
“I’ve heard people did this a lot in the Fifties,” He murmured.
“Well, it’s got a lot going for it. Especially when one is motivated by sheer lust.”
He eased into me, watched my face as the orgasm shuddered through me. My body clenched, went limp, clenched again as his lips went lower. He parted my thighs, traced lacy circles on the insides with his tongue. Just when I thought I’d go mad, he slid inside me again, emptied himself. When I saw his eyes glaze over I arched my body upward, nipped at his bottom lip with my teeth.
“See, you’re not the only one who can bite,” I rasped as his body ranged over mine, his face buried in my hair. “All part of the seduction process.”
“Is that what this is?” He raised his head to look at me. “Seduction?”
I laughed. “It could well be. Or satisfying a basic need. Pick one.”
He suddenly tensed, put his finger against my lips. “Wha—“ I mumbled, but he pressed harder, motioned me to silence. A few moments later, I heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel. Another few minutes, we both cautiously looked out the back window, saw the taillights of a police car going up the hill.
“Now that would have been embarrassing,” I chuckled. “Good thing you’ve got super hearing. Could you imagine Commander Stone’s face.”
“No,” he offered me a grim smile. “I confess I could not. Nor would I want to imagine the dressing down I would have gotten.”
“What, would she have told you to control yourself? Keep it in your pants?”
He smiled. “Something along those lines, I’m sure.” He squeezed my arm. “We can adjourn back to my place, if you’d like.”
“I would, very much, but maybe first we’d better take these boxes home.”
“Ah, yes,” Cole smiled. “The Baked Alaska.” He glanced at his watch. “Good Lord, I didn’t realize it was so late. Will we wake your cousin?”
“Xia? She’s an insomniac. One or two hours a night is a lot for her.” I reached into the front seat, found my bra and blouse, and shrugged into them. “Mark my words, she’ll still be up. Trust me. I can’t speak for the Baked Alaska, though. She always eats when she’s worried.”
The lights were all on when Cole pulled his sedan into my driveway. I got out, picked up one of the boxes, and hurried up the steps, Cole close behind me. The front door was unlatched, so I pushed it open.
“Xia,” I called. “Xia, we’re back. Sorry we took so long.”
Xia, her face pale, emerged from the sitting room. “Oh, thank God. Morgan, is your phone off again? I tried calling you—I didn’t have Cole’s number, so I called the Special Forces emergency number…”
I set the box down, went to my cousin, slipped an arm around her shoulders. I could feel her shaking. “Xia, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“You and Cole weren’t gone about a half-hour when that girl called you—the one you talked about earlier? Drucilla?”
I felt my chest tighten. “What did she want? Did she say?”
“She said she was trying to get hold of you, and this was the number on file at the University. She said she found something in Florrie’s things, something that proved Graft was responsible for not only her death, but all the others. If she didn’t hear from you before ten, she was going to confront him herself.” Xia grabbed my hand. “She didn’t sound well at all, Morgan. She sounded—I don’t know—desperate, almost. As if whatever she’d found pushed her over the edge. I didn’t get a good vibe from her at all.”
“She told me earlier she was prone to dark rage, and she felt as if she could kill him for what he did to Florrie. I hope for her sake she was speaking metaphorically.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven-thirty. I looked at Cole over the top of Xia’s head, and he nodded.
“Do you know where Graft lives?” he asked me. “Is it on campus?”
I shook my head. “No—he’s got a townhouse on Crystal, near the outskirts.” I patted my cousin’s cheek.
“Keep the Baked Alaska warm. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Hah,” she called after us. “I finished it long ago. You’ll have to have lemon cookies now.”
The house was dark. We rang the bell, once, twice, three times. When the house remained shrouded in darkness, I removed my jacket, wrapped it around my hand, and punched the glass in the front door. It shattered, fragments tinkling inside. I reached in, undid the lock, and a moment later Cole and I were inside.
We stood a moment in the entryway to get our bearings. The townhouse was fairly new, the development just completed last year. My heels clicked on the polished, hardwood floor. I took off my shoes, kicked them off to the side, proceeded in my stocking feet. The wide hallway revealed a large sitting room, and two more doors further down. At the end of the corridor, a circular stairway led to the second floor. Cole drew his weapon; I patted my athame in my jacket pocket and kept close behind Cole. We moved down the hall, pushed open the first door. Twin bed, single dresser, small TV on top. Obviously a guest bedroom, and just as obviously empty. We moved to the next door. A computer table with a state of the art system, a small shelf on which rested a CD player and a collection of classic cd’s. The walls were painted a pale blue and were bare.
“Den,” I mouthed at Cole, who nodded.
We moved up the circul
ar stairway, paused at the landing. Here was a slightly shorter hallway. Off to one side as a small nook, wherein reposed a washer and dryer. Two closed doors greeted us. Cole pushed open the door closest to us.
I heard a flapping of wings and spun around, just as a black bird with a giant beak aimed straight for my eyes. I ducked, lashed out with my arm. I caught one of the wings, bent the feathers backward. The bird soared up, dove again.
“What in hell—“ Cole aimed the gun, but before he could fire, the bird landed on his arm, dug its beak into his forearm. With a cry, Cole dropped the gun, stepped back, the bird circled, aimed for his eyes.
I pivoted, delivered another roundhouse kick. I missed the bird, but threw it off balance. It circled, honed in on me. Instinctively, I threw my arms up in front of my face just as the bird swooped in. It’s sharp beak made contact with the fleshy part of my palm, and I growled in pain.
“Where in hell did this come from? Did Graft have a pet?” Cole, still nursing his injured arm, made a dive for his gun. As the bird swooped gracefully into the air, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, wrapped it around my palm, then stood, arms out, karate stance, waiting for the bird to dive so I could deliver another well-aimed kick.
Instead, it flew out the window.
“Christ,” Cole wiped at his forehead. I went over to him, pulled his jacket away, examined the gash.
“God, that’s nasty. You should have that looked at. We don’t know if that thing is carrying any diseases.”
“It must have gotten in through the window. I’ll be fine.” Cole pulled his jacket back over the injury, winced slightly. “Inheritors heal quickly.”
“I’ll put alcohol on it and wrap it with some gauze, if you can hold out till we get back home,” I offered.
He shook his head. “Not necessary.” He opened his jacket, and I did a double take. The gash was gone—the skin was white, clean, unbroken. I shook my head.
“Fast healer, mind melder—you Inheritors have a lot of talents.”
“Yes, we are amazing.”
He pushed open the door. I heard his quick intake of breath, and he tried to push me back with his body, but too late. I’d already looked over his shoulder.
The room was empty, devoid of any kind of furniture. In the center of the polished floor was Graft, on his side, arms flung wide, eyes wide and glassy in death. Stretched out spread-eagled next to him, barely breathing and with a revolver clutched in one hand, lay Dru.
***
It was well after midnight, and there was a vicious ache in my head that just wouldn’t quit. I’ve always hated hospitals. The only time I was ever a patient in one was the day I was born, and I’m still not sure if that counts. I’ve visited people in them, of course, and now I stood just outside the ER doors, hands jammed in my pockets, waiting for some word on Dru’s condition.
I heard footsteps behind me and my gaze rested on Cole. I gave him a wan smile.
“The coroner pick up Graft okay?”
Cole nodded. “Yep. Leroy’s still working on fixing the exact time of death. His preliminary fixes it at around ten-thirty p.m.”
I tapped my chin with my forefinger. “I don’t understand, Cole. Dru didn’t impress me as someone who would attack a fly. I know she said she was subject to dark rage, but I can’t imagine she’d be so angry at Graft she’d kill him in cold blood. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Dru said she’s found something to connect Graft with Florrie’s disappearance. She must have come her to confront him, they argued, he went for his gun, and there was a struggle.”
I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t make a helluva lot of sense. For one thing, Dru is a small girl. Can you see her wrestling a gun away from Graft?”
Cole shrugged. “You said she mentioned being subject to fits of rage. People sometimes get amazing strength in that condition.”
“But still.” I frowned. “Her blouse was torn, and there were bruises on her neck. But it doesn’t necessarily mean Graft made them.”
Cole’s brow lifted. “If not Graft, who?”
I dragged my hand through my hair. “I don’t know. Another member of the Sevites of Marinette, perhaps. Or another devoted follower of Oagu.”
“If you’re thinking Morrow, forget it. The undercover guy assigned to him said Morrow got home from the University around eight o’clock and never left. Plus,he lives by the University on the other side of town. It would have taken him a while to get here.”
I pressed my palm against my throbbing temples. “There has to be another explanation—someone else.”
Cole took my arm. “The ME found this underneath Graft’s body.” He pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. “It appears to be Graft’s diary.”
My neck jerked up. “His diary? Could that have been what Dru found among Florrie’s things? How on earth did she get it?”
“Who knows? Does it matter now? Point is, Graft had everything written down.”
My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by everything?”
“The outline of his plan to free the lwa god Agau, the sacrifices entailed, the names of the girls, the dates—everything.”
My eyes blazed. “Wow, how fucking convenient. Did he have the name of the last two sacrifices down as well?”
Cole flipped to a page. “Here on August 1st, he has jotted down – must get the two final sacrifices. The blood of seven will be complete.” He closed the book, tapped it against his palm.
I fisted my hands on my hips. “It can’t be right. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not? Dru found this, went into a rage, came here and killed him.”
“Yeah,” I spat. “Real pat, isn’t it? Everything falls into place perfectly.” I shook my head. “That’s what’s wrong with it. It’s too pat, too perfect. She finds that book, and gets so fucking mad she comes here and kills him. Maybe in a bad grade B movie, but in real life? I doubt it. And if you buy into that, then you’re crazy.”
“I didn’t say I thought that,” Cole said calmly. “But Commander Stone seems to think it makes sense.”
“Then she’s nuts,” I blurted.
“She might well be,” Cole agreed, “but she is the Commander. And she’s decided with Graft dead, and his diary practically a signed confession, there’s no threat of more witches being killed, or of evil spirits being released on Friday. She’s ordered the case file closed.”
“What!” I exploded. “But she—she can’t—it’s not—“
Cole put his arm around me. “I know, I know. It seems like there hasn’t been closure. It doesn’t smell right to me either, but she is the boss, she’s in charge. Whatever she says goes.”
I had to bite my tongue to hold back the words which wanted to automatically flow from my lips. “Even if she’s wrong,” I finally ground out.
He nodded. “Even then. We’ll just have to pray she’s right, won’t we?”
I walked over to the ER door, looked in, and turned back to Cole. “What we need is for Dru to come out of the coma—to tell us what really happened.”
He sighed. “And what are the chances of that, I wonder?”
The doors swung open, and a white-coated man emerged. He saw us, moved in our direction, hand outstretched.
“I imagine you are Agents St. John and Hawkes? I’m Doctor Marooney.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid Ms. Cooke’s condition is very serious. She’s suffered a severe subdural hematoma—a shock to the brain. She’s stable right now, but we’re watching her very carefully.” He shook his head. “If she doesn’t come out of the coma soon—well, it could be bad. Very bad. I’ve already notified her parents.”
I touched Dr. Marooney’s arm. “Doctor—is there any chance—she could wake up anytime soon?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult to tell in cases like this. The best we can do is watch. And pray.”
“How nice,” I said, as Marooney disappeared back into the ER. “How nice, and neat and tidy.”
&nbs
p; “Not much we can do about it,” Cole said. He paused. “It’ll seem odd, not reporting to the University anymore.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He looked at me. “The case is ended, Morgan. We’re no longer required to do undercover work. I’ll go back to my desk at Special Forces tomorrow, and you—“
“Oh, Zeus,” I slapped my forehead with my palm. “I’m back to ghostbusters.”
“Well,” he said gently, “you knew it would happen sooner or later, didn’t you? What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you don’t want to go back?”
I balled my hand into a fist at my side. “Well—yeah, of course I do. It’s just I put it from my mind, I suppose.” I relaxed my hand, combed it through my hair. “Oh, shit. It’s not that either.”
“What then?”
“It’s hard to reconcile the case is actually over, I suppose. All the loose ends are wrapped up so nice and tidy.” I stared up at him. “When have you ever seen a murder case tied up so neatly? It should have a pretty pink bow on it.”
Cole shrugged. “I agree, it’s not the norm, but it does happen on occasion.”
I scowled. “Where I come from, it happens very rarely.”
He chucked his finger under my chin. “And here I attributed your funk to the fact we’d no longer be working together.”
I felt my jaw drop. He chuckled.
“You only just thought of it, didn’t you?” he asked.
I felt color rise to my cheeks. “Hell—yeah.” I kicked at the floor with the heel of my shoe. “This is a bummer of a day all round. So—“ I took a breath. “What happens now, Cole. What happens to us?”
He moved closer. “I don’t know. What do you want to happen?” he asked.
I shagged out a breath. “In a perfect world, Commander Stone would applaud my efforts and ask me if I’d like to be your partner—permanently. But it’s not in the cards, is it?”
Cole clucked his tongue. “You’d be lucky to get a thank you from her. So would I, for that matter. But don’t worry, I’ll write a nice commendation about you and get it to Gilley. It will look nice on your record.”
No Rest for the Wicca Page 23