The basement, however, was notorious for hosting “private” auctions to move artwork and antiques that didn’t always have the paperwork necessary for a legal sale.
Duncan didn’t bother trying to shut down the auctions. What was the point? They would pack up and move to a new location before he could get a warrant.
Besides, having an inside informant who understood that Duncan could disrupt his very profitable business meant that he could get the facts he needed with the minimum of fuss.
Entering the building, he ignored the beautiful brunette who sashayed toward him in a silver dress that cost more than his car. Instead he weaved his way past the artwork hung from the open girders that passed as a ceiling, not bothering to glance at the bold spatters of paint on the canvases.
Unlike many, he appreciated modern art, but today he was focused on getting in and out.
The quicker the better.
Shoving open the small door at the back of the main showroom, Duncan stepped into the office and shut it behind him.
At his entrance Jacques Girard rose to his feet. A small, slender man, he was wearing a black designer suit and red silk tie, his black hair peppered with silver brushed away from his severely handsome face.
He flashed a smooth smile to reveal his perfectly capped teeth. “Sergeant O’Conner, what a delightful surprise.” The accent was French, but Duncan would bet his right nut the man had never stepped foot outside Kansas City. “Have a seat, s’il vous plaît.”
Duncan waved aside the invitation, crossing the sparse office that was the same mixture of glass and steel as the gallery. Reaching the desk, he placed the stone vessel wrapped in plastic directly in front of the man.
“I need your expertise.”
Jacques leaned down, studying the object with sudden interest. He might be a fraud as a sophisticated Frenchman, but he knew his shit when it came to art.
“Nice,” he murmured. “Where did you get this?”
“Not your concern,” Duncan said. Jacques was too smart not to eventually realize the vessel was a part of Calso’s murder investigation, but Duncan wasn’t about to share confidential police info. “Do you recognize the symbol?”
The dealer continued to study the vessel, his expression oddly tense. “I’m not an expert on antiquities, but my guess would be Sumerian.”
Sumerian?
That seemed . . . random.
“Who deals with this sort of item?”
The man straightened. “None locally.”
Duncan frowned. “Don’t jerk me around, Girard.”
“I’m not.” Jacques held up his hands. “This is museum quality. Very rare.”
“So give me a name.”
The man shrugged. “I’m going to have to do some digging.”
Duncan tossed the picture he’d grabbed at the station onto the desk. “What about this?”
Jacques picked up the twelve-by-twelve glossy picture of the coin that had been taken from the security tape. It had been blown up as large as possible without turning it into a fuzzy blob, but with a sharp motion, Jacques reached for a magnifying glass lying on his desk to study it in grim silence.
“Did it come with the vessel?” he at last demanded.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” Another long silence. “Not currency. Maybe a symbol of authority.”
“How much would it be worth?”
“I can’t say for certain.”
Jacques made a sound of shock as Duncan smoothly pulled his gun and aimed it at his head. “Mon Dieu. I truly don’t know. Were they found together?”
Duncan kept his gun pointed at his companion. He didn’t intend to shoot the con man. But he sensed Jacques knew more about the coin than he was willing to admit. Obviously, he needed . . . inspiration to share his full range of knowledge.
“How did you know they were found together?”
Jacques licked his lips, using the magnifying glass to point toward the vessel on his desk. “The symbols along the top of the vase.”
“What about them?”
“I’m no expert, but I suspect that they describe the purpose of the coin.”
Duncan furrowed his brow, considering his words. “Like an instruction manual?”
“Exactly. And here ...” The magnifying glass lowered to point toward the odd bird sketched into the stone. “It matches the hieroglyph etched on the coin. It can’t be a coincidence. Together the pair would be almost priceless.”
Duncan stiffened, abruptly realizing what had been nagging at him since he’d walked into Calso’s office and caught sight of the ancient vessel.
“A pair,” he breathed softly.
Jacques shrugged. “That’s what I just said.”
“So why would somebody take the coin and leave behind the vessel it came in?”
“No collector would,” Jacques instantly denied. “Apart they’re extremely valuable. Together ...” He set the picture next to the vase, emphasizing their matching symbols. “As I said. Priceless.”
Duncan had already ruled out robbery as a reason for the murder. A thief didn’t leave behind millions in artwork, let alone a stack of untraceable bills.
Now he had to rule out an obsessed antiquities collector.
Which left . . .
More goddamn questions than answers.
The realization had just struck when he felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Stepping back, he holstered his gun before pulling out the phone and pressing it to his ear.
It would be a pity to shoot one of his best informants just because he didn’t like the latest news.
And he didn’t doubt for a minute he wasn’t going to like it.
“O’Conner,” he snapped, stiffening as he heard the dispatcher’s unsteady voice telling him that Leah’s body had been found. Again. “Where?” He made a mental note of the directions. “I’ll be there. Contact Valhalla.”
Replacing the phone in his pocket, Duncan reached to grasp the vessel and picture from the desk.
Jacques had turned a peculiar shade of ash, his suave French facade shattered by a surge of genuine fear.
“What the hell? You didn’t tell me that this has something to do with the freaks.”
Duncan turned and headed for the door. “I need the names of dealers who could move these items and I need them fast.”
“I don’t want to get involved with high-bloods,” the con man protested, his voice approaching a screech. “They’re nothing but trouble.”
Duncan spared a glance over his shoulder. “Not nearly as much trouble as disappointing me.”
Confident the man understood the cost of failure, Duncan headed across the showroom, his expression dark enough to keep the hovering assistant at a safe distance.
Then, getting into his car, he raced out of town at a speed that would make his ma faint.
He had to do something to vent his simmering frustration.
Okay, maybe the morning hadn’t been a complete waste. He’d discovered the vessel and coin were unmistakably connected and that they had been crafted by the ancient Sumerians.
But the information didn’t give him a direct path to Zakhar, which he needed if he was going to help Callie.
And now he was headed to collect the body of a young female who should have been protected by the police, if not while she was alive, then most certainly after she was dead.
Was it any wonder his foot was a little heavy on the accelerator?
Arriving at the remote location east of town, he parked his car on the bluff and made his way cautiously down to the muddy bank of the Missouri River.
He was immediately hit by the stench of brackish water and green slime that had collected in a small pool that was blocked from the river by a pile of rotting logs. His grimace, however, was for the young woman who was stretched on the mud. She’d clearly been dumped in the river in the hopes her body would float far enough away that she wouldn’t be connected to Kansas City.
Instead she’d gotte
n caught on the logs.
Another surge of frustration flared through him. Dammit. Leah should be shopping with her friends. Or attending college. Or hell, dancing at the Rabbit Hutch, making old men pop little blue pills in the hope they might get lucky.
Anything but lying in the mud with her eyes staring blindly at the cloudless sky.
Turning his attention from the body, Duncan frowned at the sight of Frank with a crowd of uniformed police standing several feet away. Why the hell wasn’t the silver-haired coroner processing the body? Were they waiting on something? Or someone?
At his approach Frank stepped away from the other cops, his expression hard. “O’Conner. About damned time you got here.”
Duncan sighed. Knowing the older man as well as he did, he had no doubt Frank took the theft and abuse of Leah’s body personally.
“Who found her?”
Frank jerked a thumb toward the large man standing at the top of the bluff, his beefy face flushed with adrenaline.
“A local farmer. He was searching for a missing cow.”
“He’s been warned not to speak to anyone?” Duncan demanded.
“Yeah.” Frank rolled his eyes. “For all the good it will do.”
Duncan shrugged. It wasn’t like the farmer found a dead girl every day. Thank god. Who could blame him if he made the most of the rare event?
“Have you been able to examine her?”
Frank muttered a curse. “I just started when I was told to stop.”
“By who?”
“The chief.”
Duncan frowned. “Did she say why?”
The coroner’s expression went from hard to bleak. “The freaks are coming to collect her.”
If Frank had said those words just yesterday, Duncan would have gone ballistic. This was his case and he’d be damned if any freak was going to interfere.
Now, he squashed his territorial urges. Whatever was happening was way beyond his comfort zone. The more help the better. And speaking of help ...
“Did you learn anything?” he asked his companion.
Frank scowled. “Are you deaf? I just said I was told not to touch her.”
“I’m not deaf and I’m not stupid,” Duncan drawled. “The day you do what you’re told is the day I sprout wings and a halo.”
A rueful smile replaced the scowl. “Fine,” Frank muttered. “Her heart is still missing.”
“No surprise. What else?”
Frank stepped closer, pitching his voice so it wouldn’t carry. Word would eventually leak through the police department that their missing corpse had been caught on video surveillance killing one of Kansas City’s most powerful citizens. But the longer they could keep it quiet, the longer they could avoid outright panic.
“Her body’s not in bad shape considering she’s been walking around the city,” Frank admitted, his voice edged with a soul-deep anger.
Duncan glanced toward the slender female who lay like a broken flower in the mud. He understood his companion’s fury.
It was wrong. Obscene.
“No obvious wounds?”
“Nada.”
“Anything to indicate where she’s been?”
Frank hesitated before giving a small shrug. “One thing.”
Hah. Duncan knew he could count on Frank. The man might be a norm, but nothing got past his eagle eye. “What?”
“The tags in her clothing.”
Duncan glanced back to Leah, skimming a puzzled gaze over the stretchy pants and top.
“What about them?”
“The clothes we found in her house were all from the local mall.”
Duncan whipped his gaze back to his companion. “How do you know?”
Frank flashed a droll smile. “Are you fucking kidding me? I have three teenage daughters. There’s not a store in that mall I haven’t been dragged through a thousand times.”
“I guess that would do it,” Duncan admitted, startled by the tiny pang of envy. He’d always known he wanted children. It was imprinted into the O’Conner DNA. So why was he suddenly feeling that he wanted those children now? Christ. Did men have biological clocks? Shaking his head at his moronic thoughts, he returned his attention to what Frank was trying to explain. “Is there something different about the clothes she’s wearing now?”
“Your Sung.”
“My Sung?”
“Your Sung. A local designer,” Frank said. “Very high end.”
Weird. Why would the necro go to the expense of designer clothes for a corpse he was going to toss in the river?
“Thanks, amigo,” he said, making a mental note to check with the more exclusive salons.
Frank stiffened, his glance shooting over Duncan’s shoulder. “The cavalry has arrived.”
Duncan turned, prepared for the uniformed medics who were swiftly moving to wrap Leah in a protective bag that would hide her from prying eyes as well as preserve any evidence on her body.
What he wasn’t prepared for was the sight of Callie and Fane, who followed closely behind the medics.
Had they already traveled to Russia and back? The thought would have boggled his mind if he hadn’t been even more boggled by the lightning strike of awareness that sizzled through him.
Dressed in casual jeans with a white tee and her stunning eyes covered by sunglasses, she should have been easily overlooked. She was certainly tiny enough to be lost in the crowd.
But there wasn’t a male gaze that didn’t linger on the exotic crimson of her spiky hair and the grace of her movements as she halted several feet away while Fane moved to place himself directly between the medics and the gathered human police.
Like a rabid guard dog.
“So it would seem,” he murmured to Frank in absent tones.
“I heard you stayed at Valhalla.” Frank cleared his throat. “And not alone.”
Duncan sent his companion a warning glare. “You have a problem?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Frank lifted his hands. “I was just wondering what’s going on with you.”
With a snort Duncan began walking toward Callie. “Tell you what, Frank. When I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, amigo,” the coroner called behind him.
Callie stood, stiff and uncomfortable as Duncan casually strolled in her direction.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t pleased to see him.
She snorted softly. Not pleased? Why not just admit it?
She was tingling from head to toe.
Just catching sight of him with his golden hair shimmering in the sunlight and his lean body shown to advantage in the faded jeans and black tee made her heart leap and her mouth go as dry as the Sahara.
She wanted to cross the rough ground and wrap her arms around him. Not just because she remembered the pleasure of being pressed against those hard muscles; delving into the dark history of Lord Zakhar had left her feeling edgy. As if a shadow was looming over her. She could definitely use a hug.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, acutely aware of the suspicious glances from Duncan’s human friends. They’d clearly heard rumors of Duncan staying at Valhalla and were keeping watch to make sure he hadn’t been “contaminated” by the freaks.
And, besides, she hadn’t yet decided if seeking comfort from this particular male was really a wise choice.
Had she?
The disturbing question whirled through her mind as Duncan halted in front of her, making her even more edgy.
“Hello, Sergeant O’Conner,” she murmured in a tight voice.
“Sergeant O’Conner?” He blinked. “Is that a joke?”
“I didn’t expect you to be here. We just returned to Valhalla when the Mave asked that we bring the medics to collect the body,” she found herself babbling, taking a step backward. “She hopes that an autopsy of Leah might reveal the precise magic the necromancer used to animate her.”
Duncan frowned as he studied her wary
expression. “What the hell is going on?”
She licked her lips at his impatient question. “I just told you.”
“You told me why you’re here,” he growled. “You haven’t told me why you’re acting like I didn’t spend the morning kissing every satin inch of you.”
Heat stained her cheeks. “Shh.”
“Answer the question or I’m going to get a hell of a lot louder.”
“It’s . . . I didn’t know—”
“Know what?”
“If you wanted people to realize that we’d been together,” she said, giving a startled grunt when he grasped her arm and tugged her toward a trail leading back up the bluff. Far enough away to make sure no one could overhear them, although they remained in full view of the gawking cops. “Duncan. What are you doing?”
“I want to make sure I have this right.” The hazel eyes sparked with gold, warning his temper was roused. “Are you implying that you thought I might be ashamed of sleeping with you?”
Put that way it sounded . . . bad.
She shot a glance toward the crowd, shifting her feet. She hated being the center of attention. Especially when she was surrounded by norms. “Can we discuss this later?”
His jaw hardened. He was well and truly pissed.
“No, we damned well can’t discuss this later. We discuss this now.”
“People are staring.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He leaned close enough to whisper directly in her ear, his scent teasing her nose and making her blood heat. Man. She loved the smell of him. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she realized her nipples had hardened and excitement was buzzing through her lower stomach. She wanted to shove her fingers into his hair and trail a line of kisses over his stubborn jaw. Or bury her face in the curve of his neck and savor his intoxicating scent. “Just like I don’t give a damn if they know I’ve taken you as my lover,” he continued, placing an intimate kiss just below her ear before he pulled back to study her with a brooding gaze. “Unless that’s not the problem?”
She blinked, struggling to concentrate on his words.
Dammit. She was the Queen of Composure. Nothing rattled her. Especially not a mere man.
But Duncan O’Conner possessed an aggravating ability to slip beneath her defenses.
Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Page 17