Love is Murder

by Sandra Brown

  Did Devon know where he was going?

  He slowed and gave a signal for silence.

  She drew her weapon though she’d prefer to use the wand she kept hidden along with her mage identity.

  Devon eased up to the side of a closed door with light sifting out from the bottom and tried the knob. Locked. He shifted in front of it, put his boot up and kicked. Rotten wood shattered.

  Joleen shook her head, muttering, “What is it about boys and kicking in doors?”

  * * *

  Devon took in the hideous scene against one wall of the pawnshop. Coldfinger was dead, frozen with his remaining arm up in defense and his face contorted with a scream of fear. Devon wrinkled his nose at the scorched sherbet-ice-cream stench.

  Jo pointed at a pile of half-chewed orange glob that might be Coldfinger’s upchucked arm and smirked. “Looks like Lambert tested the spell on Coldfinger. Trolls have a weak stomach for leprechaun, eh?”

  Devon let the rare humor in her voice pass without comment. He had to contact Tzader. As the Belador Maistir over North America, Tzader directed a large portion of VIPER’s force.

  Jo must have picked up the track of his thoughts. “If you’re thinking of calling in backup, you better reconsider unless you want Lambert to use the spell on VIPER agents, as well.”

  She had a point, but he knew that wasn’t her real concern. “You’re just worried VIPER will pick up Lambert before you do.”

  “True, but what if you call in agents, and he unleashes the spell? Svart Trolls got any old scores to settle with Beladors?”

  “I’ve thought about that, but even with my intel I can’t just assume it’s only a hit squad and that he’s only after the Ansgar family. We have to cover more area than that. And we’re not sure how long the spell will last now that Lambert is using it.”

  She hissed something that sounded like a curse. “That type of fixation spell that can be used in volume has a short shelf life. The spell must be contained in a way Lambert can release it as needed, but he wouldn’t have wasted activating it unless he planned on using the spell again within twenty-four hours. Even if you call in VIPER, you still can’t prove Lambert took the Noirre spell from Coldfinger and you put your teams at risk.”

  Hellfire, she was right and he believed she knew her stuff with spells. He’d love to find out exactly what Joleen was. She didn’t fit the usual gutter profile of Dakkar’s bounty hunters.

  She nodded at Coldfinger. “That was a message for anyone who tries to cross Lambert. The spell’s probably been working about twenty minutes because we’ve been here half that and Coldfinger’s blood has started congealing.”

  Devon glanced over his shoulder. “Got what he deserved for dealing Noirre with a troll.” He swung his gaze back to her. “Any ideas on how to find Lambert?”

  She pondered her answer too long, as if debating once again on how much to share. “He’ll likely position himself in a safe place to use the spell. He won’t risk being with the other trolls in case something goes wrong or VIPER rolls in.”

  Devon had to contact Tzader, but without Jo knowing or she might disappear. And beyond needing her help, dammit, he didn’t want that. “Our best use of time is figuring out the most advantageous place for Lambert to release the spell tomorrow morning.”

  Anyone watching Jo would think she might just be staring off as she processed information, but Devon could feel energy building that had to be coming from her. Energy she worked to keep contained.

  What was she? Besides hot and dangerous?

  Her lavender-blue eyes fluttered back to life, and that oddly interesting gaze met his. “You know the parade route for tomorrow?”

  He lifted his smartphone up for view. “I can pull up everything we need. It starts on Abercorn Street near Forsyth Park.”

  “Then that’s where we start.” She walked off and Devon let her lead the way.

  What man wouldn’t want to follow something that fine?

  He also took the opportunity to text Tzader a message. Not much for typing to begin with, Devon just punched in: Call me.

  As one of the stronger telepaths in the Beladors, Tzader could reach across two hundred and fifty miles from Atlanta. His rumbling voice entered Devon’s mind. What’s up, Dev?

  Devon answered, Have a situation we need to handle carefully. A troll got his hands on a Noirre fixation spell.

  How’d that happen?

  Devon explained about his investigation to this point. He finished by saying, Lambert got the spell from Coldfinger.

  You bag the leprechaun?

  No. Lambert tested the spell on him.

  Joleen glanced back at Devon with a questioning look about his lagging behind. He smiled and held the phone sideways as if busy working on the parade route that he already knew.

  She shook her head and kept walking.

  Tzader said, Call me when you contain Lambert. I’ll send a team to transport him.

  If only it was that easy. Devon added, One problem. I’m pretty sure Lambert plans to use the spell during the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

  Why?

  Devon went through how the spell functioned, adding, Got some help from a bounty hunter. She knows her stuff.

  She?

  Hellfire. Tzader wouldn’t like this. Devon said, Joleen Mac.

  What’s she doing there?

  This is where things got tricky. Devon wasn’t sure how any of this would play out, but he still owed Jo big-time and didn’t want her marked as a VIPER target for interfering. Jo was hunting one of the trolls. We intercepted the deal in progress at the same time. She’s agreed to help.

  After a brief silence, Tzader said, I’ll bring in every available agent by tomorrow morning.

  That could be risky without knowing where Lambert plans to release the spell. If the team is too close they could be compromised.

  We’ll stay a hundred yards away. You find Lambert.

  The connection died just as Devon reached Abercorn Street.

  Jo waited for him on the sidewalk. “Lambert wouldn’t be down here on the streets even with a Svart team. He’d be up there.” She pointed to the rooftops.

  “Then that’s where we’re headed.”

  By the time Devon had walked Jo across every rooftop on the parade route, twice, Jo finally agreed with Devon on the best place to expect Lambert to show. On the way back to hunker down on top of a building next to the one where they expected Lambert, Devon picked up a succulent meal from the Sapphire Grill for a rooftop picnic. He’d like to squeeze some information out of Jo, but pulling gold out of a troll’s fist would be easier. And she sounded exhausted from tracking Lambert for two days.

  Plus, too many questions might snap the thin commitment of this short-term alliance.

  When she finished eating, Jo frowned. “Lambert won’t arrive until he’s ready to unleash the spell…unless he comes by early to scope the location.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You got first watch,” she ordered and leaned back, closing her eyes, not waiting for his agreement.

  * * *

  Seven hours later, crowds packed the sidewalks on each side of the parade walk below.

  Jo stepped up beside Devon and looked over the edge to the lower roof of the next building. “You sure about this?”

  “Sure about the location or making that thirty-foot leap?”

  “The jump.” She straightened and faced him. “Is making death-defying leaps another boy thing like kicking in doors?”

  Devon lifted his hand slowly and rubbed his knuckles along her cheek. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’m not the one in danger of breaking a leg.”

  “So you can fly?” He’d like to see just what kind of power she had.

  Marching band music and crowds cheering surged from a distance. The thick of the parade would be right below them in another couple minutes.

  “Where’s Lambert?” Jo wondered out loud.

 
“Right here, Jo baby,” Lambert said from behind them.

  Dammit. Right idea, wrong rooftop.

  Devon noted how Jo still leaned her arms on the short wall but moved her fingers inside her jacket and slid out a short stick before turning around. “Big mistake to use that spell on us, Lambert.”

  “That’s what Coldfinger said.” The glamoured troll held a glowing pocket watch in one hand, thumb resting against the clasp, ready to pop the cover.

  Devon questioned if a field of kinetic power shoved at Lambert would do anything against the Noirre majik controlled by that watch, but he started to lift his hands.

  Jo sighed and whispered, “Don’t.”

  Did she have a way to stop the troll from freezing them or a plan to snake her bounty out from under Devon?

  Decision time. He couldn’t stop Lambert for sure and his gut said to trust her. He whispered, “Okay.”

  Lambert asked, “Any last words, Jo?”

  She smiled. “Never assume all opponents are equal.”

  “They are when I hold this. Admit it. I beat you.” Lambert lifted the pocket watch.

  Devon tensed, fighting the urge to use his kinetics.

  Jo moved so quickly Devon barely caught the motion. In the microsecond that Lambert’s thumb moved to the clasp release, Jo pointed a pencil-size length of carved wood at him. It lengthened as she rattled off a chant.

  Power met power halfway between Lambert and Jo.

  The backlash of energy hit Jo and Devon. He caught her arm just before she’d have flipped over the wall and used his kinetics to shove them forward.

  When the power cleared, Lambert stood frozen with a mask of shock.

  What the hell? Devon stared at Jo. Wizard? Mage?

  Jo walked over to Lambert. “He didn’t get a direct hit of the Fixit spell when it back-lashed. Might not hold him long.”

  She snapped a titanium neck shackle on Lambert who roused, muttering, “Bitch.”

  Devon clubbed the troll with his elbow, knocking the slimy bastard to the ground. Once he had titanium handcuffs on Lambert’s wrists, Devon smiled, ready to offer Jo a celebration meal.

  Then lost his grin.

  She held the closed pocket watch that was still loaded with the Noirre spell.

  Ah, hell. “Don’t, Jo. If you freeze me long enough to snatch Lambert, I’ll have to report you…oh. Guess I won’t remember.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  With powers like hers, what was a woman like Jo even doing with Dakkar? Then Devon got it.

  Jo was hiding from something or someone.

  She walked over to him, hand extended, offering the watch. “I would never use the dark arts. Just wanted you to know I could have.”

  His chest eased with relief. He took the watch from her and shoved it in his jacket pocket. “Fair enough. Lambert’s yours.”

  Her voice lit with suspicion. “What about VIPER?”

  “I contacted Tzader last night.”

  That narrowed her eyes. “Figures.”

  He shrugged. “My duty to protect comes first. I’m telling Tzader that you single-handedly got the Noirre spell back and once I had that in hand, your bounty took precedence.”

  Surprise brightened her exotic gaze. “Why would you…?”

  “Not bring in VIPER? Because then I’d have to tell them about your powers.” He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Appreciation relaxed the delicate muscles in her face until she paused. “So you’re going to let me just walk away with Lambert?”

  “Not exactly.” Devon stepped closer and slipped his fingers into her hair. He gave her a chance to back off as he lowered his head, but she lifted up and met him halfway with a kiss of pure torment.

  Sinfully sweet and without a chance of satisfaction.

  She nipped his lip before stepping back, eyes sparking with challenge. “You think giving me Lambert pays off saving your hide from that demon.”

  “I know better.” He didn’t want to wipe out that debt too quickly or he might not see her again. “There’s always next time.”

  * * * * *

  HOT NOTE

  A Detective Shelley Caldwell Story

  Patricia Rosemoor

  Rosemoor seamlessly packs a lot of information into the first paragraph, effectively setting the stage, then plunges the reader straight into this captivating story. ~SB

  Though the night’s storm abated, wind still blew in powerful gusts, chopping waves of lake water over the corpse facedown on Oak Street Beach. Dawn had barely broken when an early-morning jogger had called it in. I hadn’t been sleeping, but—worse—my cell phone blasting had torn me out of Jake’s arms…and he’d been using his best vampire moves on me. Now as Detective Mike Norelli and I surveyed the scene, an evidence technician snapped photos.

  “Nifty swimsuit,” my partner said of the dead man’s charcoal-striped suit. “Gotta get me one of them.”

  “Yeah, Norelli, as if someone could pry open your wallet.”

  “So I’m thrifty.”

  I snorted and crouched down near the corpse. “No wound that I can see.”

  “Just like the other two.”

  I was thinking the same thing. Earlier in the year, two other men had washed up on beaches, the first on the south side of Chicago, the second farther north. I shot my gaze to the corpse’s feet. I could still see an indentation where his body had disturbed the sand as waves off Lake Michigan had pushed it to shore.

  The evidence tech backed off, so I searched the dead man’s pockets and produced keys and a wallet, which I handed to Norelli.

  “Just like the others,” he repeated as I stood. “Not a robbery.”

  “What are the chances of three fully dressed men walking into the lake and drowning?”

  I didn’t believe in coincidence.

  Furthermore, I was getting bad vibes. My inner alarms clanged.

  Not again. No reason to believe anything woo-woo was involved.

  As Norelli checked the wallet, I signaled the team. The EMTs rolled the corpse onto a stretcher, giving me a clear shot at the dead man’s face, which was contorted with what looked like ecstacy.

  I gasped.

  “Neil Larson,” Norelli and I said in unison.

  He looked up from the driver’s license. “You psychic or do you have X-ray vision?”

  Actually, I was psychic, at least with my twin, Silke, and recently with Jake, but no way was I going to admit that. Not another departmental evaluation for me, thank you.

  “Yeah, Norelli. Like I know you recently had pasta with marinara sauce.”

  He narrowed his gaze at me. “Last night. How did you know really?”

  “The tomato stain on your lapel.”

  “I meant the victim.”

  “I recognize him,” I said. “Larson Gallery, River North. He’s the owner. Was the owner.”

  “You travel in those circles?”

  “Not everyone parks in front of the television with a beer.”

  I’d met Neil Larson through Jake. The gallery represented Jake’s photographs, and he and Neil had become friends. But the last thing I wanted was to bring Jake into this. If Norelli started investigating his background…

  Sensing an observer, I whipped around to see a thin, elderly black woman in cropped pants and a T-shirt too big for her, feet in sandals repaired with duct tape. Clutching a full black plastic garbage bag, she was all wide-eyed. I wondered if she’d been on the beach the night before. She ducked her head and started to shuffle away, but I quickly caught up to her.

  “Wait a minute. I’m Detective Shelley Caldwell.” I flashed my star. “Do you know the man who drowned?”

  She shook her head and avoided my eyes. I sensed strong emotion.

  Fear.

  “If you saw something, you need to tell me. What’s your name?”

  “Harriet.”

  “Well, Harriet, can I buy you breakfast? All you have to do is tell me what you saw.”

  Ha
rriet considered the offer. Hunger trumped fear because she pointed to a bench. “I was sleeping there until the noise woke me.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “Singing.”

  “The victim?”

  “No, a woman. Scary, that one.” Her attention shifted to the body bag being loaded into the ambulance. “He be walking into the lake after her.”

  My pulse thrummed. Now we were getting somewhere. “Did the victim say anything to the woman?”

  “Nope. Acted real weird. All happy but weird.”

  My mouth went dry. “Tell me more about the woman.”

  She did.

  Chills crawled straight up my spine.

  * * *

  “Neil is dead?”

  Jake wore a stunned expression, the black diamond in his right ear and nothing else. He’d gone back to sleep while I’d been on the job. Mornings weren’t his thing unless a little something-something was involved as it had been when my cell phone had gone off. We spent our nights together not sleeping when I wasn’t held hostage working a homicide.

  “It’s another woo-woo case,” I added.

  “How so?” He pulled on a pair of very brief briefs.

  No more eye candy for me.

  I told him about the homeless woman’s story. “When she said Neil was acting weird, that’s when my alarms went off.”

  “Neil didn’t do drugs. He didn’t even drink other than an occasional beer.”

  “Harriet said a woman standing in the shallows was singing seductively and it lured Neil into the lake. They both went under, but only she came back out.”

  “Hunh.”

  Jake’s intent expression made me reach out and run a fingertip over the scar that was nearly hidden by beard stubble. But when the gleam in his eyes spelled sexual interest, I pulled my hand away and went into the kitchen to open a can of tuna for the cats. Sarge and Cadet came running at the sound of the can opener.

  Swiping a hand down their backs, I left them to find Jake getting dressed. Triple-time speed. Normal for him.

  He asked, “What about those other men who drowned?”

  “We never found witnesses and the M.E. declared both suicides.”