Love is Murder

by Sandra Brown

  “Someone must have seen something. We need to find them.”

  My blood pressure crept up. “We? This is my case, Jake. I’m the cop here.”

  “Neil was my friend.”

  “You can’t get involved. You’re not a cop.”

  “Don’t you mean I am a vampire?”

  “No!”

  He wasn’t exactly a vampire anyway, though he’d inherited certain abilities—his mother had been turned by a vampire while pregnant with him.

  “Bull. You don’t want me involved in your life—”

  My irritation was growing by the moment. “What are you talking about? You are in my life!”

  “When it’s convenient for you.”

  A variation on a familiar argument. I cared for Jake and he knew it. I wanted to protect him. Jake wasn’t one to hide his abilities— increased speed, strength, vision, hearing. And a psychic connection with me that had saved my life. He’d never taken anyone’s blood, but if others knew about his abilities, they might try to destroy him out of fear.

  “I don’t want to argue, Jake.”

  “Neil was my friend. Did you get a description of the woman?”

  “Harriet said she had long blond hair that looked silver in the moonlight, and real feathers covered the shoulders and arms of her gown so that it looked like she had wings.”

  “Sirena.”

  “You know her?”

  “Neil started seeing her several weeks ago. Took me once.”

  “Saw her where?”

  Ducking my question, Jake said, “I got weird vibes, couldn’t figure out what bothered me, but something did.”

  “When this Sirena came out of the water, Harriet closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep for protection. She peeked a minute later. No woman, but a big bird was flying away. That killed her credibility as a witness for Norelli, but I got real bad vibes myself. So…Sirena what? Her last name.”

  He shrugged. “No clue. But I know where to find her tonight. I’ll take you.”

  I wanted to tell him to stay out of this, to give me the information and leave the investigation to me, but from past experience, I knew it was no use. When Jake’s mind was set on something, even I couldn’t change it. In the meantime, I had to get my butt to the office before Norelli sent the bloodhounds after me.

  “I wanted to let you know about Neil myself, but I have to—”

  “Go back to work,” he finished for me, stepping closer. “I know.”

  My pulse flickered to life as did various other parts of my body. I placed a flat hand in the middle of his chest. He smiled in response. A knowing, hot, come-hither smile.

  And yet, he said, “I’m not trying to stop you.”

  “The hell you aren’t.”

  The way he looked at me played havoc with my insides, made them melt a little.

  He picked up a lock of my hair, twirled the mahogany strands. “Wear something sexy tonight.”

  “To interview a suspect?”

  “To keep me happy.”

  Keeping Jake happy was essential if I didn’t want to lose him.

  But right now murder was my priority.

  And so for the next ten hours, I kept my mind off Jake and on the potential victims. I worked with Norelli, did whatever he asked me to do, tried not to feel guilty about keeping what I knew from him. Telling him about Neil’s link with Sirena meant telling him about Jake, something I wouldn’t do.

  At least not yet.

  For once the hours dragged. I brought up the reports of the other victims. I studied their photos. A Northwestern professor, Bobby Russo, sat in a wingback chair, silver-trimmed pipe in hand. Cal Kruger sat on the hull of his speedboat, arm dangling over one knee, wrist decorated by Rolex. In the photos taken by the evidence tech after they’d washed up on the beaches, both wore expressions of ecstacy as had Neil. Both had been as young and virile, but that seemed to be the only thing the three men had in common.

  If Sirena was guilty, what had she gained from their deaths?

  Then the M.E. report came in. No sign of foul play. No drugs or booze in his system. Another suicide.

  “I don’t get it,” Norelli said. “My gut says murder. All three of them.”

  Without the M.E. backing up his gut, he had to let it go. At least officially. When you got down to it, Mike Norelli might be impossible sometimes, but he was great at his job. He was like a bulldog, wouldn’t let something go until he had the truth.

  Which meant I had to beat him to it before he unearthed the truth about Jake.

  But for now, I got to leave.

  So I was ready when Jake arrived home at eight. Unlike my theatrical twin, I’m a no-fuss kind of woman, who prefers simple clothes, an easy hairstyle and a touch of lipstick. And a Glock holstered to my back. Not that a gun was defense against the supernatural, but carrying it made me feel better. When I opened the door to Jake, his dark eyes glittered, devouring me, sliding over the sheer black dolman-sleeved blouse, stopping at the V at my breasts. I felt myself flush.

  “Happy?”

  “You decide.”

  As he kissed me, he took one of my hands and pressed it to the front of his trousers. Despite the cloth barrier, I felt him pulse against my palm. My heart thumped louder. I didn’t know whether it was one of those unnatural abilities of his, but he sure could keep a sexual high going. If we started now, he probably wouldn’t let me sleep until daybreak.

  Moaning, I ripped my lips and hand away. “Let’s get out of here while I still can.”

  In one of his lightning-fast moves, Jake was at the door by the time I turned to it. I patted the cats before leaving. Jake patted them, too. Sarge and Cadet used to be afraid of him—animals feared vampires, even half vampires—but the cats had warmed up to him when they realized he meant them no harm.

  We took my red Camaro, top down, but he drove. Soon we were on Lake Shore Drive headed south.

  “So what’s our destination?” I asked.

  “Northerly Island.”

  Land that used to be home to Chicago’s third airport for small planes. Now it was home to restaurants, a concert venue and a casino boat called The Ark.

  “Where exactly?”

  “Persephone’s Den.” While I’d heard of the raw bar and seafood restaurant, I’d never been there. I’d never been to Northerly Island other than to investigate a murder at a concert.

  We parked and went inside. The sophisticated interior of the place surprised me. Tanks of tropical fish. An aviary with tropical birds. Sea glass tile dressed up the entire back wall. People were dressed up, too. A young man in a tux played a baby grand piano.

  Jake took me to the bar where he placed our drink orders—beer for him, seltzer and lime for me.

  Already looking around for an exotic blonde, I asked, “So does Sirena work here or is she a regular?”

  “Owner. And entertainer. She sings.”

  His answer immediately put me on edge.

  A feeling that intensified a few minutes later when Sirena entered and stopped before the piano. She wore a diaphanous flesh-colored gown, the bodice and sleeves covered with feathers. No introductions. She simply began a low-throated come-hither song.

  The noise in the room lowered a notch.

  “Does she always wear feathers?” I whispered, remembering Harriet’s tale.

  Jake didn’t answer.

  “Jake?”

  He frowned. Seemed distracted. “Yeah?”

  But he only looked at me for a second before turning back to Sirena.

  About to poke him, I stopped when I realized something weird was going on. The hair on the back of my neck rose. The men all seemed mesmerized. Uncomfortable, too. They were shifting in their seats as if they were being seduced. All the men, including Jake.

  The birds in the aviary had quieted, too. They all seemed focused on the songstress.

  The only ones unaffected were the women, most of whom appeared annoyed.

  I was simply frightened. A woman
with such power over men…displaying it in public. I went on woo-woo warning.

  Sirena ended the song with an extended high note that vibrated through me. The whole room went silent as if holding its breath.

  With each song, the same thing happened. My head swirled and my gut tightened with the certainty that I was dealing with something beyond human. The men continued to be affected. Enough to send them to their deaths if Sirena so chose? Why? What kind of creature had that power?

  I thought about the name of the place—Persephone’s Den. I remembered in Greek mythology, Persephone was queen of the underworld and had sirens as her companions. Women who sang to lure sailors to their death.

  The sirens…Sirena…

  Apparently she wasn’t worried about being obvious. How many people, after all, believed in preternatural creatures?

  Being one who reluctantly did, I knew I had to stop her.

  I pulled out a card and scribbled a note on the back, then asked the bartender to get it to his boss.

  Jake gave me a quizzical expression.

  “An invite to talk,” I said, wondering how Sirena would try to explain what had gone on at Oak Street Beach.

  I didn’t have long to find out. Shortly after she finished her set, a busboy told us to meet her outside. We went out the back way. The wind had picked up again and rain clouds hid the moon for the second night in a row. A gust tore at Sirena’s sheer gown and long hair. She put up her hands to smooth it back in place, and in doing so, her feather-covered arms reminded me of a bird’s wings.

  “What can I do for you, Detective Caldwell?” Sirena removed a flat gold case from a pocket and took out a cigarette.

  She might be speaking to me, but she was giving Jake the once-over as she lit up. Like she was checking him out to see if he was prime victim material. I didn’t like it, glanced at Jake for his reaction. Not seeming to notice, he was zeroed in on the cigarette case in her hand.

  Watching the woman carefully, I said, “Neil Larson is dead.”

  Sirena’s brow furrowed slightly. She inhaled, asked, “Am I supposed to know who that is?” and blew smoke in my face.

  “Neil was a big fan,” Jake said.

  The other woman laughed. “Just because a man wants me doesn’t mean I notice.”

  “So you didn’t know Neil?” I asked.

  “That’s right, Detective.”

  “A witness swears that he was with a woman who looked just like you, and that she sang him into the lake.”

  Without missing a beat, Sirena said, “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

  “What kind of creature controls men through the sound of her voice?” I mused, wondering if she would admit it.

  “Creature.” Sirena laughed. “Dramatic much?”

  “Am I? Or maybe I have a sixth sense that recognizes when something is more than human.”

  Sirena’s smile faded. “Maybe you’re a wacko.”

  “Maybe. But I’m definitely a good cop. I always get my man. Or woman.”

  I only wished I could arrest Sirena and bring her in for a lineup, let Harriet finger her. First I needed proof to make my case that we were dealing with murders, that coincidence was not involved.

  Sirena threw down the still-lit cigarette. “Break time is over. I have another set.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Why thank you, Detective. No one ever does.”

  With that, Sirena went back inside and I ground her cigarette into the walkway.

  “Did she just challenge me?”

  “Yep. And she lied about Neil,” Jake added. “The cigarette case belonged to Neil’s mother who died of lung cancer. He kept it to remind himself never to smoke. Used it to hold his business cards.”

  Instincts humming, I said, “Let’s go back inside.” Entering, I whispered, “I’m going to look around, so go to the bar and keep an eye on her.” As a cop, I normally played by the book, but there was nothing in the CPD code that guided me in dealing with the supernatural. I would have to break some rules. “Just be careful.”

  Jake gave me a quizzical look before leaving my side.

  Considering Jake was supernatural, how had Sirena gotten to him on that previous visit?

  It had to be the sound of her voice…his hearing was vampire-augmented. Apparently that made him even more susceptible than a normal man. My protective hackles rose, but I was certain Sirena wouldn’t try anything now. She might be able to put the men in the room under her spell, but the women were another story.

  So how did I stop her?

  My real-life supernatural experience was limited, but I’d been reluctantly browsing through Silke’s books—my twin had a hard-on for everything supernatural—so I knew all magic had balance, weakness as well as power.

  What made Sirena vulnerable?

  I sneaked down the rear hall.

  Even as I heard Sirena address the audience between songs, I felt Jake probing at my mind.

  Find anything?

  I haven’t even started. I’ll let you know when I do.

  I shut down station SHELL. Having dealt with my twin all my life, I was well-practiced at closing myself off to psychic interference. As to stopping Sirena, I was a novice. Being human put me at a serious disadvantage.

  I found Sirena’s office, decorated with sea colors, a fish tank and a cage with colorful birds. I went straight to the desk and her computer. Password protected. I tried Siren…thethreesirens…Persephone…every variation I could think of. None worked. Then I remembered the Persephone myth.

  Underworld let me in.

  The computer desktop photo was that of a yacht called Siren’s Song.

  To my disappointment, I found no files on any of the three drowning victims. About to log off, I hesitated, then opened the browser, clicked on History and chose Last 7 Days.

  And there it was: LarsonGallery.com.

  I clicked on the link.

  And there he was: Neil Larson in his art gallery.

  I could still hear Sirena’s voice carry through the closed door. I figured I had a few minutes before she finished. Hoping to find some way to stop her now, I typed siren into a search engine for references on the preternatural creature who apparently wasn’t myth, after all. I quickly scanned several articles.

  With her voice she enchants, with her beauty she takes a man’s reason and deals destruction and death…

  …her irresistible song catches a man in her net until she bathes in his life force…

  …sirens combine women and birds in various ways…

  And then I found it.

  A siren is fated to live only until a man who hears her song can free himself of her spell.

  That was it—Sirena’s Achilles heel.

  How did I make that happen?

  Closing the browser, I stared at the photo of Siren’s Song. Sirena living on the water seemed logical. I could see The Ark in the background, so her yacht was docked in the lakeside harbor halfway between the casino boat and the beach. Perhaps there, I would find the proof I needed and a way to end this before another man fell victim to her charms.

  I practically flew out of the office. Sirena’s voice held on one of those weird high notes that made the room go silent.

  The sound Harriet had described.

  A sustained high note that had gone on and on as Neil walked out into the water with her, ending only when they’d disappeared below the waves.

  I exited the back way, fought the rising wind and ran along the path to the harbor.

  Who was next?

  Remembering how Sirena had looked at Jake with such interest, I told myself he would be all right. She wouldn’t try anything with so many witnesses.

  Once at the harbor, it took a few minutes to find the right slip. Siren’s Song bobbed in the water, its interior dark. Praying there would be no terrible surprises waiting for me, I boarded her and lightly jumped down to the deck. The cabin door was locked. I didn’t have a search warrant, but these were
supernatural circumstances, and what judge would believe me? I reached into a pocket for my picks. The yacht lurched with a gust of wind and I had to steady my stomach from heaving. The lock took only a minute to open.

  I slipped inside, closed the door behind me and turned on the light.

  The sound of flapping wings startled me.

  Across the open salon, a giant cage held back an owl, two small hawks and a vulture. Predators.

  I shuddered. Maybe my coming here alone wasn’t such a great idea. Intending to search the place and get out fast, I avoided their beady eyes.

  The elegant salon’s walls and surfaces held decorative and military artifacts that looked real. My attention was caught by an old, beat-up wooden chest.

  Ignoring the squawks and rustling, I stooped before the trunk and opened the lid. The sparkle of gems and precious metal was muted by less costly treasure. All personal items. Two on top caught my attention—a watch and a pipe with silver trim. Using the hem of my blouse to pick up the Rolex, I turned it over. Inscribed on the back were the initials CK. Cal Kruger. The pipe looked like the one that belonged to Bobby Russo.

  Proof that Sirena was connected to the three supposed suicides.

  Taking out my cell phone, I photographed the open trunk’s contents. Souvenirs? Did each item represent one of Sirena’s victims, possibly going back centuries? As if the birds could read my mind, they chattered and flapped their wings. I straightened and closed the trunk lid and snapped photos of the salon. Only when I made a one-eighty did I realize I wasn’t alone.

  “Sirena.”

  Gown swirling around her, blond hair seeming to stand on end, features twisted into displeasure, she blocked the only exit. She muttered something under her breath and I jumped when the cage door slammed open. A small hawk flew by me and landed on Sirena’s shoulder. The other hawk followed. Then the owl and the vulture.

  My stomach knotted and I had to remind myself to breathe. I had to get out of there and she was blocking the way. Focusing on her, on the danger, I reopened station SHELL to Jake and transmitted my desperation.

  Siren’s Song, Northerly Harbor. I need you now!

  I only hoped he heard.

  “How many men, Sirena?” I needed to keep her talking until the cavalry arrived, “And why?”