Blood Brothers (Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  “I don’t see you have any other choice,” Alexi said. “Personally, it will make me feel a lot better. I hated watching him think I was dead.”

  That had bothered her, too, but she wasn’t certain his relief would outweigh his anger. People, especially cops, hated being kept in the dark. But she could think of no other option.

  “I’ll tell him you want to see him at the house, Rhys.”

  “Make sure Sylvia dinna follow ye,” Eli said. “If the she-witch has suspicions, fer whatever reason, she’s even mair dangerous.”

  “We’ll be there are soon as we can.” Delaney hung up the phone, collected her purse and coat, and headed into the outer office to get Harry. She found him perched on the edge of Gladys’ desk, viewing her computer screen. She checked the office for Sylvia. No trace of her, visually or through shifter senses.

  “Captain,” Delaney said. He swiveled his head toward her, and she crooked her index finger at him. “Can I speak to you?”

  He rose from the desk. “Let me know if you find anything else out, Gladys.”

  “Sure, boss,” she replied.

  “I just got off the phone with Rhys,” Delaney said. “He wants us at Alexi’s house.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  She didn’t like his reaction. “Something about Alexi and the funeral.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “I don’t think so. He sounded urgent.”

  “All right. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Umm, we’ll need to go in your car. I walked to the precinct from my daughter’s apartment this morning.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Gladys, I’m leaving for the day. Call my cell if I’m needed.”

  “Nice wheels,” Delaney said as she sank onto the leather car seat. “Didn’t think a police captain made the kind of money needed for this kind of car.”

  “I’m single and a saver,” Harry replied as if that would explain his pricey car. He changed the subject, hoping to take the attention off his car and finances. “I didn’t take you for the kind of girl who’d walk to work.”

  “Keeps me in shape.” She ran her hand along the beige leather arm dividing the space between them.

  When she caressed the leather, he shivered as if she stroked him. He resisted the urge to flip up the barrier and drag her closer to him like a teenager on a date. “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  She twisted toward him, her eyes clouding with something he couldn’t place. Suspicion? Fear?

  “What makes you think I know anything?”

  “I’m a cop, Delaney. My gut talks to me.” It was telling him he was about to get entangled with a woman who was going to cause him a lot of trouble.

  “And I’m an FBI agent with-”

  “I know. Secrets.” He paused before putting the car in gear. He admired her shapely body, responding to what he saw. Whew, she is beautiful. I’m tired of being alone. Maybe she’d be worth the trouble. Moving his focus to her eyes, he said, “But I don’t think I’m sensing an FBI secret.”

  “Really?”

  She held his gaze with intensity, as if she were trying to see into him. The Caribbean blue of her eyes drew him in like a siren drowning a man at sea. “You have very revealing eyes.”

  “Guess I’d better work on that,” she said, angling away.

  “Actually, that’s one of the things I like about you.”

  She swung her head toward him with a startled expression. “Which one? Secrets? Or my eyes?”

  “Eyes. I get enough secrets as a cop. Don’t want them in relationships.”

  The atmosphere changed, charging like the air before a summer storm. Her cheeks flushed rosy pink. Was she pissed he mentioned relationships? After all, they’d only met a couple of days ago. Maybe she didn’t want things to move too fast.

  “What kind of relationships?” she asked softly.

  “Work relationships.”

  “We’ve got that already, at least it’s a start.”

  A start? Did he dare hope she wanted more? “How about friend relationships?”

  “Oh.” She sounded deflated.

  The pace of his heartbeat accelerated. He had read her wrong. “I figured a lady like you would already have the other kind of relationship: the boyfriend, husband, significant other.”

  Cringing at his choice of words, he backed the car out of the parking space and eased into traffic. Would she think he was fishing?

  “Nope. None of those.”

  A smile crept into her tone, and he glanced over. Her lips crooked sideways into the cutest come-hither look, eyelashes fluttering.

  Harry blew out a long breath. “Me either.”

  “I’m glad to know, Harry.” She glanced down at her hands shyly, then her head jerked up as a horn blared. “Car!” she screamed.

  He jammed on the brakes bringing the vehicle to a squealing halt. The other driver waved his middle finger at them. Harry flipped the bird back. “Sorry. I didn’t see him.”

  “Keep your eyes on the road, Fred.”

  “Fred?” He pounded his chest with his fist. “Harry,” he said. “Have you forgotten me already?”

  “It’s a reference to an old 50s song titled ‘Seven Little Girls (sitting in the back seat).’ They all cuddle and smooch a backseat passenger named Fred and tell the nosey driver to keep his eyes on the road. My mother used to say that line when Dad’s driving got bad.”

  “Smooching and hugging. I like the sound of that.” He stuck out his hand and grinned at her. “Glad to meet you, Delaney. Call me Fred.”

  She blushed dusky pink, a perfect complement to her red hair and grasped his hand. “Nice to meet you, Fred. Eyes forward.”

  The electric tension in the car melted into friendly camaraderie, and Harry relaxed. “Now we’ve got that behind us, tell me about Delaney Ramsey.”

  “Not much to tell. I’m a career woman. Been an FBI field agent for nearly twenty years.”

  “Close to retirement?”

  “Do I look that old?”

  Damn, he’d insulted her. “No. I know police officers can retire after twenty years. I wondered if that was your plan.”

  “Career woman,” she repeated. “Besides, what would I do in retirement? Sit on a rocker and knit? Not for me, at least for a long while.”

  Too bad. She’d be a nice asset to his retirement. He could get into a pretty redhead lying next to him on a beach.

  “And you?” she asked.

  “Soon. I’ll be glad to get out.”

  “You don’t strike me as the type.”

  “What type is that?”

  “The old-policeman-don’t-retire, they-just-cop-out type.”

  He groaned. “I believe the joke goes, ‘don’t die.’ I’m not copping out.”

  “Then why retire?

  “I’m sixty,” he replied. “Last time I checked it was only five years off the national retirement age.”

  “Really?”

  The disbelief in her voice made him stare at her. She pointed at the road, and his head swiveled forward.

  “You hide your age well. I’d have said more my age.”

  “Thirty?”

  Delaney laughed. “I wish. I placed you about fifty-five.”

  “Clean living and exercise.” He changed the subject. “Is your daughter’s dad still living?”

  “What a backhanded way of asking about my ex. It’s okay to be direct with me, you know. Actually, I prefer a man who doesn’t mince words. At least then I know where I stand with him.” She took a deep, audibly shaky breath before continuing.

  “Unfortunately, the soul-sucking, cheating, SOB ex is alive and kicking. He ran off with some Vegas whore who married him
for his casino win.” She stopped suddenly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like a bitter, jilted woman. I’m actually glad he’s out of our lives.”

  A wounded woman. That kind of relationship could go two ways-very good, or very bad.

  “What about you?”

  “Divorced,” Harry replied. “A case of she-thought-my-job-came-first so she left me.”

  “Does it?”

  “Has in the past. But if I met the right woman I could change.”

  “Of course, since you’re getting ready to retire,” Delaney said with a laugh. “Have you searched much for her? The right woman?”

  He shrugged. “Off and on, but they all run from a career cop.”

  “My dad was a career cop. Mom never ran.”

  Did she feel the same way as her mother? His heartbeat skipped.

  She paused, the silence pregnant with unspoken words. Finally she spoke again. “I always thought I was a lot like Mom.”

  He stole another glance at her. “Good to know, Ramsey.”

  “If we’re going to be friends, you need to call me Delaney.”

  The special emphasis on the word friends told him she meant more than the word implied.

  “That’s really good to know, Delaney.”

  They rode the rest of the way to Alexi’s house in silence. Like a tongue-tied schoolboy, Harry could not speak, wanting to barrage her with questions yet afraid to spoil the moment. He pulled into Alexi’s driveway and slid the gear into park. Delaney reached for the door handle, and he stopped her.

  “Maybe afterwards we could go somewhere for dinner?”

  Eyes rounded, like a first time offender being read Miranda Rights, she said, “You might want to hold the invitation in reserve.”

  Fear of rejection crystallized like ice along his spine. What could possibly scare her about a simple dinner? “I want to get to know you, and I can think of no better way than over steaks and a bottle of wine.”

  She opened the door, exited, then stuck her head back in the car. “You might change your mind when you hear what Rhys has to say. But if you don’t, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

  He scrambled out of the car as she closed the door and raced over the walk away from him. Anxiety slammed into his gut like a wrecking ball. She had secrets, and she’d involved Rhys in whatever she was hiding. He hated it when outsiders screwed with his people.

  Chapter 10

  Rhys and Eli were waiting for them in the living room, standing by the fireplace. A crackling flame took the November chill off the room but did nothing to chase away the shadow of tension Harry recognized the second he entered. Rhys waved him toward the overstuffed chair closest to the hearth, but he chose to stand.

  “What’s this about, Temple?” Harry asked.

  Delaney crossed the room and stood with the two men. The balance of power shifted. They were presenting some sort of united front to him. But what? And why?

  Rhys motioned at the chair again. “I really think you ought to sit, Captain. We’ve got some shocking news.”

  Harry planted his feet firmly on the hardwood floor, bracing them shoulder width apart. “Spit it out, Temple. I’m not some old man you have to coddle.”

  “We dinna say ye were, Captain. But trust me, ye’ll need tae at least be close tae the seat.”

  Rhys crossed the room and pressed him down onto the cushion. “Sit, Captain.”

  Harry popped up like a rubber ball and stepped away from the chair.

  “Suit yourself.” Shaking his head, Rhys moved to where the others stood.

  Staring at each person, Harry said, “Well? I’m waiting.”

  “I don’t know how to say this,” Rhys began. “Alexi. She was. Someone tried to kill her at the hospital.”

  “She was murdered?” Murdered? Thoughts tumbled in his head faster than he could sort them. Who? Why? How? Who’s leading the investigation? Then finally, the thought that really mattered. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he bellowed.

  Delaney stepped in front of Rhys, her actions clearly meant to deflect his anger. “Don’t blame Rhys. It’s my fault you weren’t told. In fact, the whole thing was my idea.” Rhys moved to her side and shot her a puzzled expression. She waved him off.

  “Your idea?” Harry’s insides corkscrewed at her confession. Maybe he didn’t want to know this woman. Not if she was hiding Alexi’s murder. “How was my detective mixed up with the FBI? Did some FBI thing you instigated go wrong and kill her?”

  Terror flashed in Delaney’s eyes. “No. Nothing like that. I swear.”

  “I said someone tried to kill her,” Rhys said. “She wasn’t murdered.”

  Confused, Harry blinked at him. “She really died of a heart attack, after a murder attempt?”

  “Alexi’s not dead,” Rhys said quietly.

  Legs shaking, Harry reached out for something to steady himself, but only caught air.

  Eli rushed across the room and gently guided Harry toward the chair he’d resisted earlier.

  “I got there right after the killer,” Rhys said. “She wasn’t breathing. I started CPR. The staff managed to resuscitate her.”

  “Not dead?” What was going on? His thoughts raced. If she wasn’t dead, why all the lies? Unless? Unless she was worse off than dead. His stomach filled with boulders, slamming against his insides, tearing him apart.

  Terrified, he bolted from the chair. “Where is she? In a coma? Is she brain dead, stuck on some blasted machine? I want to see her.” He slammed his hand into his fist. “I’ll kill the SOB who did this to her!”

  Rhys grabbed him by the shoulders. “Calm down, Captain. It’s not like that at all.”

  The rocks jostling in his gut eased. Not brain dead was good. “I want to see her, Temple. Take me to her.”

  Rhys pressed Harry onto the chair and he struggled, unsuccessfully, to regain his feet.

  “Sit,” Rhys commanded, “and I’ll finish my story.”

  He stopped struggling against the younger man. “Okay, shoot.”

  As Rhys perched on the arm of the overstuffed chair, Harry twisted to face him. “She’s not brain dead, and she’s not in a coma, Captain. She’s alive, and well. We thought-”

  “I thought,” Delaney interjected.

  “We thought,” he repeated firmly, “since someone tried to kill her it was a good idea to let her remain dead. No news media. No big fanfare. Keep it all on the QT.”

  Harry frowned at him. “With no investigation? What kind of misguided reasoning is that?”

  “We’re investigating,” Delaney said defensively. “But my way.”

  He shot a scowl at her. “Why tell me all of this if you’ve got it under control?”

  She sighed, and Rhys scrubbed at his forehead.

  “Ah ha!” Harry cried. “Because you don’t have it under control.” The thought vindicated him and soothed his overwrought emotions. “You need me.”

  “Yes,” she said sheepishly. “We-I need you to help us.”

  He liked the sound of her needing him, even if she had been overly secretive. He couldn’t really blame her. She was FBI after all. He swept away the last of his anger at being kept in the dark. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Someone’s been snooping around the hospital for Alexi’s body, and there isn’t one. We require a trustworthy person to help us get a Jane Doe for a viewing. Whoever killed her appears to be searching for proof of her death. We have to supply the information to keep Alexi safe.”

  “Speaking of Alexi,” Harry said. “I want to see her.”

  “I’m here, Captain.” Alexi appeared in the living room doorway, very much alive.

  He rushed to her, enveloping her in a big, fatherly embrace. “I am glad to see you,” he said betwee
n squeezes. “Don’t ever do this to me again.”