by Jory Strong
Aislinn smiled and put the phone down. There was no discarded mail in the bedroom so she moved into the hallway. The hardwood flooring and throw rugs were warm against her bare feet, the pale blue walls with pastel abstracts offered tranquility. Even in his absence, Trace’s home was comforting, welcoming.
The homes of both her mother’s father and her mother’s Elf-lord heartmate had been the homes of royalty. So many of the rooms had been off-limits to a small mixed-blood child with no magic. “What happens if you break something? Can you repair it? Can you replace it with something of even greater value? It’s best you not call attention to the magic you lack. Go now, don’t let them find you in here. You’ll only be punished,” the lower-caste elves would say as they shooed her away.
Elf magic was the magic of beauty. Some could find precious gems and metals. Some could craft those gems and metals into jewelry and objects of great value. Some could create tapestries or art that shone more beautiful than the sun. Some could take spoken words or musical notes and combine them so the heart sang with joy.
She’d prayed for magic, hoped that it would come when she got older, and it had. But her magic was not a magic with value in Elven-space.
Aislinn ran a finger along the soft couch before sitting down on it to go through a stack of magazines on the coffee table. At the bottom of the pile she found an address adhered to a front cover and returned to the bedroom, reading it off to Sophie.
“I’m on my way,” Sophie said.
Aislinn showered and got dressed, grimacing as she slipped on the dress she’d worn the previous evening. It would have to do until she got to Sophie’s house. Thankfully she had some spare clothing there.
Her heart lurched when the doorbell rang. For a moment she regretted calling Sophie, regretted missing the chance to stay in Trace’s home, to be here waiting for him when he returned. But it would be better, safer to her heart, to leave now, with a memory of his warmth and comfort held as a buffer against his earlier anger and rejection.
Now that some of the horror of discovering Patrick’s murder had passed, now that the shock of having Trace come into her life had waned, she knew that she couldn’t turn her back on her dead friend. She had skills, not valuable or useful in the eyes of her mother’s people, but skills all the same that could help bring Patrick’s killer to justice.
She made her way to the door and found Trace’s note. Stay inside. The security alarm is on and will go off if any of the doors or windows are opened. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator. Trace.
The doorbell sounded again, immediately followed by pounding and Sophie’s yell. Aislinn smiled before calling out, “I’m right here, Sophie. He’s got the alarm set. It’ll take me a minute to disarm it.”
From the other side of the door, Sophie laughed. “That’s going to go over well.”
Aislinn lightly ran her fingers over the alarm keypad. It was easy for her to read which numbers were touched regularly. The faint psychic particles left behind by Trace marked them, and with a little concentration she was able to differentiate the first and last numbers in the sequence. It took several tries to unlock the remaining code order and deactivate the alarm.
Sophie hurtled into the house and enveloped Aislinn in a tight hug as soon as the front door opened. “I’ve been so worried about you!”
Aislinn returned the hug just as fiercely. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Sophie hugged Aislinn once more for good measure. “Storm called as soon as she heard last night. She even went to Miguel’s house and tried to get Trace’s address from him. Not a chance, and you know how persuasive she can be. It’s like those guys took an oath of silence and brotherhood or something! Let’s get out of here before one of them does a drive-by to make sure you’re still here.”
Aislinn’s chest tightened as she pulled away from Sophie. She’d only been in Trace’s home a short while and yet it felt right, a safe and warm haven that welcomed her.
As if Sophie sensed the direction of her thoughts, she said, “Do not tell me you’re thinking of staying here. Trust me on this, get some breathing room before you get in over your head with him.”
Aislinn suspected it was already too late for that, but the part of her that tried to guard her heart from rejection and pain silently echoed Sophie’s words. She nodded. “I’ve got to reset his alarm.”
* * * * *
“I can tell by the looks on your faces that I’m not going to like what I hear,” Captain Ellis said as the men and Storm filed into his office and took their seats. “Go ahead and spit it out.”
Conner and Miguel shifted uncomfortably. Dylan looked to Trace, then answered the Captain. “The five of us were out for drinks at a place called Lily’s last night. The woman who discovered Dean’s body was with us.”
The Captain’s lips tightened. “Tell me the rest of it.”
When none of the men volunteered, Storm said, “My cousin wanted me to set her and two of her friends up. I was thinking about hooking up with some guys from the gym I go to, but then Dylan said that Trace needed to get out of a rut and I thought, what could it hurt? Trace would probably hit it off with Sophie’s friend, Tiffany.” She frowned at Trace. “Only he went right for Aislinn instead. They danced. They went out on the beach for a while. They came back in.”
The Captain closed his eyes briefly, then stared at Trace. “Tell me you kept it in your pants.” He splayed his hands out in front of him. “Tell me that the sick feeling in my gut is from my wife’s cooking and not from what I’m going to be reading in the newspaper. I’m seeing the story now. Conspiracy uncovered. Cops murder psychic who showed the department up.”
Trace gritted his teeth. “Aislinn was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve got her on ice. The reporters aren’t going to get to her. There’s nothing to worry about, Captain.”
“You’ve got her on ice?” Captain Ellis said through clenched teeth. “Where?”
“My place.” Trace managed to keep his voice neutral despite the fierce wave of possessiveness that whipped through his body and right to his cock at the image of going home and finding Aislinn waiting for him—preferably in his bed.
“And you don’t see a problem with that?” the Captain barked.
Dylan spoke up. “Captain, if we’ve got a leak in the department, having her on ice at Trace’s place isn’t a bad idea. Right now the only people who know where she is are in this room.”
Storm said, “And my cousin. But Sophie won’t talk.”
Conner added, “It might work to our advantage since Aislinn works at Inner Magick. We could play it a couple of ways—she’s a psychic helping us or a psychic in danger. Either way, we’re serious about solving Dean’s murder and keeping the city safe.”
The Captain looked around at the men and woman in front of him. He was proud that they presented a united front, he’d been in tense situations like this before and had team members ripping into each other, but the feeling in his gut from last night was back full force. This was going to be a media nightmare. “Let’s leave it for now,” he said. “I guess you’ve heard that Patrick Dean was the psychic who supposedly helped find the Morrison kid? Well, you heard right. I talked to Bruner over in Missing Persons. The Morrisons screamed in his ear as soon as they heard that Dean had been killed.”
Storm frowned and raised her hand. Captain Ellis nodded, giving the go-ahead to ask the obvious question. “How’d the media get the jump on that? Did Bruner know the name of the psychic who supposedly located the child?”
Captain Ellis’ smile was grim. “Good question. Bruner says that he didn’t know squat. Parents wouldn’t tell him for fear of ‘retribution’ against the psychic. And the media—same old bullshit. Protected sources, yadda yadda yadda. You see where I’m going with this nightmare? Read the headlines—Parents of kidnapped child feared police revenge when psychic was able to locate their son. As of right now, this is case number one and you’re all on it. Officer O’Malley is on
loan. Use her for legwork. She’s got an in with this psychic crowd. Use it. Use her to pull some information out of them. I have a feeling the rest of you are going to meet a wall of silence.” His attention focused on Trace and some actual humor came to his eyes. “Strike that. Trace has an inside run on this, too. Maybe he’ll be able to put his persuasive…uh…tool to good use. My gut tells me Aislinn Windbourne knows more than she’s saying. See what you can get out of her. According to the first officer on the scene’s report, they do it all at the place she’s employed. Tarot cards, crystals, fortune-telling. The works.”
Trace had managed to forget Aislinn’s mention of meeting Dean over crystals, he’d managed to talk himself into the idea that Aislinn was just trying to be a good friend to Dean and support him morally, like she’d said the victim needed. The thought of Aislinn being involved in that psycho-psychic shit, of actually believing in it and peddling it, was enough to shrivel Trace’s dick and kill a good hard-on. Or so he thought until anger flooded into him. Son of a bitch, he’d cure her of it even if he had to handcuff her to the bed and keep her there.
Those images poured blood right back into his cock. Christ, he should have known. She was so soft, so sensitive. She probably got into the stuff when she was in college or something, as a way to fit in. She needed somebody like him around to…
Fuck. What was he thinking? And why wasn’t he in a panic?
His partner’s snickering brought Trace back to the present. Conner and Miguel wore smirks. Even the Captain seemed ready to crack a smile. Only Storm surveyed him with an expression that was less than amused.
Captain Ellis said, “I’m going to leave it to you guys to make a plan and divide up the workload. Just keep me informed. The mayor’s already called a press conference, Conner, why don’t you be part of the dog and pony show? Let’s break for now. Trace, stand by for a minute.”
Trace stood, figuring if he was going to get his ass burned, he’d just as soon do it standing. The Captain steepled his fingers in front of him. As soon as the others were gone, he asked, “Is having you on this case going to be a problem for you, Trace?”
“No. It’s not any different than having your wife come on a crime scene.” Trace shoved his hands in his pockets. Fuck. Where did that come from?
The Captain raised his eyebrows. “Interesting that you’re drawing a parallel with my wife. I’ll leave you on the case…for now, only because my gut tells me it’s the right thing to do. But if the shit starts hitting and it looks like the department—or you—are going to get covered in it, then I’ll pull you. Understood?”
Trace nodded.
“Okay. Make sure you guys keep me up-to-date. And keep whatever you find close to you.”
“You think there’s a leak?”
The Captain shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know and we don’t have time to go looking. So we won’t take any unnecessary chances. This thing stinks and we’re only getting the first whiff of it.”
* * * * *
“I drove by Inner Magick,” Sophie said as they pulled away from Trace’s house. “I wanted to get you some extra clothes and maybe a protection crystal. But there was a camera crew parked out front and a couple of cars out back that looked like they might have reporters in them.” She cut a worried glance over at Aislinn. “It makes me nervous that they found out about you so quickly. Storm was upset about it, too. Everyone assumes that you scared the killer off. But Storm asked if maybe whoever killed Patrick knew that you were going to be there and wanted you to find the…Patrick.”
Aislinn ran shaky fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. I…what happened with Trace… I was…I wasn’t…aware, the way I usually am. And then afterward I didn’t touch anything.” She gave Sophie a tentative smile. “Between the stories that Storm tells you and the CSI that you always insist we watch, I knew better than to do anything that might destroy evidence.” Aislinn took a deep breath and added, “But I want to go back to Patrick’s house. I need to go back. Maybe there’s something there that will help the police.”
Sophie’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel momentarily. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Sophie looked over at Aislinn. “I didn’t like Patrick, but he didn’t deserve this. I’ll call Storm when we get to my place. She’s probably the only cop on the force who has an open enough mind. When I talked to her this morning she was going in to see her captain. She was going to ask him to let her assist whoever got assigned the case—probably Trace and the rest of them.”
Aislinn rubbed her hand against the fabric of her dress. Even after her shower, she could still smell Trace. “Tell her that it’s better to go as soon as possible.”
“The newspapers are claiming that Patrick was the psychic who helped find that kidnapped boy yesterday,” Sophie said.
There was the hint of a question in Sophie’s statement. Aislinn looked out of the window and tried to ignore it. Sophie had disliked Patrick from their first meeting, seeing him as someone who wanted to use Aislinn. It didn’t help that Patrick had reciprocated the feeling, claiming that Sophie just wanted to hoard Aislinn’s time and talent.
A loud sigh came from Sophie’s direction. “Not that Trace’s attitude wouldn’t be enough to kill even the best after-sex buzz, but it was more than that last night at the bar, wasn’t it? When you were so upset, I thought it was because Trace opened his mouth and was so rabidly negative about psychics. But it was more than that. You helped Patrick locate the Morrison boy, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Aislinn admitted in a whisper.
“Do the parents know it was you and not Patrick?”
“I don’t think they know. Patrick had a baseball mitt that belonged to the boy, Thad. He told the parents that he needed some time to meditate before he could consult with them.”
“You mean he needed time to bring the glove to you. Where did you meet him?”
“At the shop. We did a session in the back room, then he called the parents and left to meet them. They called the police, then went to where their son was being kept.”
Sophie groaned. “And the man who had taken the boy just happened to escape, but no one can identify him. Doesn’t that seem…convenient?” She sighed in frustration. “Do you think maybe it was faked, possibly so that Patrick would have more credibility? Doesn’t it seem odd to you that right after Thad Morrison is rescued, Patrick suddenly has an important meeting, but he needs you for moral support? Maybe he was afraid that whoever he was meeting with was going to ask him to prove himself by finding someone else who was missing.”
“Sophie,” Aislinn chided quietly, “the boy’s kidnapping wasn’t a hoax. I could follow the trail of his fear and pain. I could sense his parent’s anguish on the glove.”
“Okay,” Sophie conceded, “but you need to tell Storm that you were the one who really located Thad Morrison, just in case Patrick’s death has something to do with that case.”
Aislinn shivered as Trace’s image flashed through her mind. A fist squeezed around her heart as she remembered his fury. Christ, I hate that psychic bullshit. I’d like to lock every single one of them up. They’re all either con artists or whackos.
* * * * *
Trace joined the rest of the guys, and Storm, in the bullpen. He wasn’t thrilled by her presence but he could tell he was in the minority. Miguel was smiling like a kid at Christmas time, focusing on the uniformed cop like a puppy in front of its food dish. Conner and Dylan were leaning forward, expressions serious, concentrating on whatever she was saying.
“You still on the case?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah. I miss anything here?” Trace pulled up a chair and joined them at Conner’s desk.
Miguel said, “Storm wants to escort Aislinn back to the scene.”
Trace tensed. “No.”
Conner cleared his throat. “Might not be a bad idea, Trace. Right now we don’t know jack shit about this stuff. We can’t tell if anything’
s missing or different. Aislinn might be able to.”
Trace clenched his teeth. “I don’t want Aislinn involved in this any more than she has to be. You have questions, fine. I’ll bring her in or you can come by my place and talk to her. But she stays on ice.”
Conner cut a look over to Dylan for support. Trace’s partner said, “Look, Trace, she was friends with the guy. End of story. You don’t have to get your dick in a twist about it. But unless we can find someone else who’s familiar with Dean’s séance room, then Aislinn might be the only one who can help us.”
Rage boiled through Trace. God, he hated this stuff. But if he wasn’t careful, he was going to get himself kicked right off the case. One way or another this murder threatened to bust his balls. “Fine. One visit. I’ll escort her. Then I want her kept as far away from this crazy psychic shit as she can get.”
Dylan threw his hands up. “Fine. Fine. But maybe someone else ought to take her in. You’re not exactly…”
Trace cut him off. “My way. I’m not letting her walk in there without me.”
Conner and Dylan exchanged glances. Conner finally shrugged. “Okay, Trace.” He looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to head back to the Captain’s office to get ready for this dog and pony show. How do you want to tackle this?”
Storm stared at Trace. “I’m going to Patrick’s house with Aislinn and the caveman here.”
There were snickers from the other guys and a glare from Trace. “I’ll go with Trace and Storm,” Miguel said, “then hook up with Conner afterward.”
Dylan shot a look at Trace before saying, “I’ll canvas Dean’s neighbors then I can tackle the Morrisons. It still stinks like a publicity stunt, but Dean turning up dead doesn’t feel like a coincidence. I’ll try and shake it out of them how the reporters found out that Dean was connected to them.”
“Just go easy,” Trace said. “The Captain has never been wrong. He thinks we’re just getting the first whiff of stink. The last thing we need is to have the news screaming about us harassing parents who had a missing kid.”