Trace's Psychic
Page 12
Storm turned and walked away, very aware of his gaze following her as she exited his office.
When she was gone, Tristan dropped the piece of paper into his office shredder and watched as it became confetti. Elvish. It had been a long time since he’d seen their script.
Motioning his student into the office, he sighed inwardly. The bad part of having faerie glamour was that it took so much damn effort to tone it down. And even then, some of it always spilled over when dealing with humans, especially the young and impressionable ones.
He grinned as he remembered how it felt to have the very attractive cop’s heated focus turned his way. She’d sent his cock to full attention. Tristan smiled in anticipation. He couldn’t afford to get mixed up in a high-profile case. No supernatural could. But after the Dean murder was solved… Well, then, she’d be fair game. His grin widened as he thought about his cousin Pierce. It had been a long time since they’d challenged each other with the seduction of a woman. This cop might just be the one who could settle his cousin’s wild energy and keep him closer to home.
* * * * *
Captain Ellis stood at the window. Below everything looked normal, just everyday citizens coming and going, conducting their business without the presence of the media trucks.
Thank god.
Goddamn bloodhounds. They’d somehow gotten wind of the Morrisons’ trip to the station and they’d descended like they were on a blood trail.
He rubbed his chest. The twinge in it wouldn’t go away. It was going to get a lot worse before it got better. Either that, or he was about to have a heart attack.
This case was a nightmare. He’d be lucky if he didn’t wake up in the hospital.
The intercom buzzed and his secretary’s efficient voice said, “Captain, another missing child report was just called in.”
“Details,” he barked.
“Sketchy. But one of the detectives said it was a boy the same age as the Morrison child. He was at the mall playing video with his friends. He left early and by himself. When some of his friends came around looking for him, his mother called the police. There’s no father in the picture—or so the mother claims. Says she hasn’t seen or heard from the boy’s biological dad since before her son was born. According to her, the boy and his stepfather get along fine.”
“Shit. The news media have wind of this yet?”
A loud sigh at the other end of the phone was answer enough. “Sorry, Captain, the woman’s already given a press conference, she says she’s calling a psychic in.”
“She say who?”
The long pause warned him that he wasn’t going to like the answer. “No, sir. Apparently she told the news media that it would be too dangerous for the psychic—after what happened to Patrick Dean.”
“Who’s handling the missing person’s case?”
“Bruner.”
“I’ll call and give him my condolences.”
* * * * *
“I appreciate you being willing to talk to me, Madame Fontaine,” Miguel said as he followed the well-padded older woman through a doorway covered with strings of beads.
Inside the room, dark tapestries covered the windows so that the only light came from pale candles in black lanterns set into the walls. Miguel had to choke back a laugh. Pure Hollywood. This was exactly what he’d expected a psychic’s place to look like.
Taking a seat on one side of the table, the psychic motioned for him to take the opposite seat. “I invited you here because I sensed an openness in you.”
Miguel fought to hide a grimace. It was a good thing that he was doing this solo. He’d never hear the end of it if Conner was with him, or worse yet, Trace or Dylan.
“What can you tell me about Patrick Dean?” he asked, wanting to avoid a discussion about how much of this stuff he believed. Aislinn’s picking out the Morrison kid’s glove had shaken him up more than he cared to analyze. Madame Fontaine’s knowing smile made him more determined to ask his questions and get out of here.
“I will answer your question in a moment,” she said before pulling a small velvet bag from somewhere in the folds of her dress and setting it on the table in front of him. “But first I must ask you to choose a rune from the bag.”
The hairs on the back of Miguel’s neck rose, accompanying a tingling sensation that had him wanting to look over his shoulder. “I’m on duty,” he said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.
The woman in front of him only chuckled. “Go ahead, choose one. I’m sure your captain would consider it a fair price for the information you seek.”
Miguel’s heartbeat rabbited around in his chest. It was one thing to watch this stuff, it was another to participate in it.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “The media would eat this up. They’re having a field day right now.” He could see the sidebar caption now—Murder Detective on Dean Case Goes to Psychic for Reading.
Madame Fontaine shrugged and reached for the bag. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here, Detective. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you.”
Miguel gritted his teeth. Fuck, he was acting like a scared rookie. “Okay, I’ll bite, I’ll draw something out of the bag. But this stays in here. The department doesn’t need any more bad press involving psychics right now.”
Madame Fontaine studied him for a long moment before gently setting the bag down in front of him again. “Of course, Detective. There are answers you seek, let the runes help you.”
Miguel closed his eyes briefly. Shit! He’d never live this down if anyone found out. Worse yet, he didn’t want to get involved in this stuff, not that he was rabidly against it, like the other guys, but…
The obvious question would be about finding Dean’s killer or locating the kid that just went missing. His gut clenched. He should be back at the station, not here doing this.
Miguel took a deep breath. He didn’t want the psychic’s opinion on whether or not they’d find the kid or the killer to affect how he did his job. Not that he’d let it, but why pollute his thinking?
Okay. A safe question. He could risk a safe question.
Storm.
Yeah, he could ask about her.
As if sensing his thoughts, Madame Fontaine said, “Concentrate on your question as you select a rune.”
Do I have a chance with Storm?
Miguel reached in and selected a smooth flat stone. Removing it from the bag he placed it on the table and waited for the psychic to interpret the shiny black stone with its blood-red symbol.
Madame Fontaine picked up the rune and closed her eyes. “The one you ask about is not for you. Another waits in the darkness. You will meet her soon.”
Miguel held back a grin. Okay. He could live with that answer. It was pretty generic. And he already knew he had to work on convincing Storm that he was right for her—no surprise there.
The psychic opened her eyes and placed the rune back in its velvet bag. “What else can I help you with?”
“I’m trying to get a feel for how Dean was viewed in the psychic community.”
Madame Fontaine leaned back. “He had some talent if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Did you know him?”
“I’ve met him.”
“Can you think of any reason someone would have a grudge against him? Stolen clients maybe? Jealousy?”
Madame Fontaine chuckled. “Patrick was an intense man, somewhat of a loner. But he was a serious student of the occult. I don’t think he was killed by another psychic. I believe he was killed by someone who hates all psychics.”
Miguel’s shoulders slumped. Yeah, that was a safe enough guess. This was another dead end. Hell, he could have done this by phone.
He couldn’t think of anything to ask so he pulled out one of his cards and handed it to the psychic. “If you think of anything, please call.”
Madame Fontaine took the card. “The news reports say that another psychic discovered the murder. Is she safe?”
* * * * *
Christ, could it get any worse?
Trace rubbed his hands over his face and stared down at his desk. He was so tired that everything was a blur. Between the Morrison kidnapping, the Dean murder, Aislinn, and now this second kidnapping, he’d gotten almost no sleep. Hard as it was for him to do, even he had to admit that he was useless right now, his head was so fuzzy that he could barely think.
“You’d better grab a cup of coffee before you head home,” Dylan said and Trace jerked as though he’d actually dozed off.
Dylan shook his head. “Scratch that. I’ll drive you.”
Trace wanted to argue but before he could, Dylan held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t bother. You try and drive and I’ll have a squad car tailing you home. I’m sure the Captain would love to read about that in the papers tomorrow morning.”
Trace grumbled something that sounded like asshole as he struggled to his feet. Dylan only grinned and said, “Hey, believe me, it’s a small price to pay. It’s great that one of us is getting some, and you were sure getting to be a cranky bastard before you met Aislinn.”
At the mention of her name, Trace’s cock stirred. But even it was too exhausted to want more than to just press against the warmth of her body.
“Let’s go,” Trace muttered and barely remembered climbing into Dylan’s car.
Dylan worried as he drove. Despite his joking about Trace’s reactivated sex life, it didn’t sit well that Aislinn was so enmeshed in the case. Shit, in all the years that he and Trace had been partners, he’d never seen Trace so possessive and protective over a woman. Hell, Trace had always had a revolving door on his bedroom and more than once a woman coming through it had ended up in Dylan’s bed.
Yeah, Trace could take care of himself, usually without even needing backup. But this time had Dylan sweating it. Things had a way of going bad when you got distracted on the job, when things got too personal, and this case already seemed way too personal.
“Man, we’ve gotta put this one to bed, quick,” he muttered, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach as he stopped the car in front of Trace’s house.
Before he’d even had a chance to turn the engine off, the front light came on and the door opened. His dick reacted to the sight of Aislinn. Damn, he couldn’t blame Trace for fucking her. Even the spooky-shit with the kid’s glove wasn’t enough to keep the blood out of his cock.
“Hey, Trace,” he said, shaking his partner, “we’re here and it looks like the little woman is waiting for you.”
Trace shifted in his seat, taking a few seconds to orient himself. “Damn, I told her to stay in the house, out of sight.”
Dylan laughed. “Better go set her straight then. Call if you need a lift tomorrow.”
Trace grunted and climbed out of the car. “Yeah, thanks for the ride.”
“Are you okay?” Aislinn asked as soon as he got close.
The concern on her face sent a jolt of pure warmth right through Trace’s heart. Christ, he could get used to this—having her here at the end of a tough day. “Yeah, just beat.”
She hugged him as he stepped inside then closed the door behind them. He didn’t have the heart to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing coming out front where some reporter might get a shot at her.
“Straight to bed, or do you want a shower first?”
Trace’s cock stirred, remembering the shower he’d taken with her earlier in the day. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes he’d be able to…
Aislinn’s laugh jolted him awake. Damn, he was asleep on his feet, literally.
When she slipped her arm through his, he allowed her to lead him to the bedroom and help him undress. The soft brush of her fingers and palms against his skin had enough blood flowing to his cock that he actually felt lightheaded.
“I’m not going to be much use in that department, baby,” he said in a gravelly voice when he caught her looking at his partial erection. Her smile and the tender kiss she pressed into the center of his chest flooded him with feelings he didn’t want to investigate or identify.
* * * * *
“I volunteered my services to the police when Thad Morrison was kidnapped,” the woman being interviewed stated.
Captain Ellis reached for the bottle of Tums that his wife had put next to the glass of orange juice. Shit. The new reporter they had on Channel 6 seemed to be making it his life’s work to drag the department through the mud.
“What was their reaction?” the reporter asked.
The woman’s face tightened, making her look more like a prune than she had moments before. “Condescending. They wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“Madame Ava, have you volunteered to help with this latest kidnapping?”
“Yes, though I have to tell you, I’m nervous.” Now the woman looked right into the camera. “My good friend, Patrick Dean, helped locate Thad Morrison. The police want us to think that the kidnapper murdered Patrick, but I don’t believe that the kidnapper is responsible. More than once the police in this city have made accusations against myself and other psychics. Those allegations were thrown out in court.”
The reporter moved closer to the psychic. “Are you saying that you think the police are responsible for Patrick Dean’s murder?”
The woman’s lips tightened. “I can’t answer that question.”
“Have you done a reading on the matter?”
“Yes, I have. But it’s not something I’m free to talk about right now.”
The camera panned back to the reporter and zoomed in for a close-up. “For Channel 6 News, your first choice for up-to-the-minute breaking news, this is David Colvin.”
“Shit,” the Captain muttered, shaking an extra Tums into his palm and picturing the mob of reporters that was going to descend, wanting details of any case where a psychic was hauled in. That assault was as sure to take place as the inevitable calls from both the mayor and the chief.
* * * * *
Aislinn sat in Trace’s kitchen, painstakingly shaping a rough crystal into a work of art while Sophie drank a cup of coffee and scowled at the TV set. “What a load of crap!” Sophie said, hitting the remote control and killing the sound. “Where’d they find that guy—Tabloid-Sleaze-Is-Us? And what about that psychic? Please tell me she’s not the real thing!”
Despite the seriousness of the matter, Aislinn couldn’t contain a smile. Sophie’s emotions always ran high when she watched TV. No matter what was on the screen, Sophie could be counted on to react to it.
“Well?” Sophie demanded, still scowling at the television set. “Is this Ava broad for real?”
Aislinn shrugged. “I don’t know. Except for Patrick and Moki, I haven’t spent much time around other…practitioners.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Have you heard from Moki? Do you think she’ll be mad that you had to shut down Inner Magick? Not that there’s much action now. I didn’t see a single reporter hanging out when I went by this morning. They’re probably all stationed in front of Madame Ava’s place, waiting to see if the police get her to help them find the kidnapped boy. Maybe you should hire a temp to man the store, in fact, if you want, I could probably take some time off and work for you.” Staring at the creation Aislinn was making, Sophie added, “You could always pay me with a special design—maybe something that would enhance my love life.”
Aislinn laughed. “Your love life doesn’t need enhancement. Your phone already rings off the hook.”
A flash of loneliness whispered across Sophie’s features before being replaced by a grin. “That’s my sex life, not my love life. Speaking of which, how’s it going with Mr. Macho, also known as Detective Dilessio?”
Warmth flooded through Aislinn’s body, coloring her cheeks and making her hands unsteady enough that she didn’t dare try to continue with the delicate work she was doing. “
That good, huh?” Sophie asked.
“He beguiles me,” Aislinn admitted, glad for Sophie’s presence and the chance to talk to someone about the feelings and desires that overwhelmed and sometimes confused her.
“Beguiles?” Sophie made a big show of lifting the remote control and turning off the already muted TV. “Tell me more!”
Additional color flooded to Aislinn’s face. Always before it had been Sophie sharing her exploits and misadventures.
“Well?” Sophie prodded. “I need details. Tell me he’s as good in bed as he looks.”
Aislinn nodded. Her voice was almost a whisper when she added, “From the very first moment I felt as though…” Years of trying to keep the loneliness at bay made her hesitate before admitting her deepest longing, “I felt as though I belonged to him.”
Sophie’s eyebrows drew together. “Belonged as in ‘walking down the aisle together’ or as in ‘I’m his possession and he can fuck me any way he wants to’—which is not a bad thought, by the way. The guy has alpha male oozing out of him.”
Aislinn ducked her head and toyed with the crystal she’d been working on. “Both,” she admitted starkly before shifting her focus back to Sophie.
“Oh, boy, you have it bad.” Sophie tried to grin, but Aislinn could see the worry on her friend’s face.
Sophie exhaled with a loud sigh. “Okay, maybe having it bad isn’t such a terrible thing. He was totally possessive and protective about going to Patrick’s place. I think it shocked the other cops. I know Storm was amazed. When she swung by last night with your drawings and your work supplies she said that as far as she can tell, Trace is acting way out of character. He’s been a ‘thanks for the fuck, don’t let the door hit you on your way out kind of guy’. And you’re here, when the department could have just put you in a hotel and had some uniformed cop guard you. So my advice—lay back and enjoy it.” Sophie wiggled her eyebrows. “Or stand up and enjoy it…or bend over…”