by Gina LaManna
“It might not be.” I looked over to George. “What’d you think of the note?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged, glanced at his father. “What they said.”
I didn’t believe George for a second, but I wanted to corner him later—alone. There was too much protection for him in the way of family around the table, and I needed to get answers to the hard questions when nobody else could rescue him.
“What if I showed you this.” I conjured up a small ball of light and propped it behind the letter as I displayed it for the family. “Notice anything odd?”
“Her handwriting is horrible,” Claudia said. “Can’t even make out a letter properly the first time.”
I got the idea that Claudia was either a very negative person in general, or that she didn’t like her sister all that much. Every word out of her mouth had a snotty touch to it, and whether that was natural or a sign of friction between the two Livingston girls, I had yet to find out.
“Her handwriting is normally fine—I know, I’ve seen it on her reports. Look closer. Any particular letters she had trouble writing out? Keep in mind, we’re talking about a highly intelligent woman who definitely knows how to spell.”
Paul preened under the compliments of his daughter, but his face was blank as he studied the letter. Mrs. Livingston looked like she was pretending, but not really reading anything, while Claudia’s brows knitted in determined concentration. George saw it first—I knew the moment Lucia’s code registered because his face went pale.
“Hey, George, do you mind showing me to the restroom?” I asked, setting the letter down. The rest of the family was still engrossed in reading it. “I’ll just be a second—apologies.”
“Down the hall—” he started, but when I rested a hand on my Stunner, he got the memo. I’d never have used it on him, but it was surprising what a little touch here and there could do to stroke a nervous soul’s willingness to talk.
He led me through the cramped hallways and stopped outside of a compact little bathroom. The dimensions of these apartments were all so efficient—just big enough to not be called cramped, just small enough to maximize every square inch of it.
“Come on in, pal,” I said, gesturing for him to go in first. “Let’s have a quick chat. Unless there’s someplace else we can talk?”
George reluctantly moved ahead of me to the next door. He let us into a small space that served as a private little office. I stepped through and closed the door after me.
“Really sorry to do this here.” I gestured toward the cramped quarters. “But you didn’t seem keen on talking out there.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“You saw the message in her note.”
His eyes averted too quickly. “It’s not a message.”
“I don’t buy it, and neither do you. Tell me what’s on your mind, George.”
“It’s like my family said.” He still didn’t meet my eyes, and his words came from behind gritted teeth. “Lucia has a mind of her own, and she doesn’t listen to any of us.”
“Listen, I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m just trying to find your sister. I know the rest of your family is trying to save me time—or something—but I am not doing this for the job, believe me. I am coming out of retirement because I care about finding your sister. Alive.”
No comment from George, though his eyes flicked toward mine for a second. I suspected he might feel a twinge of gratefulness, but I couldn’t be sure.
“I admit that it would be great if Lucia was simply enjoying a vacation on The Isle, but I don’t think that’s the case, and I don’t think you do, either. You think something happened to her.”
His jaw worked, and I could tell I was getting to him.
“Why are you hiding things from me?” I stepped closer to him, lowered my voice. “She’s your sister, George. Don’t you want to help her? I have four brothers. I love them to death, and I hope to God they love me enough to say something if I go missing. You’re only hurting her by keeping quiet about whatever you know.”
“Of course I love her,” he snapped, “but I don’t know anything. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Just—find her, will you?”
“I need something to go on. Give me something, just a hint. It’ll be anonymous.”
George shook his head.
“Come on,” I pleaded. “Unless—oh, Good Lord—I didn’t realize it. You’re afraid! Of something? Or someone?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Who did this to her?” I couldn’t step any closer or I’d be standing on George’s toes, but I leaned in, my voice a hiss. “Who took her? Was she afraid of someone? Did she see something? Was it a case she was working on?”
“Get out of here,” George said, and then he pushed roughly past me. He flung the door open then spun around, facing me. Even as he spoke, his eyes said one thing, and his lips said another. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Forget it—Lucia ran away, okay?”
There was that twitch in his eyebrow, darkness behind his bright blue eyes. He knew something, and he was scared. For himself or for Lucia?
“George...”
He spun on a heel and stalked away in the opposite direction down the hallway. I sensed George was done for the day. With a sigh, I followed him out of the room and then slipped into the bathroom. His family expected me to be there, after all. I flushed the toilet for good measure and washed my hands. As I studied my expression in the mirror, I replayed my conversation with George, every breath, every movement, every carefully placed word.
He was putting on a facade, that much was clear. But from whom was he hiding? Was it even related to Lucia’s disappearance? I dried my hands, thinking I needed a new plan to reach George. Something carefully thought out, something he couldn’t refuse.
I returned to Claudia and her parents. I didn’t bother to sit this time. The three had yet to discover the code behind Lucia’s letters, and when I pointed it out, they didn’t look as appalled as I’d expected.
“That’s a stretch, don’t you think?” Mr. Livingston asked. “Seems to me she was just doodling in between reading a magazine on that island. She’s on vacation, Detective, sorry. She took off, and she’ll be back before you know it.”
“Not that you have to give her the job back,” her mother interjected quickly. “We understand what an inconvenience it is to have her running off like that.”
My temper was getting the better of me. I snatched up the note and turned to leave before I exploded. Mrs. Livingston followed me as I stalked toward the door. She showed me out with the grace of a perfect hostess.
“I’m sorry again for my daughter’s actions,” Mrs. Livingston said, biting her lip. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”
That bite of the lip relaxed some of my anger. Mrs. Livingston was choosing to sit firmly in denial. On some level, I supposed that imagining her daughter was merely irresponsible was better than imagining her kidnapped.
“Mrs. Livingston, I know you want Lucia to be safe. We want the same things, trust me.” I reached for her hand on an impulse, hoping the human touch would cement my point. “I’m not here because I’m upset about an inconvenience. Frankly, I’d be grateful to hear from the Rangers on The Isle that your daughter is relaxing there and unharmed. Unfortunately, they haven’t seen her.”
Worry flitted across her face. “Lucia is very smart. And she might be...”
“She might be what?”
A look of dismay returned as Mrs. Livingston cleared her throat. “Holed up with a man. It wouldn’t be the first time Lucia allowed herself to be swept off her feet and physically pulled away by a man. She’s been engaged three times, Detective. She’s a passionate woman.”
I did not know that fact about Lucia and checked a box next to the mental note that read: Follow up with past fiancés. “Were any of these men...” I cleared my throat. “Would they want to harm Lucia in any way? Was she seeing anyone at the time of her disappearance?”
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br /> “No, and no, I think,” Mrs. Livingston said. “That’s one reason she took the job—as a distraction. She’d had enough of men for a while. Three engagements, but nothing stuck. She gets bored too easily.”
“And her ex-fiancés?”
“I won’t say my daughter hasn’t broken a few hearts, but she’s so sweet. She seems to break up with people in a way that seems mutual for both parties.” Mrs. Livingston gave a sad smile. “She didn’t learn that from me. I don’t have her people skills.”
I nodded, asked for the names of her ex-fiancés, and wrote down those Mrs. Livingston could remember. One of the engagements had been so quick and quiet that Mrs. Livingston couldn’t recall a name or address, so I marked that down to find out later. I also jotted a note down about Claudia’s frustration and potential jealousy at her sister being the favored child, and George’s hesitation to confide in me. The Livingston clan was a piece of work when it came to family dynamics.
Suddenly, my own family didn’t seem like as much of a wreck. I could at least count on my mother to report me missing if I didn’t come around for a month. Frankly, she’d report me missing if I didn’t call her back within the quarter hour. And despite the competition between my brothers and I, none of us would let anything interfere with another’s safety. Family came first. It was the DeMarco way.
“I’m going to keep hunting for your daughter,” I said. “I don’t believe she ran off this time.”
“Okay, Detective. Thank you.”
It was more of a pat on the head than anything, and my frustration bubbled up again. “If you—or your family members—think of anything that could help my case, please get in touch.”
Mrs. Livingston accepted the card I handed her. “Of course, Detective.”
With a huge sigh, I watched Mrs. Livingston close the door between us and waited for a long moment before I began the trek downstairs. Maybe a part of me thought that it’d all been a joke, and the family would call me back inside to explain what was really happening. Maybe George would come to his senses and trust the one person actually doing something about his sister’s disappearance. Maybe Claudia would come around in time to save her sister.
Maybe, maybe, maybe...nothing.
When nobody came to stop me, I stepped onto the gold-plated staircase and rode it down to the ground floor. Maybe they were right, and I was wasting my time looking for a woman who didn’t want to be found.
But I didn’t believe it, and I had to trust my gut.
The thought slashed me in half. I felt as if someone had raked a hot fork down my back as I remembered the last time I’d trusted my gut and been completely, utterly wrong. My ex-boyfriend had murdered two people while we’d been dating. When I went to arrest him, it had ended in his death.
I shuddered, letting my natural instincts sink back into the distance. There was a reason I’d retired, and it’d serve me well to remember it. Otherwise, I might just get sucked back into the job, and I couldn’t afford that. If I couldn’t trust myself to spot a murderer in my own life, why should anyone else entrust me with the protection of their lives?
I decided to take a stroll through the marketplace and grab something for lunch while I was out and about. It’d been ages since I’d stepped foot in this place. As a cop, it was a hotbed for criminals I’d once outed and arrested, and therefore, I tended to avoid it. There was nothing more awkward than buying tampons from a man you’d thrown in prison for dealing narcotics.
It turned out to be a bad choice. I knew I shouldn’t have gone down Wicked Way, the main marketplace thoroughfare with the best SandWitch shop in the borough. I knew I should’ve gone home, grabbed pizza, and retreated to the safety of my own space.
If I’d followed my instincts, I wouldn’t have run into her.
Chapter 4
“Extra, extra, get your extra Herbals here!”
“Not interested,” I said, forcing a tight smile on the vendor shouting into my face. “Excuse me.”
“Come on, ma’am. Check out the cart.” The man who spoke had a wiry build and long, skinny arms—the look of a street merchant. His skin was tanned a deep brown from hours spent pushing his huge, tottering cart up and down the street. There were at least three levels of shopping propped up on six spindly little wheels that creaked and whined as it was pushed over the dusty streets. “We’ve got organics and supplements and a little something special for you, pretty lady.”
I stopped walking, crossed my arms, and spun around. “What’s so special that you saved it just for me?”
He gave that wide grin of merchants when they knew they’d suckered a buyer into conversation. “Have a look-see here, madam.”
I waited patiently, watching the man’s loose-fitting robe swoosh to the side as he pulled back a purple curtain to reveal an entire wall of greens growing straight from his cart.
“New breed,” he said with an impressive wiggle of his eyebrow. “Sexuality Spell, Hormone Hex, Miracle Magic—you can put that one anywhere, madam, and I mean anywhere.”
“How about you quit with the madam,” I said, wrinkling my nose as he gave another salacious wink. “And call me detective.”
The vendor snapped to attention and the curtain drooped at once back into place. Stars twinkled as decorations on the outside, luring unsuspecting hopefuls near as they prayed for the miracle cure to buy youth, eradicate pain, or find love—all of which were impossible, even with magic.
“I see, Detective,” he said, “however, everything I have here is perfectly legal.”
“So, you’re telling me if I pop off this growing wall of herbs, there’s not going to be a panel of SpellHash behind it?” I sniffed, doing my best to look unconvinced when, in reality, I was bluffing. The vendor had interrupted my quest for a SandWitch, and my patience waned when I was hungry. I didn’t want to arrest anyone, but he was making things mighty difficult.
“Have a wonderful day,” he said, then scurried away, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t forget me for all your herbal needs!”
I rolled my eyes and returned to my quest for carbs. Herbals were the new fad—an attempt to bring organic, all-natural, whatever-the-hell-else fresh spells and foods to the community. In my opinion, the only thing Herbals did was drive up prices. Who cared if a spell was local sourced if it was ten gold pieces more expensive? I reached a bread cart and gazed down at the array of golden loaves there. Give me good, old-fashioned food any day.
“I’ll take the olive loaf,” I said, pointing out the sun-warmed, golden crusted bread. “And this cheese, please.”
The wizened old woman behind the bread cart gave no signs she’d heard me, save for the shaky reaching of one hand toward the loaf. This was how I preferred to do business—straight to the point. No sales pitch. Hardly a greeting, if I was really lucky.
“Actually, I should grab a baguette, too,” I said, thinking of Willa, Jimmy, and Jack hard at work. They’d probably appreciate a break from pizza with some fresh sandwich supplies.
If I grabbed some prosciutto, fresh lettuce, melted cheese...my mouth watered as I considered the resulting lunch, which meant I was deep in distraction when my hand closed around the baguette at the same time another browsing customer reached for it. Startled, I retracted my hand at the sight of polished fingernails.
“Sorry,” I said, looking up with a laugh. “Guess I get overzealous when I’m hungry...”
I trailed off at the sight of the woman’s face. She was around the age of my mother, maybe a bit older, though she looked tired and exhausted. Her body had begun to cave in on itself and her hair straggled around her face, a wash of dirty gray over what had previously been a chestnut brown.
“S-sorry,” I said, and spun on a heel, turning to go.
I moved so quickly I stumbled directly into another cart, somehow crashing into the same Herbals vendor as before. I stopped dead as one of his living plant walls crashed to my feet.
“Hey, watch it!” he said angrily. “Just because you’re
a detective doesn’t mean you can go around smashing things.”
“Sorry,” I said again, moving to stand on the other side of the cart. I looked up, caught the familiar woman’s gaze in mine, and saw an aching sadness there. It was too much for me to handle.
“Lady,” the vendor said, pulling up directly into my face. “Did you hear what I said? You have to pay for that. Just because you’re a cop doesn’t mean—”
“Sorry,” I said again. “Here, take this.”
I pulled out a few coins and dropped them into his hands before I turned to leave. He was calling something after me, but I didn’t stop to find out what. I didn’t stop until I reached the pizzeria. Before I could go inside, however, I was intercepted by a friendly male voice.
“Hey, Detective,” Grey said, coming to a stop in front of me and physically blocking my forward movement. “Is everything okay? I’ve been trying to catch your attention for three blocks.”
“Fine,” I gasped, which was entirely untrue. “Just fine. Excuse me, I need to get...”
“Home?” he volunteered as my words vanished into thin air. “What happened to you? You seem spooked.”
“Like I saw a ghost?” I gave a tense smile, finally adjusting to conversation. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You’re not well.” His eyes furrowed in concern. “Can I entice you to talk about it?”
“I don’t know, Grey—it’s not like that. I don’t need to talk, I need to—I need to do something.”
“Come with me for a walk?” He extended a hand, watched as my expression faltered, and then retreated. “Fair enough. I’ll drop the questions if you walk with me. Let’s get you some lunch—you look like you’re about to wilt.”
Grey watched me with careful eyes that reflected his namesake. He was tall and broad, handsome in a way that stopped women’s hearts across the borough. Not handsome in the same way as Matthew, who cornered the market on tall, dark, and mysterious.