“No, I don’t. Don’t call me again.” The woman hangs up abruptly.
I let out a high-pitched giggle of hysteria. And I proceed to call every single number on the intercom. Finally, a sleepy voice answers that I recognize.
“Storm!” I screech. “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”
“Diana?” he says, his voice husky. “Diana, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Let me in,” I demand. “Let me in, and I’ll tell you, okay?”
He does as I ask. I rush through the lobby and up the elevator to his apartment. When he opens the door he is wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. The sight of his bare torso, broad shoulders tapering to lean muscled abdomen, brings me to an abrupt stop. The little voice uncurls inside my head and purrs in delight.
Thrown off by the sight, I have to stop myself from throwing myself into his arms. At least I save that much of my dignity. He is alive. Not hurt or anything. Except for a black eye.
“What happened to your eye?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Oh!” I say, remembering it was me. “Uh, sorry.”
I shove the little envelope in its plastic bag at him. “This came! It’s a threat to kill you. It says it’s from DCK, but it’s not really from DCK. I had to come. I didn’t know what else to do.”
He takes the plastic bag from me. Looking at the contents the skepticism disappears from his face. He pulls me towards him by my elbow as he looks behind me to check if I’ve been followed. Reassured, he guides me inside and steers me down a hallway and into a spacious lounge. He sits me down on the couch. He tips the contents of the plastic bag out onto a dining table nearby, and when the little coin rolls out he curses.
“Was this coin inside the card?” he demands.
I nod. I can see that his eyes are on the little mark of DCK inside the card. “There was another Devil Claw Mark outside your apartment,” I tell him.
He demands to know exactly where, and then he makes a phone call, requesting for a forensic team to come to his apartment and mine. He hangs up, and I can see his eyes scanning the message inside the card.
An indignant blush spreads across my face, knowing he is reading the part where it says that it is going to destroy the thing I care about most. I had said the threat was to his life. And now he thinks he is the thing that I care about most.
“I saw the coin in a vision,” I say stiffly. “That’s why I knew it was about you.”
I am going to die on the spot if he asks me about that. He saves me that embarrassment by asking me what time I found the card. I give him all of the details.
“The coin is yours, isn’t it?
He nods. He does not seem happy about it. He double checks anyway, fetching his jacket from where it is hung in the hallway and rifling through the pockets.
A furious hissing sound emerging from my satchel makes him raise his eyebrows. I let Beastie out, and shrug at Storm’s enquiring look. “I couldn’t leave her there. What if the killer went for her instead? That would make more sense. Wouldn’t it, Beastie?”
I tickle her ears, refusing to look at him. Beastie prowls around his couch until she finds a spot that she deems comfortable enough. Ignoring both him and me, she resumes the nap she had been taking on my bed earlier.
“Who do you think it’s from?” I ask him, wanting to spill my theory about Beatrice Grictor.
“We’ll have to wait for forensics,” he says.
“But you agree that it’s not actually from DCK, right? It must be connected to this current case?”
“What makes you think that?” he says.
“Because it’s goddamn Beatrice Grictor who sent it, is why!” I explode.
“Do you want a drink or anything?” he asks, ignoring my outburst.
“No I do not!” I snap. “I want to talk about why she is sending me a threat like that. And for God’s sake, would you put on a shirt or something?”
He goes out of the room for a moment and when he comes back he is shrugging on a shirt. “What makes you think it was Beatrice?” he says perfectly calmly.
“Ooh, Beatrice, is it now?” I say. “Because I smelled an apple perfume when I opened the card, and I noticed the same perfume when she came inside Raif’s office.”
“There’s an apple tree on the front of this card. It could have been auto suggestion. You could have imagined it.”
“I never imagined it! She put that apple tree there on purpose, so I would know it was her. I’m sure of it.”
He is shaking his head.
“For God’s sake Storm. You’ve talked to her a couple of times, right? And I bet you keep that coin with you all the time. So she had opportunity to steal it!”
“People could say the same of you,” he says in a measured tone.
I glower at him. “I can’t believe you said that!”
“It’s not pleasant to be accused of something without proof, is it?” he says. “And why would she implicate herself in a crime? She’s a smart lady, and she is not even a suspect.”
“She’s made this personal!” I snap. “She hates me for some reason. I know it. I just don’t know why.”
“Listen to yourself! Are you saying that this double-murder was all about you? It sounds crazy. It is you who is making personal when it comes to Beatrice.”
Crazy. He called me crazy. I open my mouth to yell at him, to tell him what the wizard said, but to the little voice in my head hisses a warning. Don’t tell him everything we know, she snarls. We still have to win this wager.
“Are you even investigating her?” I demand. “Or have you taken everything that she said for granted?”
“Diana, what part of rock-solid alibi do you not understand? I spoke to Ambassador Vetruvin, who confirmed she was with him for the entire duration of the murder window. Are you suggesting that the Otherworld Ambassador to London is lying? Or perhaps you think he was her accomplice.”
“No,” I mutter resentfully. “Of course not. But she could have some other accomplice.”
“That’s complete conjecture,” he says in a tone verging on frustration. “What motive does she have?”
The little voice hisses to remind me not to give anything away. Feeling defeated, I slump back against his couch and don’t bother to reply.
“We’ll wait for the forensics to get back,” he says in a conciliatory tone. “Hopefully this will give us a new lead.”
“Just say it,” I mutter at him.
“Say what?” He looks genuinely bewildered.
“I know you’re thinking it. You’re thinking that if I hadn’t got involved in this case then no one would have had a reason to send me a threat. But I’m close. I know it.”
He doesn’t bother to reply to that. His intercom is ringing. “That’ll be the forensics,” he says. “I’m going to speak to them. You can’t go back to your place tonight. Do you have somewhere you can stay?”
“I’ll figure something out,” I say. No way am I going to admit I have nowhere to go.
It mortifies me when he seems to read my mind. “It’s late,” he says. “You can stay in my guest bedroom.”
He leaves without waiting for an answer.
As he exits the room, the little voice purrs in satisfaction. Stay the night, she says suggestively. Such an exciting possibility.
“Shut up,” I tell her.
Don’t pretend you don’t want to jump his bones, she says. Did you see that fine figure of a man or have your eyes gone blind? I know you were salivating. Just admit it.
I groan. “Do you have to be such a lech?”
She cackles. I’m just getting started.
I look around Storm’s lounge. It is very much a guy’s space. Comfy leather sofas. Sleek wood and glass furniture. A single piece of art on the wall in many shades of dark red that evoke an uncomfortable tumult of feelings. No pretty nik-naks. No photos. No sign of a girlfriend at all, for which I am ridiculously pleased.
After Storm finishes ta
lking to forensics, he returns to show me to my room and the guest bathroom. The little voice continues to whisper suggestions on how to make my move. I mutter a thanks to him and quickly shut the bedroom door.
I find that he has left one of his nightshirts on the bed for me to sleep in. It is pale blue and looks like it would come to my knees. It looks cozy and welcoming. I don’t put it on. It would feel far too intimate to be wearing something of his. I decide to sleep in my own clothes instead.
Except I can’t sleep. I lay awake for hours listening to the little voice complaining that she is bored. She is tired of being shut away. Oh how delightful it is that Storm is in a bedroom just down the hall. She tells me how easy it would be to tiptoe along the carpet and knock quietly on his door. That I wouldn’t even have to say anything to him. That he and I both know what we want. That he is probably lying awake in bed at this very moment thinking about it.
“Stop it,” I whispered to her. “Please just stop it.”
I put my pillow over my head, scrunching it up around my ears. But that does not work, because she is inside my head, and she isn’t in the mood to back down. This chance may not come again, she says. Make the most of it while you have it. Let go of your inhibitions. It would be so easy.
I ignore her. She doesn’t care.
All you have to do is admit to yourself what you want. What’s the point of holding back? You’re going to die one day, and then you’ll regret all the things you never did when you were young and life was full of possibilities.
I continue to ignore her. Sooner or later she has to shut up. I’m in charge. She can’t make me do anything that I don’t want to.
If you don’t use it, you’re going to lose it, she taunts. That tall muscular body. Don’t you want to touch it? Put your hands on it and feel how warm and smooth it is? She continues in this vein for what feels like forever. Then she changes tack. Don’t you want him to think of you next time he goes to interview Beatrice Grictor? Trust me, I can show you how to make him forget all about stupid little Beatrice.
I don’t know how, but eventually I drop off. I dream of being back in Raif’s office, and the waft of applesmoke perfume that came into the room along with Beatrice’s pretty little heels. When my alarm wakes me it feels like I’ve only been asleep for minutes. Beastie is curled up by my feet. I am clenching something tightly in my fist. It is Storm’s gold coin.
I stare at it, disconcerted. How did that get there? Storm had put it in the evidence bag on his dining table. I slip quietly into the lounge but to my dismay, the evidence bag is gone. I can hear Storm moving around in his room. I hurry back to my guest bathroom to wash up and finger-brush my teeth.
When I emerge, Storm is in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I sense he doesn’t usually cook breakfast and that he is doing it for my benefit. He is freshly showered, his hair deliciously damp, and wearing an impeccable smart-casual outfit suitable for field work.
Oh so yummy, says the little voice sadly. What a wasted opportunity.
I can’t entirely disagree. I stand in the doorway quietly, watching him. It is some time before I realize that he is perfectly aware that I am there.
He grins at me, and puts a plate of toast and eggs and mushrooms and sausages down for me on the table, and a glass of orange juice too. “Tea?” he says.
“Yes please.” I look approvingly at the plate. He has not been stingy with the portions. My mouth is watering.
“Yoghurt?” He places one in from of me before I can answer.
I open it out of curiosity. It is orange flavored, which I think must be weird until I try it. It is oh so tangy and creamy and delicious. One taste and I gulp the rest down in large spoonfuls. Where has this been all my life?
I find Storm is watching me and smiling. “Sleep okay?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Liar,” he says gently. “You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”
“Gosh, you really know how to make a girl feel good.”
He pulls my chair out for me at the breakfast table. He opens his mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Don’t what?”
“If you’re going to tell me that my not sleeping is bad for me and that I need to seek help, then I don’t want to hear it. Okay?”
He makes a face. “Let me say just one thing. You should talk to Beatrice. She does pro bono work. I’m sure she would be happy to take you on as a patient, and she’s good.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Just think about it, okay?”
I grit my teeth. Sure, think about being a charity case and rely on that woman. No chance.
Don’t be a fool, the little voice hisses. The more he thinks Beatrice is a sweet nobody, the better for us. Tell him you’ll make up with her.
The hell I will, I snap.
We eat in silence, me because I am obsessing about Beatrice, and him probably already thinking about work.
Last time we had breakfast together like this was the day we met in the lavish environs of Wintersdeep Castle, during the Royal Engagement Gala. I had thought I was at the start of a whirlwind romance. I had held his hand and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. I remember exactly what his touch felt like. It feels a lifetime ago. And I am a different person now.
I push the memory out of my mind. It’s no use dwelling on it. What I need to focus on is how the hell to pin down Beatrice. She is involved in this somehow. I need to follow the evidence, but I’m not sure she’s left any. It is Wednesday already. Rent is due tomorrow. I have to do it today, and I have no idea how. Storm was right about one thing. She really is a smart lady.
If you don’t have evidence, what do you do? Extract a confession. So that means I am going to have to go back to her house. But confronting her is more likely to get me locked up, not her.
Stupid plan, says the little voice slyly. Especially since she won’t be at her house
How do you know that? I ask. Where will she be?
Somewhere you can’t get to her.
Are you going to tell me or not?
I know exactly where, and I know how you can get there too, but you're going to need my help.
Doing what? I ask suspiciously.
I’ll tell you if you say you’ll do things my way. Agreed?
Maybe, I say warily.
You want to get it done today, then you have to agree.
Fine, I snap. What do I need to do?
First thing we need is to get back to your apartment. Now are you going to make things right with Storm, or what?
Storm has finished eating and is finishing his coffee with a thoughtful look on his face. I was right about him thinking about work.
“I’m going to take you into the office today,” he says. “You can wait there until we’re sure that your apartment is safe to go back to. I can post an officer there with you tonight if you like?” He continues to outline plans for my safety.
Taking care to soften my voice, I say, “Listen, you were right about Beatrice. I will apologize to her, okay?”
A cute little line wrinkles his forehead. He is unconvinced.
“Gosh, do you want me to apologize to you too?” I mutter.
He smiles at that. “Just Beatrice is fine. What led to the change of heart?”
I shrug. “Introspection.”
“That’s great.” He hands me her business card. “I’ll be a couple of minutes. Are you ready to leave?”
You need to get back to your apartment, the little voice insists. We need things.
“I’m ready to go, but I can’t come with you. I have a shift at work. If I don’t turn up, they’ll fire me.”
Storm is scowling. “I’ll speak to them. After the shock of yesterday, the least they can do is—”
“Storm,” I say, interrupting in a reasonable tone. “I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself. I need to get home to get ready for work.”
“Your apartment is being processed by fore
nsics.”
“If you drop me off, then you can supervise me.” I give him a pleading smile.
He doesn't look happy about it, but he agrees. “You really should think about taking the day off,” he says. “Shock can have an unexpected effect.”
While he takes the plates to the sink, I go to get his jacket for him. I slip his gold coin into his pocket. I can feel the little voice lashing about in my mind. She is excited.
Psychic for Hire Series Box Set Page 41