That was a tricky edge to ride, especially now, because I couldn’t quit this town. Knowing that made me extra careful to dance lightly where matters of the heart were concerned. All I had to do was avoid too much contact with someone I found myself attracted to. Dex could act as a buffer if need be. Elric was the only man I’d encountered in quite some time who’d even tempted me. I hoped that future contact with him would be relegated to emails and such. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who met regularly with the staff. He had other staff with higher pay grades than mine for that.
“When’s the mentoring ceremony?” Dex asked.
All mentoring agreements were done in the form of a ceremony with a simple yet powerful spell. Typically these were done at night, and a lot of them involved a celebration like coitus … not my ceremony, of course—I’d been mentored by a castrated monk—and lovemaking of any kind definitely wouldn’t follow the detective’s ceremony. The thought of getting naked with Kincaid made me a bit nauseous.
“We’ll do the ceremony tomorrow,” I said with a wicked smile, “after he selects his gift.”
Protégés were required to bring their mentors a gift—a trinket—and the binding spell in the agreement phase of the mentor/protégé arrangement gave the protégé the unique magical ability to seek out and be drawn to the gift that would become most useful to their mentor. In other words, for the first few days before the ceremony, protégés had special sight to see which trinket of any they were presented would be the most valuable to their mentor.
I took a moment to picture Kincaid: nervous and sweaty, meeting some low-life fencer in a dark alley and attempting to choose the trinket least likely to give him a guilt trip but that still served the purpose of being of significant value to me. The image made me want to grin.
“Mentoring can take years, Ezzy,” Dex reminded me, pulling me from my thoughts.
I blew out another sigh. “Yeah, I know. Here’s hoping Kincaid is a quick study.”
Dex grunted an agreement. “We’ll have enough on our plate once Elric officially hires you.”
I nodded and blinked heavily. I was nearly asleep on my feet, with no adrenaline left to keep me upright and moving. The scotch hadn’t helped matters, but I didn’t regret it. I’d needed that drink.
“Hey,” Dex said.
I forced my eyes to widen. “Yeah?”
“Get upstairs and fetch yourself some Zs. You need it.”
I nodded again and got up from the chair at the counter. “Fine, but only a few hours, okay? Wake me at four.”
“Of course, luv,” he said.
True to his word, Dex got me up at exactly 4 am. I was curled around Ember, who also startled awake when Dex called up the stairs to me. “I’m up,” I called back, but then laid back against the pillow, still feeling exhausted.
A few minutes later, Dex appeared in the doorway wearing his favorite banana-yellow pajama bottoms.
“Coffee’s on,” he said.
I took a whiff and could just make out the wonderful scent of ground coffee beans percolating. “I’ll be right down.”
I got out of bed slowly, mindful of the many injuries I’d suffered in the past twenty-four hours alone. But being close to Ember all night had banished every wound, ache, and pain.
Stroking the top of her velvety head before leaving the sleepy pup, I whispered, “I love you,” and headed straight to the shower.
After making myself presentable, I met Dex in the kitchen. He’d already preheated my mug and set out the cream. “Cheers, mate,” I mimicked from the night before as I took my first sip. The coffee warmed my belly and woke my mind even more than the shower.
I moaned with pleasure. God, I love coffee.
“Have you called Kincaid?” Dex asked me, sipping from his bright yellow smiley-face mug.
“Not yet,” I said, setting down my own cup to add more cream. “I’m pretty sure he had a late night too, so I’ll give him until six before I call him.”
“He could’ve pulled an all-nighter,” Dex said. “With a hot case like Rasputin’s, I’ll bet he’s still at it.”
I immediately felt shitty about taking a four-hour nap. Bringing out Kincaid’s card from my jacket’s pocket, I considered the two numbers before choosing his office line, just in case he had actually gone home for some shuteye and was still asleep. I didn’t mind rousing him at this early hour, but I’d taken note of the wedding ring on his left ring finger; no way did I want to wake his wife if I didn’t have to.
To my surprise, the line was answered on the first ring. “Detective Kincaid,” he said.
“Hello,” I began, caught a little off-guard by the quick answer. “It’s me. Esmé.”
Silence.
I sensed confusion. “Esmé Bellerose,” I clarified. Could he know more than one Esmé?
“Hello, Esmé Bellerose,” he replied smoothly. “What can Detective Kincaid do for you?”
I felt my brow furrow. Was he serious? Or maybe drunk? “Well,” I said, still a bit flustered. “I’d like to get a look at Grigori’s autopsy report.”
“Would you, now?” he asked, almost playfully.
Why was he being so weird? “Yes.”
“And why would you like to look at Grigori’s autopsy report?”
Shit. Did I have an answer to that other than “so I can tell how many times he might’ve died and was brought back to life by this incredibly valuable trinket I’m after”?
I took a steadying breath. “I’m hoping it can reveal something we didn’t know before.”
“Such as?”
“I won’t know that, Detective, until I look at the autopsy report.”
“Ah,” he said.
That was it. Just, “Ah.” I almost asked him why he was being so difficult but thought better of it. Deciding to go a different route and hoping to distance myself a little from what’d happened at Tic’s place, I said, “I’m sure you heard about that bomb that went off across town last night.”
“I did. Was that your doing?”
“No,” I replied testily. God, this guy was seriously pushing my buttons. And, further irritatingly, it was turning me on a little. “Listen, I just wanted to let you know that I may have known one of the victims.”
“Do tell.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, I said, “He’s an acquaintance of mine. Marco Astoré. He has a connection to Grigori.”
I heard the creaking of a chair and imagined that I’d just gotten Kincaid’s full attention. “What kind of a connection?”
“Marco was the one who told me where to find Grigori.”
“How did Marco know anything about Grigori?”
I thought that was an odd question for Kincaid to ask. If it weren’t for the distinct trace of smoky hoarseness in his voice, I’d have sworn I was speaking to someone else. “I don’t know. Tic knows things.”
“Tic?”
“Marco’s nickname. Anyway, that’s not important. What is important is that someone has now targeted two men who knew each other.”
“Is Marco dead?” Kincaid asked next.
Again, I thought that a weird question, but then I remembered that Tic’s body had been nowhere to be found when I regained consciousness. “I don’t know. But I hope not.”
Kincaid took a deep breath before saying, “Anything else you want to tell me, Esmé Bellerose?”
I really disliked the way he kept using my full name. It was condescending. Still, I needed to keep up the conversation if I was going to get anything useful out of him. “Two things. One, we should discuss what might be an appropriate gift for the ceremony—or in your case, what might not be an appropriate gift, and second—”
“Gift?” Kincaid said. “For what ceremony?”
I sighed. Man, dealing with the unmentored was a pain in the ass. “For your mentoring ceremony …. Did Grigori not mention this to you when he agreed to mentor you?”
There was a pause, then a crisp, “No.”
“Well, it’s c
ustomary to procure a trinket for your mentor. I’d start with Delphine Lefebvre. She has the best assortment of quality trinkets, and her stall down at the market is easy to find. Plus, she can be trusted. Well, to a point. But you’ll need to bring cash, and don’t go against your instincts. You’ll want to simply let your gut tell you which trinket to choose for me.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the phone, but then Kincaid said, “Got it. What else?”
“We should discuss next steps on the case sooner rather than later. Also, something I thought of this morning, I think we should go over all of your conversations with Grigori.”
Again, Kincaid paused before replying. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, if it’s true that Rasputin had agreed to mentor you, it’s likely he would’ve talked about himself with you. He might’ve mentioned something that could help us identify some possible suspects.”
The chair creaked again in the background while Kincaid considered that. “That’s a fair point,” he said at last. “Are you hungry, Esmé Bellerose?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Are you hungry?”
Sweet Jesus. The way he kept saying that, all low and throaty, made me think that Kincaid was being inappropriate. “For food?”
“Sure,” Kincaid said with that same smooth, sexy tone.
Good, God. Was my face flushing? Before I could even answer, he added, “Meet me at Big Mike’s in twenty. It’s a diner two blocks west of the station on the south corner.”
With that the line went dead.
I took my time getting to Big Mike’s. And even then, I sat across the street staring at the diner for five minutes before I finally got out of the car and headed to the entrance. Pushing open the door caused a small bell to jingle, announcing my presence to an almost deserted restaurant that’d definitely seen better days from two or three decades ago judging by the worn upholstery, dusty shelves, and sun-faded interior.
My gaze instantly went to the two occupied booths, but Kincaid wasn’t in either of them.
Next I scanned the counter. An elderly man sat hovered over a bowl of oatmeal and a steaming cup of coffee; otherwise, the counter was as empty as the rest of the place.
A carrot-haired woman wearing a dark brown polyester waitressing uniform poked her head out of the double-doors leading to the back and said, “Sit anywhere, hon. I’ll be right with you.” She then disappeared into the back again.
I glanced around the diner, feeling exposed. The place, for all its lack of charm, was brightly lit, and as it was still dark outside, this posed a bit of a dilemma. If I took a seat anywhere in the diner, I’d be visible from outside without being able to see who might be watching me. That was a situation I rarely put myself into.
Glancing at my phone, I took note of the hour. It was 5:15 am. Kincaid had said to meet him here in twenty minutes, which made me ten minutes late.
Maybe he’d come here, hadn’t seen me, waited five minutes, and left.
Again, I glanced at my phone. There’d been no texts to ask where I was, or to alert me that he’d be late, so if he’d come and gone, he hadn’t even tried to contact me.
“Who leaves after only five minutes of waiting, though?” I muttered.
Behind me I heard the jingle of the bell above the door. My back stiffened, and I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. Very slowly I turned around and saw Detective Kincaid standing in the doorway, looking at me.
For an instant I felt relieved. And then … boom! A wave of desire like I’d never felt, hit me like a blow to the body. My balance faltered, and I even took a step back. Heat rose from the pit of my stomach to flood through my veins and steal my breath in a gasp of surprise, or desire. Maybe both.
In that instant, the detective who’d arrested me the day before became the most attractive, desirable man I’d ever laid eyes on. My senses were flooded with him: his black hair, hazel eyes, broad shoulders, small waist, muscular physique, and lips so inviting I could hardly resist the urge to taste them.
I was so keenly aware of him, I felt I could hear his heartbeat from ten paces away.
And more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life—I wanted him.
I wanted to tear off his clothes and have him tear off mine. I wanted to feel my skin pressed against his, caress his lips, feel his tongue, be devoured by him in the way that true lovers do …
For several panicky moments, I could think of nothing else, and my breathing quickened with the effort to hold myself back from rushing to him and having my way with him right there in the diner on that filthy floor; I didn’t even care.
And for his part, he seemed as surprised as I was by my obvious reaction. The confident smirk he’d worn upon entering faded quickly from his face, and he now stood rigid in that same doorway, his knuckles white on the handle of the door he still gripped.
“You two want a booth?” I heard behind me. It was the waitress.
I took a ragged breath and forced myself to turn away from Kincaid. “No,” I said hoarsely. “I … won’t be staying.”
And then I willed my legs to move, to take one step, then another, and another, each one coming quicker than the next, but not in Kincaid’s direction. My sights were set on the double doors leading to the kitchen, to where I knew a back exit must be.
I didn’t stop until I’d run past the surprised cook, or the shocked busboy, who was taking a smoke break on the other side of the door leading to the back alley. Once I gained the street, I ran for my life.
Literally.
Chapter Eight
Day 2
I drove like a crazed person, constantly checking the rearview for any sign that the detective had followed me. Rolling down the window, I breathed in the crisp air hungrily. I couldn’t seem to get my heart rate back to normal, and every nerve in my body felt on fire. What the hell was that? I asked myself.
I had no doubt that my binding spell was one hundred percent responsible for the nearly uncontrollable urge to mount Kincaid in a dirty diner where anyone and everyone could’ve seen us. After all, the spell had never cared about dignity or discretion. In the early days, I’d had plenty of openly public passionate moments, but I’d never, ever, in all of my one hundred-and-four years, felt such raw desire for another human being.
And that could only mean that Kincaid was the deadliest person I’d ever encountered. If he didn’t represent a violent danger to me, then he surely represented a future heartbreak that I wouldn’t survive. He was the embodiment of my worst fear come to life. A heartbreak so deep and so lasting that I’d find it impossible to go on living. I’d had a taste of that in Paris three decades before. It’d been unbearable.
But even that man hadn’t evoked anywhere near the passionate response that Kincaid had.
What I couldn’t understand was why there’d been a delayed response. Less than a day before I’d felt absolutely nothing for him. Not the smallest spark of desire.
What’d changed?
I drove aimlessly for a long time, waiting to regain my senses fully, but it was so difficult. The memory of him standing so gorgeous in that doorway kept replaying over and over in my mind, and with it the echoes of the desire I’d felt.
Finally I pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall and spent ten minutes doing nothing but taking in deep lungfuls of air, holding that breath for a count of ten, and releasing it slowly again. It was a meditative technique, and it helped more than anything.
After coming fully back to my senses, I considered what to do next. Kincaid was a link to discovering more about Rasputin. Now I’d have to proceed without his input. But I’d also have to come up with a reason never, ever to see him again.
No way could I mentor him now, and I said that to myself, even though I’d agreed to do it in a moment when our energies had been intertwined. Panic coursed through me then because I had no idea how to break a bounded promise. Running felt like it might work for a while, but that wasn’t an option I
could take, because if I didn’t deliver Elric his egg, he’d hunt me down and kill me; if I did deliver his egg and I lived, then the contract would be in place, and it would hold me here even more firmly than the promise I’d made to Kincaid.
And then a dark thought occurred to me. It was possible to free myself of the promise bond to Kincaid, but he’d have to die in order for me to escape it. I didn’t think my luck was anywhere near good enough to wish for a bus to hit him the next time he crossed the street, which meant that I’d probably have to murder him.
Sure I was capable; I’d killed one or two attackers in my day, but this would be different. This would be in cold blood, and in my heart, I knew I wasn’t someone who could simply murder another human being that way.
So, Kincaid would live, and I’d have to face him again, and I knew I wouldn’t survive any kind of continued interaction.
“I am so screwed,” I muttered, putting my head in my hands. The minute I leaned against the steering wheel, my phone rang, and I jumped.
Grabbing the phone I looked at the display and didn’t recognize the number. Tentatively I answered it. “Hello?”
“Esmé,” said that familiar husky voice. “We need to meet.” His tone suggested it was more of a command than a request.
“Listen, Detective,” I said as my heart started to race again. “I’m sorry about the diner, but I … I had to go.”
There was a pause, then, “What the hell are you talking about?”
My brow furrowed. “The diner,” I repeated. “I know my exit was abrupt, but as I said, I had to go. It was an emergency.”
Again, there was that distinctive pause before he answered. “I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. What diner?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. Was he toying with me? On the off chance that he was being serious, I said very slowly, “Big Mike’s Diner.”
“Okay,” he said. “I know the place. What about it? Are you there now?”
SPELL TO UNBIND, A Page 12