Dylan's Witch: 10 (Supernatural Bonds) (8 page)

His partner finally stepped up to the plate and took his turn at bat. “Any chance another witch is behind this? Or a victim, thinking ‘Kill Nicole and it shuts down some curse’?”

Hearing what came out of Trace’s mouth was like being drenched in cold water. Was his partner
pretending
to believe, or had he crossed the line into
actually
believing in this stuff?

Dylan’s gaze jerked away from Seraphine and onto Aislinn. Christ, it wasn’t in him to hate her if she’d pulled Trace to the dark side. What did that say about him?

“A spell or curse that would end with the caster’s death would also be one that had to be maintained by a constant draw of power,” Seraphine said. “It would be extremely costly if someone paid to have it created. If Nicole Harper’s death is related to witchcraft, I’d lean more toward revenge, or the possibility she’s somehow viewed as a threat.”

Dylan wondered how it was she could spout that stuff and totally believe it, and he still wanted to jerk her into his arms and dive on those luscious lips before exploring the rest of her.

“Financial means for whoever is behind the hit probably isn’t an issue,” Trace said. “Assuming, of course, Nicole Harper didn’t say or do something to cause her fellow inmate to snap. Has anything surfaced since her arrest that might point to a likely suspect?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” Seraphine matched the answer with a shake of her head, causing the light to reflect off deep-red hair and making Dylan’s fingers flex at imaging grasping it.

“Then I guess Dylan and I had better head out.”

They left a moment later.

“I shouldn’t have sprung Dylan on you that way,” Aislinn said. “Trace and I thought… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Seraphine rubbed the bracelet at her wrist. Last night, his rejection outside the bar had caused pain to sliver through her like an icy knife mercilessly whittling away hope. She’d returned to her car, dry-eyed, but only because the tears were lodged in her throat, along with a determination to put Dylan out of her mind until fate brought him back into her life.

Now she held his apology to her heart, though the look of disbelief on his face when she answered Trace’s question was like peeling off the thin scab covering the pain of last night’s encounter with Electra.

“I need to head to work,” she said, giving Aislinn a hug, knowing that later, she’d go to the low-cost medical clinic where Electra worked because she’d rather risk making things worse than leave things the way they’d ended. Too much was at stake.

* * * * *

“What’s going on with you?” Trace asked as Inner Magick disappeared from the side-view mirror. “You were practically drooling in there. Ask her out. This isn’t exactly a high-risk situation. It’s a pretty sure thing she’d say yes to at least one date.”

And could he settle for one? Would one be enough to
finally
get her out of his system?

He had to shut this down. “If you’d seen her expression when you had Aislinn in a clinch you’d know the answer. Seraphine’s looking for happy-ever-after. I’m not happy-ever-after material.” He was too much like his old man when it came to women, untrustworthy for the long haul, though admitting it was like carving a hollow place out in his chest.

Trace snorted. “Not buying it. Look at how things turned out with Aislinn and me. Look at Conner and Khemirra.”

Dylan attempted another deflection. “Yeah, and that’s why I’m sticking with what works for me. It’s a hell of a lot safer.”

Trace shook his head. “Let me get this straight, you’re telling me none of the badge bunnies are hoping for the ring and the cop husband?”

“That’s why I suit up.” Not that he’d pulled a condom from his wallet or his nightstand drawer lately.

“How long has it been since you’ve gone in naked?”

Heat blazed through his dick even thinking about it. “Not reason enough to get married.”

Trace laughed and went back to quoting from
Star Trek
. “Resistance is futile. For me the answer was never.
Not once
until the night I met Aislinn at Lily’s.”

“TMI.” Way, way too much information, especially given he wasn’t totally convinced he wouldn’t do the same thing with Seraphine if the opportunity presented itself and all the reasons he should resist the attraction went up in flames. He was bad news for any woman wanting more than a good time.

They parked in front of Elaine Young’s apartment. The sedan screamed
cops
to the occupants of the run-down neighborhood.

A couple of kids playing soccer in the street paused to give them suspicious stares before resuming their game. The gangbangers hanging out in front of a house down the street all shifted stances, watching with an eye toward running if interest got directed their way.

“Always good to feel welcomed,” Dylan said.

Trace snorted as they walked up stairs made narrower by a ramp. He hit the doorbell and had to do it a second time, not that their presence hadn’t already been noted.

Elaine Young answered with a full-body block of the doorway. “Yeah?”

Mug shots didn’t improve on looks. But in the time since her last arrest, Elaine’s appearance had changed for the worse, going from strung-out offender to haggard.

“Okay if we come in?” Trace asked.

She stepped out of the way, her body language saying
no
but she had enough experience with cops to just want to get it over with.

The furniture was crowded toward the wall. Dylan took Trace’s lead and didn’t bother heading there to sit.

“We’re here about your sister,” Trace said.

Elaine’s eyes jerked toward an open doorway then back. “What about her?”

“She tell you she have a beef with someone in her unit?” Trace asked.

“Why? She kill someone?”

“So she mentioned a beef?”

“Maybe. Mentioned some rich bitch a couple of times. I didn’t pay too much attention.”

Dylan shoved his hands into his pockets, jingled the coins there, a message she was wasting their time with her bullshit. “Months of not visiting her and then when you finally do, you don’t listen to what she’s telling you?”

It gained him a nasty look. “She’s family. Doesn’t mean I have to hang on every word.”

“The rich bitch have a name?” Trace asked.

“Not that I remember.”

Elaine’s gaze slid toward the open doorway, but she caught herself before it got there.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?” Dylan asked, snapping her attention to him.

“Yeah, I do mind. Are we done?”

He let Trace make the call in the affirmative, after a few more questions that didn’t go anywhere.

She body blocked them back to the front door.

They didn’t speak until they were in the car, Trace once again behind the wheel.

“Either she made us as homicide cops by our abundant good looks and took a giant deductive leap as to why we were there,” Trace said. “Or she was expecting us.”

“The second has my vote. Her curiosity didn’t extend to asking us again if her sister killed someone. Now the question is, who didn’t she want us to see? First time I’ve ever had anyone deny me a pee.”

Trace laughed and flicked his cell phone open. “Who, or what?” But it was rhetorical given his quick hit to speed dial and his saying, “Hey, you and Brady still in the bullpen? Great. Do me a favor, pull up the accident report on Deana Young.” He paused, allowing for the necessary keystrokes. “Anybody else in the car with her? Thanks.”

Trace slipped the phone back in his pocket.

“Let me guess,” Dylan said. “You have a bona fide
clue
. What’d Storm say?”

“Elaine’s sixteen-year-old son was in the car with Deana and severely injured. Report says possible spinal damage. Storm’s going to follow-up, see what shape he was in when he got discharged from the hospital.”

“That explains the ramp. Could explain what she didn’t want us to see, a kid needing more care than she’s going to be able to provide without financial assistance.”

“Or a chance to capitalize on her sister’s feelings of guilt.”

“Cold.” Not that they hadn’t seen plenty of it when it came to murderers. “So a money motive for Nicole Harper getting shanked?”

“Shanked by an inmate with no priors for violence. By one whose sister started visiting her out of the blue.”

Dylan reflected for all of a quarter second. “I like it. Money works for me.”

“Are we good or are we good?”

“We’re golden.”

“Feel like a visit to County?”

“Probably a waste of time.”

“More than probably, but what the hell, let’s go.”

Chapter Five

Conner slowed the sleek craft he’d borrowed from Pierce, Storm’s
secret
husband. Jesus. The captain would keel over if he knew what had happened to his homicide squad. Storm’s being with two guys, one of them co-owner of the infamous Drake’s Lair, would probably be just the thing to lead to a bout of fatal indigestion.

His gaze moved to the black wolf at the helm of the boat—
or not
. He grinned and said, “Just a man and his dog out fishing. I could get used to this silent companionship.”

The wolf looked at him, lips pulling back to expose a hint of very sharp canines. Her light brown eyes promised payback.

“Bring it on,” he said.

She snorted and turned her attention to the saw grass plane they were pushing through.

He glanced down at Miguel’s map and knew fun and games would have to wait. They were close to where X may or may not mark the spot.

The slight rocking of the boat had him looking up to catch that instant when wolf changed to woman in a shimmer of magic. There was a split second of awe at what she was, followed immediately by sheer male pleasure as she stood, at being the man lucky enough to snag such a gorgeous woman.

“You going to bite me now?” he asked.

Khemirra snapped her teeth together. “I might, if you’re a good boy.”

“Boy? Did you shift just so you could insult me?”

“Nope. You’re going to need another pair of eyes. There’s something freshly dead somewhere in the saw grass.”

Conner frowned. “Fresh? I kind of figured we were looking for a skeleton given Miguel’s description.” And they were a good forty yards from the cluster of mangroves.

“The nose doesn’t lie,” she said, tapping hers.

He slowed the boat further. Despite what she’d said about needing another pair of eyes, given the cant of her head, she guided him using her sense of smell. Not that he needed directions once the breeze shifted. Heat and water accelerated decomposition.

Khemirra caught sight of the corpse first as they nosed through saw grass. “Male, not female. Move over to the right or we’re going to hit him.”

Shit. He didn’t want to have to explain that one.

He maneuvered to the side and stopped next to the corpse. The build said male. Confirming it would have to wait until the coroner arrived. The body was facedown, meaning they couldn’t get a head start on identification either, though Conner didn’t relish being present for the flip-over. The eyes were probably already gone, taken by opportunistic feeders.

“Cause of death is most likely going to be a slit throat or strangulation by something like a garrote,” he said.

“Um, hmm. I see that. The fish and god knows what else have definitely taken advantage of the break in the skin.

He shot her a surprised look.

“Reporter. Remember? I’m not just your fancy arm piece and sexual fantasy.”

He grinned. Damn he loved her smart mouth and feisty attitude.

“I better report this one now.” He took a picture using his cell phone, hit one of his apps to get a GPS reading on their location.

Considering he was currently sidelined after killing a suspect, the same suspect who’d shot and fatally wounded Miguel’s significant other—not that either of them had known it was Ianthe—Ian—until the end, Conner called the captain to report the dead body.

The crunch of Rolaids on the other end of the line signaled Captain Ellis was already imagining the headlines. “I’ll send Brady and Storm.”

Conner almost felt guilty knowing he might be only minutes away from a second call to the captain if they found the remains they’d actually entered the swamp to look for. More was not better, not when it came to what the media would consider newsworthy.

He pocketed the phone. “Now to hit the mangrove stand and see if we get lucky.”

She shook her head. “Only a homicide cop would label finding skeletal remains that way.”

“Onward. We’ll have to make this quick.”

He might officially be on leave, but sticking with the body—and using whatever measures necessary to preserve it should an alligator arrive—was a given.

Conner eased the boat away from the corpse and headed straight for the mangroves. X still marked the spot.

“Can you tell how old the bones are?” he asked.

“Not by sight.”

“But you could if you sniffed them?”

Her head snapped around. “
You have got to be kidding me
.”

“Homicide cop. Remember?” he said, playing the card she’d used against him.

He wouldn’t even suggest this except for the way they’d found the remains. Miguel was his friend as well as his partner, and this whole
spirit-walking with a former demon
and
approached by the dead
set off alarm bells. It weirded him out a hell of a lot more than elves, faeries or werewolves.

“You’re going to owe me,
big-time
,” Khemirra said.

He grinned. “I always pay my debts, baby.”

She glanced down at his crotch and sent a rush of heat there. “Yeah, you do. Better maneuver as close as you can to the skeleton. I don’t think we want to leave a bunch of paw prints for your CSI guys.”

She shimmered from woman to equally exquisite wolf as he guided the boat alongside the remains. An elegant nose reached now, delicately sniffing, moving from bone to bone and finally the skull.

Khemirra changed and this time he could tell the use of magic took its toll on her by the sag of her shoulders and strained face. A surge of protectiveness rushed through him.