Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) (14 page)

“Where were you?” he asked, then gave an enormous yawn.

“I stepped outside for some fresh air. Didn’t want to wake you.”

Eyebrow quirked, he patted the mattress.

But she shook her head. “We both know where that will lead.”

He rolled to his back and put his hands behind his head. The movement edged away the sheet, revealing more of his stunningly ripped torso and the top of his dark, happy trail.

When her glance slid back to his face, she spotted a self-satisfied smile rimming his mouth.

“We could conserve,” he murmured.

She arched a brow, and her pulse beat faster. “As in share the shower?”

“I’ll wash your back.”

“I’ve got some other places that might need a little soap.” Desire swirled in her belly.

He whipped back the sheet to reveal his erection. Long, heavy, and pulsing against his well-toned belly.

“Well, color me green,” she murmured. With Sam a step behind her all the way, Cait figured Jason would just have to wait. Wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

“What are you so happy about?”

As Leland’s loud bark drew every gaze in the murder room, Sam flinched. He leaned back in his swivel chair and cleared his face. The last thing he’d admit was that he’d been smiling at the image of Cait in a ponytail hopping through a greenhouse after a butterfly. “Just waiting for
uniforms to bring in Reyes for questioning. Should be here any minute.”

“Stopped to tell you dogs and sonar are at the hotel now.” Leland rubbed the back of his neck. “Really think we’ll find more bodies?”

“We found a license from a woman who’s been missing for decades. We’ll find something.”

Leland dropped his hand. “Damn strange. I’ve gone years without having anything this fucking weird happen, and now twice in one year. Your ex-wife attracts some crazy shit.”

Sam gave Leland a quelling stare, but Leland didn’t appear to notice.

His chin tipped to the doorway. “Think your witness just arrived. Better get through the interview, and then back over to the hotel. No tellin’ what they’re gonna find, and I want a lid kept on it. Tighten it down.” His fist clenched at his side. “Can’t have word leakin’ out and every nut-job news rag descending. Might not be as easy to explain away as the last one.”

Sam eased out of his chair. “Want to sit in on this one?”

“Nah, but I’ll watch from behind the glass. Have to make sure no one comes in anyway. Too many details get around, your rep’ll be toast.”

Like Cait’s had been when rumors spread she had taken her full-moon cases a little too much to heart and started believing some of what she investigated.

Sam didn’t really give a flip about what the others thought but understood the need to keep a professional gloss on everything he did. Respect allowed him freedom from prying eyes, gave him the ability to come and go without a lot of questions. Discretion was key to getting the job done.

Sliding into a chair across from Oscar Reyes in the interrogation room, Sam summed up the man in a single glance—a thug with a temper. He flipped open a thick file, crammed with details about the man’s previous arrests. “I see you’ve had scrapes with the law before.”

Oscar’s gaze was dark, flat, soulless. “In my youth. I’m a respectable businessman now. I pay my taxes.” He glanced at the door. “Is this gonna take long? I have things to do.”

“Sir, your wife’s dead.”

“Ain’t that a damn shame,” Oscar said, his narrow pig-eyes widening. “I cried myself to sleep last night, but hey, life goes on.”

“Not for Sylvia.” Sam shook his head in disgust.

“She was a whore. I tried to rescue her from that life, gave her a good home.” His hand flattened on the table. “But I guess some habits are hard to break.”

“So, you believe your wife was seeing another man?”

“Yeah, got the proof on her computer. Had a couple of PIs follow her around. They can vouch for the fact the
puta
was steppin’ out.”

Sam aimed a deadly glare at the man.

Oscar’s lips pursed, and he leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I gotta cope somehow. Better anger than grief, eh?”

Sam kept his expression neutral, although the effort caused him heartburn. “Have you ever been to the Deluxe Hotel?”

Oscar pushed out his lips. “Not that I can recall.”

Pulling a printout from the folder in front of him, Sam snorted. “Then can you explain how your credit card got charged for beers there on multiple occasions?”

“Don’t know.” Oscar’s gaze hardened. “Syl musta took my card.”

“Sylvia didn’t appear to drink beer. Her card shows charges at various restaurants and bars for mixed drinks. Why would she order only beer at the Deluxe?”

Oscar’s lips turned down, and he lifted his hands. “Not a clue. Maybe she was buyin’ her boyfriend drinks.”

“If I show the bartenders your picture, will they recognize you, Mr. Reyes?”

At last, Oscar twitched. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he still tried to brazen out the situation. “Maybe I have been there a time or two. A business meeting, maybe.”

“A meeting where you made arrangements for a man to seduce your wife?” Sam stared hard, waiting for Oscar to betray himself by expression or action.

Oscar’s jaw ground shut. “We’re through talkin’ without my lawyer.”

And the conversation ends.
Sam closed the folder and smiled. “That’s all right, Mr. Reyes. You get that lawyer ready. I’ll have more questions after I’ve done some more digging around.”

Oscar heaved up from the table, shot Sam a glance that looked panicked and furious all at once, and charged out of the room.

Leland was waiting in the hallway, his hands planted on his hips. “Sure you shoulda tipped your hand so soon that we think he’s involved?”

“Doesn’t matter. Reyes knows enough to be good and scared. He knows we’re on to him.” His finger tapped the folder. “I’ll bet money he’s heading straight to the boyfriend to warn him.”

“I’ll have a detective tail him. See where he ends up.”

Sam nodded. “I’m heading to the hotel. I don’t like Cait there on her own.”

“Me neither. Something hinky’s sure to happen.” Leland’s eyebrows lowered ominously. “Make sure the place doesn’t get blown up.”

Cait waded through the crowded lobby. Guests covered the couches and chairs while they whispered among themselves. The registration counter was blocked by others questioning the clerk about what was going on.

Three cadaver dogs had arrived, handled by private contractors who were already searching the floors in a methodical sweep, hotel staff with master keys letting them into every nook and cranny. A team operating sonar equipment was on the top floor and working its way down.

Rather than trail the dogs or the techs, Jason and Cait remained in the lobby, scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who appeared nervous about the search.

“What do you think about the kid in the green T-shirt?” Jason asked quietly.

“He’s worried someone’s gonna find his stash of weed,” she said, eyeing the skinny man who was sweating harder than was warranted—if he’d been an innocent man.

“There’s the manager, Avery Lewis.”

Cait turned to follow his gaze. Mr. Lewis wrung his hands, while his glance swept the people loitering in his lobby. Slightly disheveled, his suit was rumpled, his gray hair sticking up in places. He’d probably slept on his office couch rather than head home. She made a mental note to corner him later. Although he’d been interviewed the day after Sylvia’s death, he hadn’t been asked the questions she was most interested in hearing answers for.

Jason grunted, then pointed with his chin. “There’s the Reel PIs crew. They certainly don’t waste an opportunity.”

Cait’s upper lip curled in a snarl. “They’re recording this. When he gets here, I’ll have Sam tell the sergeant in charge to remind all his men that no one grants them an interview.”

“Think now might be a good time to bring them in on the investigation?”

For a moment, Cait fell silent. Things were already complicated as hell. As soon as they turned the crew loose on the investigation, the police would have their hands full keeping them safe and out of trouble while they watched to see if the incubus flashed his hand. “Jesus, I hate those guys.”

“Because they’re posers?”

She shrugged. “They don’t understand how dangerous the situation can get. They treat this like it’s some big adventure.”

“Who knows? Maybe they’re the real deal.”

She snorted and waved a hand. “And Santa Claus really does squeeze his fat ass down chimneys.”

“Bet all you ever got was a lump of coal. Anyone ever tell you that you have a bad attitude?”

She flashed him a grin and then began winding her way through the crowd toward the Reel PIs crew.

Clayton spotted her first and elbowed Booger, who bent to Mina’s ear.

She whipped her camera toward Cait.

“You’re the one who got electrocuted yesterday,” Mina said, peeking around her handheld unit and pushing her cat’s-eye glasses up her nose.

“I’m consulting with the police.”

“You a psychic detective?” the girl asked.

Cait flashed her a pained smile. “No, just a plain old PI.” She scowled at the camera before turning to Clayton. “We need to talk.”

Clayton straightened his shoulders, his demeanor changing instantly. His shoulders straightened, which pressed his large round belly forward. “I figured you might.”

“Follow me,” she said, crooking her finger. As soon as she turned her back, she rolled her eyes at Jason, who hid a smirk.

She led them back to the break room and closed the door. The film crew took seats in front of the metal table. With the sounds from the lobby muffled, she sat opposite them, blowing out a breath that billowed her cheeks. “I’m Cait O’Connell, and this is my partner, Jason Crawford. Folks, we could use your help.”

From his seat, Clayton narrowed his eyes. “If we agree to help, you gonna let us keep our recording?”

“Why?” Was this a break in the case? “Do you have anything?”

“Tons of orbs on the third floor.”

“Uh-huh.” Cait forced her expression to remain unchanged. “I’ll have Jason get with you to review the footage.”

Jason kicked her foot under the table.

She cleared her throat. “We want to set up surveillance on the third floor. Something that augments what the police are currently doing.”

Clayton glanced around at the rest of the crew before speaking. “Because they don’t have our specialized equipment and won’t know what to look for?”

She gave Clayton a grave nod. “That’s exactly it.”

His brown eyes narrowed. “Can we get access to room 323?”

Cait held her breath for a second, remembering the problem she’d had. If these guys were innocent of any wrongdoing, she couldn’t put their lives in danger like that. She shook her head. “Too dangerous. Look at what happened to me.”

“Then it wasn’t just bad wiring.” Clayton leaned toward Booger. “Told you the manager was full of it.”

Cait smiled. “Let’s set up the equipment to watch the third floor at the end of the hallway where 323 sits. We’ll monitor it remotely to keep everyone safe.”

“We can’t leave it unattended.” Clayton frowned. “Someone might walk away with our stuff. It’s expensive.”

“All the other guests on that floor are being moved. We can assign you a room on the third floor for you to set up and monitor your feeds, but far enough away so you won’t get tazed like I was. The PD is placing uniforms at the elevators and stairwells to control who enters. Sound satisfactory?”

Clayton glanced at Booger, who gave him a quick nod. Mina’s head jerked up and down like a bobble-head doll. Firming his lips, Clayton turned back to Cait. “We get to keep our footage, any readings we take.”

Pretending to give his request serious consideration, she took her time before she gave him a solemn nod. “We’ll make copies if we need them.”

Clayton leaned closer. “We get to interview the detective in charge.”

She nearly laughed. The thought of Sam being interviewed by a group of paranormal investigators, scowling and growling, was just too funny. “You can talk to me. Detective Pierce and I are working very closely on this one.”