Soul Stealer (13 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Claudia woke up to her radio squawking, calling out for her loudly. At first she was pissed she’d gone to bed without taking her gear back to the station. Then she realized she was incredibly uncomfortable, lying on her stomach, head harshly turned to one side, her cheek scratching against … carpet?

She moved her head carefully, her skin not liking the contact with the cream-colored shag rug under her face. The slow rotation hurt and set off a headache the likes of which she hadn’t felt for quite a while. She rose up carefully, pushing herself over and sitting up in slow motion. It wasn’t until then she remembered that she was in that nurse’s apartment. It was pitch black outside now, the room incredibly dark. Dispatch called for her again, and she winced before answering.

“Car 212 here. Go ahead.”

“Are you okay? We haven’t heard from you for a couple hours.”

Maybe it was her discomfort, but she spoke the truth and she really should have known better. “I just got knocked out. Give me a minute to pull it together.”

“You what? What’s your present location? Stay there if it’s safe now and I’ll send help.”

She listened, but only the radio was making any noise. That and the man with the hammer and anvil in her head making fucking horseshoes.

“It’s safe here. I’m fine. I’ll come in right away.”

“If you were unconscious you’re not fine. I’ll send an ambulance.”

“I don’t need an ambulance. I just have a headache.”

“Stay where you are, Sergeant Bauer. I’ll send Vance to you. What’s the address?”

She sighed, knowing that no matter what she said Vance would be there in a heartbeat if he was at work.

“Tell him I’m at the nurse’s apartment.”

“Okay. Stay where you are, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered to herself, trying to stand up. The room spun a bit, and she closed her eyes against the leap her stomach took right at that moment.

Jesus, something really hit her.

The realization of what she’d seen strike her was like another fist to the chin. It all came back, and she checked out her knuckles to see if it had actually been real.

They were cut and busted from getting into fisticuffs with a dead man.

But that was impossible. She
knew
Damien Talon was dead. She’d even gone to the potter’s field gravesite to confirm it to herself when her nightmares had been making it impossible for her to sleep.  It had reassured her to see that he was in a hole he couldn’t get out of.

So much for that theory.

It had been surreal when she was grabbed and spun around. It had looked like him, felt like him. Hell, it had even smelled like him.

She closed her eyes again, not from nausea. He’d really gotten under her skin, hadn’t he? And she was apparently still pissed that she had no idea what had happened that day back in the spring. All she’d wanted to do was hurt him.  Hurt him and get the hell away from him.

He’d felt so good, though. Just like she remembered.

She shook her head, which was a very bad idea. The headache went from “throbbing” to “fire-alarm” and she had to put her hands to her temples to steady herself. Deep breaths. In through the mouth, out through the nose …

Her cell phone rang, which hurt too, but she moved carefully to answer it. “Hello?” she croaked, not looking to see who it was first.

“What the hell are you doing there alone?”

She had to smile. “Nice to hear from you too, Vance.”

“Are you insane? You got knocked out? What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. Please stop shouting at me. My head is killing me.”

He took a deep breath and she could envision his jaw clenching as he tried to sound civil. “What happened?”

“Someone must have followed me in here. Don’t worry – I put up a pretty good fight. Got the bloody hands to prove it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think they just wanted to knock me out. I’ll look around to see if anything’s stolen.”

She knew there wouldn’t be anything missing, and she wasn’t sure why she was lying about what she saw. But creating more questions at this point wasn’t going to help anyone. How should she tell a cop a dead guy just beat her up?

“If you were unconscious you could have another concussion. Do you feel sick?”

She cursed under her breath, realizing he was right. “Yeah, I do.” No point in lying about that. She sure as hell didn’t want to drive in this condition.

“I’ll bring someone to drive your car back. Stay there, don’t do anything.”

“Okay.”

They hung up without another word, and she lay back on the floor, staring up at the reflection of the city lights on the ceiling.
Don’t fall asleep
, she told herself.
Don’t fall asleep …

Damien fucking Talon. It wasn’t a look-alike. He’d recognized her, too. She almost laughed at the realization he’d been turned on by the fight.

Wait. What the hell was she doing? Hadn’t Iola, Claudia and the police all thought this guy was going to kill them?

He could have killed her just now, before he left. But he didn’t. He left her breathing.

Damien fucking Talon.

Cassie Adams was pulling in her parking spot in the private lot just as her cell went off.  As she turned the engine off she groped for it on the seat next to her, not checking the number before answering.

“Yep?”

“Cassie? Baby? That you?”

She rolled her eyes. Great, the ex-boyfriend, now three weeks since the “ex” part of that title went into effect. “Greg, what do you want?”

“Just checking in on you. I’m worried about you.”

She locked the doors with her key fob, shifting her purse higher up on her shoulder. “I’m fine, Greg. Thanks.”

“Did you … did you go out to dinner?”

She sighed. “Yes. I was out with Mom and Dad.”

“Oh,” his voice sounded like the definition of relief. Save her from paranoid, jealous, overbearing boyfriends, please.

“Greg, why does it matter? I told you, I don’t want to see you anymore. Why are you forcing me to be mean to you?”

“Cassie, I just wish you’d let me explain -”

“Greg, you almost beat up my boss.”

“You told me how he made a move on you. What was I supposed to do?”

She stopped, shocked. “Christ, maybe by believing me when I said I handled it? He apologized. We were good.”

“He’s still an asshole.”

“No, he’s not. You’re the asshole. We went out for two weeks Greg. You had no right to come off like my big protector. I’ve known him for longer than I’ve known you.”

“Cassie, just … meet me for coffee or something. I miss you.”

She started walking again. “That’s not happening. You’re too intense. That’s what I get for dating cops.”

He sighed. “Cassie, you know why I get worked up about men that make unwanted advances.”

“Yeah, I do. But I’m not your sister, Greg. He tried to kiss me; he didn’t hurt me at all. I even … I even thought about letting him kiss me.”

There was a pause and she felt bad for saying it.

“If you ever change your mind, call me.” He clicked off with that and she ended the call on her end, shoving her phone back in its pocket in her purse. For all he came off like a nice guy, Greg Nailor was a little intense in the starting phases of a relationship.

She made her way past
the tail lights of her neighbor’s vehicles and nearly tripped over the legs of a man, sprawled out on the concrete.

Cassie recognized him immediately. He stood out nicely from the other tenants in her building, and every time she ended up sharing an elevator with him she counted it as a high point of her day.

He was unconscious right now though, bleeding from his nose. She stared for a moment then realized she should likely help him. She got on her knees next to him, leaning over and saying, brightly, “Hello? Are you okay?”

She wished she knew his name, but they’d never introduced themselves to each other just riding the elevator. They were only at the level of acquaintance where a nod of the head and a short “Hello” was acceptable, even though she’d been more than aware of those broad shoulders, narrow waist and amazing ass. And his smile was a total knock-out, too.

She moved closer. “Hello? Can you hear me?” With one hand she touched his temple, and that seemed to do it.

He opened his eyes. Looked at her, very confused, then groaned and started to get up.

She scooted away and got back to her feet, shoving her purse up to her shoulder again. He sat back on his heels, blinking his eyes in an exaggerated way, but she assumed he was clearing cobwebs.  His eye looked swollen, a bit of blood drying on his temple.

“Did you get robbed?” she blurted.

That’s when he seemed to realize she was actually there. He looked up at her and she fought down a sigh, those dark eyes like chocolate sex.

He cocked his head to the side. “I know you from the elevator?”

She warmed at the recognition, ridiculously. “Yeah. But what happened? Do you need an ambulance … or should I call the cops?” Luckily Nailor was a homicide detective and wouldn’t respond to this call unless he heard where it was coming from.

“No, but could you call me a cab? My car was stolen.” He looked at the empty parking spot she was standing in. “They even took my gym bag.”

Cassie looked around, then back at him as he got to his feet. He was a big one, but not in an intimidating way. She wasn’t timid around him at all. That’s likely why she opened her mouth.

“I can drive you to the hospital. My car’s right over here.”

He waved a hand. “No, that’s not necessary. Thank you, though.”

She tilted her head. “You have money for a cab?”

He put his hands on his pockets, then had to smile, making her heart tumble over itself a bit. “No, I don’t. I don’t even have my ID.”

She pulled her keys from her jacket pocket. “Come on. It won’t take long. You’ll be my good deed for the day. Karma can pay me back.”

Raphael wasn’t sure the last time he was glad to see Voro. Chances were good this was the first time it had ever happened.

“What do you remember?” Voro demanded as soon as they were alone.

“That apartment, and her. The nurse. A shadow, and then … there was just this room.”

Voro was frowning, and Raphael was getting the distinct impression he was only half-listening. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Voro shook himself back. “Sorry. But … you smell different.”

“What?”

“They gave me back some of my Sin Eater senses. I can smell what people are up to. And you don’t smell like an angel anymore.”

Raphael had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he put his hand to it like he could stop it from happening. That was weird. He’d never felt anything like that before –

“Wait,” he blinked at Voro. “What do I smell like, then?”

Voro actually inhaled for effect. “Human. You smell like a sexed-up human.”

“What?”

The Sin Eater looked to the door. “What were you two up to? The nurse giving you a sponge bath or something?”

He knew that thing between his legs had calmed down, but he still looked anyway. “No, I … it just …. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Voro stopped laughing. “Really? You just popped a chubby over that nurse?”

“Keep your voice down, please. That’s the least of my worries right now, trust me.” His voice dropped. “Humans aren’t supposed to be able to touch us. We … zap them. They usually faint from it, or sometimes people have died. But she put her hands on me and … nothing happened.”

Voro came closer to the bed, hooking a chair with his foot and pulling it closer before dropping down into it, a little too casual for Raphael’s liking. But at least he looked like he was pondering this event.

“What if that thing … sucked the angel right out of you?”

He eased his head back on to the pillow, closing his eyes. “Voro, this isn’t good.”

“The assembled crew upstairs think it was a Psionic Vampire.”

Raphael’s eyes snapped open and his head jerked over to regard Voro. “Really?”

“Yeah. I think they’re fucking insane but … maybe it’s something we should consider.”

Raphael let those implications roll around for a minute as he redirected his stare up at the ceiling tiles. “When’s the last time you dealt with one of those?”

“I’ve never seen one. That’s why I don’t think it is one. But I’m looking at you right now and I’m not … I mean, you look like you but … something’s off here.”

“People aren’t looking the same anymore, either. I can’t tell what people’s intentions are. To me, you just look like some big guy I’d avoid making eye contact with.”

“We’ll get it figured out, Raphael. I promise.”