Читать книгу Something Wicked - Angela Campbell - Страница 6

She was alone.

Alexandra wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not by that revelation when she opened her eyes, looked around the unfamiliar hotel room and stretched lazily the next morning.

Oh, not because of the guy she’d brought back to her hotel room last night. She’d expected him to be long gone—her first one-night stand. Had she really done that? A painful tug in some of her more underused muscles reassured her she had.

Her confusion was because she had fully expected Rebecca Collins to be sitting in the chair beside the bed, tapping her foot and waiting for Alexandra to wake so she could start complaining about her sons again.

But Alexandra was alone.

No one-night stand. No ghost.

It was so quiet. How freaking weird was this? How long had it been since she’d woken up to this kind of peace? Months, maybe.

She showered and dressed, glancing around often and expecting the dead woman to pop out of the wall and start making her please-you’ve-got-to-help-my-son demands. Nope, nothing. She’d heard someone say at a spiritual conference once that ghosts couldn’t travel over water. Was that the case here? She shook her head. Rebecca had followed her from Atlanta to Denver and back again. But not here?

Weird.

It was next to impossible to keep her guard up while she was sleeping, so the first thing Alexandra did each morning before leaving her apartment was close herself from communication with the dead. She hesitated in doing it now. What if Rebecca finally made an appearance? She peeked out the curtains, saw that weird gray aura shooting up, and decided she’d better be safe than sorry until she figured out what the anomaly meant.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Released it. And another. She envisioned a brick wall.

Only the living can communicate with me. No spirits can pass beyond this barrier.

Over and over, she repeated the mantra until she felt…almost normal. Another deep breath, and she opened her eyes.

Alexandra’s stomach rumbled, so she set out in search of food. She found a small café serving breakfast, asked to borrow the phone book, grabbed a newspaper and sat down to make a plan.

She started by checking for Dylan Collins in the phone book, hoping the good, old-fashioned resource would trump her Internet searches. She found only one, called and reached an older-sounding man with a strong Southern accent.

Nope. Not him.

She went down the list of D Collins and knew each time a woman claimed a variation of the name she wasn’t getting any closer.

And it sucked that every time she marked off a name from the list, her mind happily somersaulted to an image of Mr. Delicious’s handsome face.

Had he ever told her his name?

Heat warmed her face as she realized she hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with a total stranger when she’d needed to be focused on the reason she came here in the first place. But she had.

This would have been a lot easier to do if her mind didn’t prefer to think about Mr. Delicious. Oh, yes, he’d rocked her world last night. Was she only one in a long line of women, or was casual sex as new to him as it was her?

She snorted. Who was she kidding? That man had been on the prowl before she’d walked into the room. If she hadn’t taken him back to her hotel, no doubt some other lucky woman would have been charmed into doing so. Ridiculous that she felt the hot rush of jealousy blur her vision at that idea. No one that good in bed was a saint, and she had no claim on him anyway. Nor did she want a claim on him. She’d done the long distance thing once, and her marriage hadn’t survived it.

Slamming the phone book shut, she sighed, feeling a little depressed by that memory.

She looked up and caught a young woman on the other side of the window staring in at her. Tiny sparks of orange electricity shot off from her body, just like they always did from dead people. Another ghost. Alexandra tensed and tore her eyes away. She’d done the proper meditation to disconnect. She knew she had.

She glanced back and the young woman was gone.

She must have been mistaken. Her shoulders relaxed, but a feeling of unease lingered in her belly.

As she spread cream cheese over her bagel, she glanced at the newspaper. In a side strip on the front page with no photo, a smaller headline immediately grabbed her attention.

Woman found murdered in cemetery.

The sudden image of a cartoon figure dressed in a black robe and holding a scythe overtook her vision. She’d always likened the experience to someone holding up huge flash cards in front of her eyes unexpectedly. Sometimes a word was written for her to see. Sometimes it was a symbol or a photograph. Alexandra braced herself for more, but her gaze saw nothing now but the newspaper article.

Her hand lowered to her abdomen, which rumbled with anxiety. This wasn’t good. Her morning disconnect hadn’t worked if a ghost—the young woman in the window?—was sending her this information.

She puzzled over the image of a grim reaper that had been relayed to her, but then again, she usually did until she learned more information to give it substance. She felt an immediate urge to turn the page and found herself flipping to the article’s reference on page 3 of the Metro section and zeroing in on a different article buried in the middle of the page. Homicide investigation launched after body found in alley. Again, the grim reaper cartoon flashed before her.

Were these two murders related?

Yes. She didn’t have to read the details of either story. She just knew they were. Did the police realize it?

She flipped back to the first page and skimmed the article as she chewed and then nearly choked on the piece of bread when she read, “Police are seeking information from anyone who saw anything suspicious in the area, according to lead investigator Dylan Collins, Special Investigations Division of the North Charleston Police Department.”

Holy crap.

She laughed and glanced around. Looked like one of her problems was going to be easier to solve than she’d thought.

On the other hand, it was a little disconcerting to realize her mental keep-ghosts-away barrier wasn’t working.

She looked around but didn’t see any more people with sparkly auras. The young woman had been dressed modern. Probably a new ghost. Could be as wary of Alexandra as Alexandra was of her right now, hence the telepathy instead of face-to-face conversation.

Suited her just fine.

Alexandra used the phone book to find the number for the North Charleston Police Department then waited to be connected to Detective Collins. After holding several minutes, a gruff, older-sounding man came on the line.

“Detective Reedus,” he barked.

“I was trying to reach Dylan Collins.”

“What’s the nature of your business?”

Uh, crap. What should she say? The truth? Yeah, she’d give it a shot.

“I’m a friend of his brother’s. I’m trying to reach him. It’s important.”

There was a brief pause. The man grunted. “Detective Collins doesn’t have a brother. If you have a crime tip, please call our special hotline.” He rattled off a number. “Have a good day.” Then the line went dead.

Okay, maybe not so easy after all.

Time for Plan B.

Alexandra scrolled through the contacts in her phone until she spotted a familiar police sergeant’s name. He answered after the second ring.

“Sergeant Coronado, got a minute?”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, “For one of my favorite ladies? Always.”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “Tell me. Do you know anyone in the bureaus down in Charleston, South Carolina?”

***

“Collins, captain wants to see you in his office.” A uniformed officer made the announcement on his way to the water cooler.

Reedus banged a crumpled paper ball off of Dylan’s shoulder and grinned. “Probably another false confession or maybe the cap just wants to tell you what a great job you’re doing. What’s your guess?”

“Did the cemetery murder make the news yet?”

Reedus picked up the newspaper on his desk. “Yep.”

Dylan groaned and rubbed his eyes. If he had a quarter for every time some whackjob came in, wanting to confess to a crime he obviously knew nothing about but had seen in the news, Dylan could’ve afforded one of the mansions on Rainbow Row.

“Why don’t you take this one?” He glanced hopefully at the older man sitting at the desk across from him.

“Ha!” Reedus leaned back. “You’re the lead on this case, not me. Besides, I got a stack of paperwork to finish on another case before lunch.”

“I’ll do your paperwork.”

“You’d trade paperwork for that?” He made a yeah, right face and leaned forward.

Well, yes, he would’ve, but Dylan didn’t argue.

Walking toward the captain’s office, Dylan rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head around his shoulders. He was so tense, he was starting to feel stiff and sore. A far cry from how he’d felt last night: relaxed, sated, and in seventh heaven wrapped around the blonde from the bar.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with a woman. Both in and out of bed.

Maybe when he ended his shift, he’d track her down and enjoy another night of mindless sex. Would she be up for that?

Maybe. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where to find her to ask.

Alexandra. He loved that name. Loved that she didn’t shorten it. She’d been on his mind on and off all morning. How long was she staying in town? For all he knew, she’d already checked out, and that would suck. He itched to lay eyes on a living, breathing woman after spending the morning with the lifeless one at the cemetery. He wanted to hold someone, feel her warmth soak into his skin like medicine, and remind him not everything in this world was bad.

He knocked on the captain’s door and entered.

And then froze.

“Collins, get in here,” the captain ordered after a minute, his attention half focused on the computer screen in front of him. Dylan stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his eyes not leaving the woman seated in the chair in front of his boss.

Her eyes wide, Alexandra looked about two shades paler than he remembered as she gawked back at him.

“Detective Collins, this is Alexandra King.”

Dylan nodded but couldn’t manage to push out any words. What was she doing here?

The captain looked at him, leaned back in his seat and tented his fingers. “Miss King is a private investigator from Atlanta. She also happens to be a psychic medium, and she’s offered her services to us on this case free of charge.”

Private investigator? Psychic medium?

Hell.

The captain held up his hand in a hear-me-out gesture and nodded toward his phone. “Miss King comes highly recommended from some of my friends in the Colorado police bureau. I’d like for you to include her on this case.”

“What? Captain, we never—”

“You talking back to me, son?” Captain Lloyd Devereux pushed his chubby body out of the seat. His finger tapped the top of his desk for emphasis as he spoke. “The victim was the niece of a county councilman. How long do you think it’s going to be before there’s pressure to turn this over to SLED or call in the feds?”

Probably a day at most before someone begged the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division to send a man in to help.

Pushing a hand through his hair, Dylan said nothing, just met the older man’s eyes. As the youngest detective in this department, he’d learned not to press his luck. He suspected the captain hadn’t liked him since the day Dylan had transferred in from Baton Rouge last year. No idea why. Dylan’s cases were always handled professionally, and his conviction rate was higher than anyone else’s in the division. He was good at his job. He took pride in that.

“Sir, I mean nothing but respect here, but I don’t understand. I’ve never worked with a psychic before on a case.” He glanced at Alexandra then back to his boss. “I’m a little curious why we’re even considering this. It’s not like this is a cold case we’re working.”

Devereux relaxed his stance. “I don’t want this to become a high profile case, and if that means taking advantage of Miss King’s help, so be it. Hear her out. If she can’t help, fine. Let me know. But until then, she’s consulting. I’m already drawing up the paperwork.” He reached for something on his desk. “We don’t do it often, but we’ve listened to what some so-called psychics have had to say before. Here. This is what convinced me to give Miss King a shot.”

The captain tossed a yellow steno pad across the desk in front of Dylan. The older man said nothing, just waited for Dylan to glance at what was drawn on the paper. When he did, Dylan swore.

Scribbled on the page was a child-like drawing of a hooded figure holding a scythe. A grim reaper.

“Miss King said she had a vision of that when she read the article in the paper this morning. She thought it was relevant. I haven’t confirmed or denied to her that it is.”

Dylan took a deep breath and glanced at the woman still staring at him as if Bigfoot had walked into the room in his place.

He picked up the steno pad and gestured with it, focusing on his superior. “Did this get leaked to the press?”

“No.” Captain Devereux sighed. “I don’t want it to, either. Once she signs the non-disclosure agreement, show her what you need to from the files. Take her to the crime scene and see if she can give you anything. I want these cases solved before any reporters piece together the facts. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Their desk clerk Kathy knocked on the door and said, “I’ve got that contract ready, sir.”

“Miss King, if you go with Kathy, she’ll explain everything to you.” To Kathy, he said, “Let Detective Collins know as soon as everything is filed. He’ll be waiting at his desk.”

Dylan glanced at Alexandra as she stood to follow the other woman and wondered who she thought she was fooling. Had he talked in his sleep last night, said something about these cases to tip her off? She still looked shell-shocked. He’d never told her his name. Maybe she hadn’t known he was the detective in charge of this case, but maybe she had. Maybe she was a great actress, pretending to be shocked to see him.

His libido wasn’t driving anymore. His cop instincts had taken the wheel.

She could be involved. An accomplice. They could be toying with the police.

Maybe she’d come to Charleston to scam them, or had she seen a chance and jumped at it when she read the paper this morning? He couldn’t remember seeing her at the bar before last night. He’d have to make inquiries at the inn to find out when she’d checked in. Find out why she was in town. She could have been watching him for days.

The captain instructed Dylan to close the door behind her.

“I know you don’t like doing this, but we’ve got three homicides connected by this.” Devereux gestured to the drawing on the notepad. “And we don’t have a single lead yet. It’s only a matter of time before the press calls us out and starts proclaiming we’ve got a serial killer in the city. I don’t need that kind of grief. Understand me?”

Dylan crossed his arms and nodded over his shoulder. “How do you think she knows about the reaper? You really believe she’s psychic?”

“I have no idea, but I’m desperate enough to give her a chance to prove herself. Do me a favor, Collins, and do the same.” The captain reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of pills. “What is Dempsey saying? He confirmed anything yet?”

Dylan shook his head and thought back to his conversation with the coroner. “He said he’d try to have a report to me after lunch, but it depends on when the autopsy is done. Don’t worry. I’ve called, and they know it’s a priority.”

“Head over there and make sure they hurry. Take King with you.”

Dylan clenched his jaw to keep from arguing. “Anything else?”

“Just keep me informed.” The captain gestured toward the door, giving him permission to leave, but adding one last comment. “My friend in Denver isn’t an easy guy to impress, and he was impressed by her. She might surprise us.”

He didn’t tell the captain she already had.

Dylan went back to his desk and did a search on Alexandra King. She came up empty on a criminal records background check. Her driver’s license had recently changed from Colorado to Georgia. No past bankruptcies. Divorced. Interestingly, she had filed for an order of protection against a man named Kevin Alred a few months before she’d moved from Denver to Atlanta, but the details in the system were slim.

The internet gave him hits on several articles from Colorado, citing her involvement in cold cases, and a few more hits on spiritual conventions at which she’d appeared as a guest.

He added private detective to her name in the search field, but no new results came up. Had she lied about being a private investigator? If so, it would be easy enough to determine. PIs were required to be licensed in most states.

He’d just picked up his phone to call and ask Kathy to peek and tell him what agency Alexandra claimed to work for when Kathy’s voice startled him from behind.

“Paperwork is filed. She’s all yours, Collins.”

***

So he’d been checking her out.

Alexandra wasn’t surprised. She’d expected it. Glancing at the computer screen in front of him, she recognized her name in the search field and tried to take note of the results shown before Dylan turned around in his seat.

A sick, worried feeling gripped her stomach and made her feel momentarily nauseous. Had Spider updated the firm’s website to include her name and bio yet? She hoped not. At least, not yet.

She wanted to talk to Dylan before he made the connection between her and his brother, feel him out and see how receptive he was to reconciliation first. If there was as much bad blood between the two men as Zach seemed to think, she sensed that type of connection would not be to her advantage right now.

Of all the men to fall into bed with her first night in town, of course he would turn out to be a cop and Zach’s brother.

Of course he would.

Putting his phone back in its cradle, Dylan turned and sighed, half smiling up at her and bringing to mind all sorts of naughty memories.

Whoa, girl. Keep your mind on the matter at hand, and not on his, er, weapon.

She crossed her arms and arched a brow at him. “So it’s Detective Collins, is it?”

He stood. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. King.”

“Funny. You remind me of this guy I know, only I don’t think he ever mentioned his name.”

He glanced around, seemed satisfied no one was paying them attention, and lowered his voice. “Poor communication seems to be a real problem here. He doesn’t remember you mentioning you were a psychic either.”

She tilted her head and considered him. “Oh, dear. I thought you only referred to yourself in third person to pick up women. This is a real problem for you, isn’t it?”

He did not look amused as he reached for his jacket and brushed past her. “The only real problem I see here is that I don’t have time for this crap.”

She hurried to keep up with him as he pushed out the door and headed for an unmarked car that had seen better days. He turned his head once he reached the vehicle, looked at her, and sighed as he opened the driver’s side door. “Get in. We’re going to check on the coroner’s report.”

She had to brush aside a fast-food wrapper and bag, but she slid into the seat beside him without commenting on his sudden lack of manners.

“Your car?”

“Detectives aren’t allowed to use personal vehicles on duty.” His gaze skimmed over her doubtfully. “Seems an experienced police consultant would know that.”

She couldn’t help it. She had to roll her eyes. Oh, the fun she could have with this man, winding him up. He hadn’t been nearly so uptight last night.

“I’m not an idiot, detective. I was simply wondering if this was your mess or someone else’s.” She picked up a discarded receipt on the seat beside her. “I have to wonder about any man who eats a simple ham omelet sandwich when the enormous omelet sandwich on their menu is so much tastier.” She handed him the receipt, which he promptly crumpled and tossed over his shoulder into the back seat before starting the car. “Oooh. Messy. Another strike against you. Didn’t your mother teach you better than that?”

Speaking of…where the heck was his mother? Rebecca still hadn’t made an appearance, even though every effort Alexandra had made to close herself off had been futile. She’d seen a few ghosts wandering around, but none had tried to make contact with her. Only that pesky guy from the bar last night, and the young woman from the café this morning.

As she buckled up, she took stock of Dylan’s features and began to notice a slight resemblance to Zach. Both men had thick, dark hair, blue eyes and a strong jawline, but Dylan’s face was longer than his brother’s. Oh yeah, she could see it now, in the daylight, and felt like slapping her forehead and murmuring “D’oh!”

She’d slept with her boss’s little brother.

Oh, Alexandra, how do you get yourself into these things?

He directed the car into traffic and caught her looking at him. “I’m gonna ask you some things, and I expect the truth.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

His chest moved beneath a deep breath. “Why are you in Charleston?”

Ah, heck. Of course that would be the first thing he asked.

“I’m looking for someone.” There. That was the truth.

“Who?”

Well, crap. “A friend’s brother. I’ve been led to believe he’s in trouble.” Please don’t ask for a name.

“What kind of trouble?”

“I have no idea. That’s partly why I’m here. To figure it out.” She flexed her hand in a circle motion. “My information so far has come from … my special abilities.”

He sent her a narrow-eyed look before focusing on the road again. “Mind telling me what your abilities are exactly?”

She shrugged. “I’m a psychic medium. Any dreams, visions, or voices I hear are from the spirits feeding me information.”

“And there are ghosts everywhere, all of the time?” He scoffed. “So all ghosts are crime-fighting ghosts? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Most have the same personalities they had when they were alive. There are plenty of ghosts who keep to themselves, just as there are plenty who like to help if they see an opportunity.” She pursed her lips as she considered his words. “Although I have met some who consider themselves vigilantes of a sort. I met this one guy last year who died on Halloween. I swear, he loved that he’d died dressed as Batman. He used to—”

“Spare me the ghost stories,” Dylan growled. “When did you get here?”

“Last night.” She felt her face warm. “I checked into my hotel, went to the bar to grab something to eat, and you know the rest.”

He grimaced and glanced toward his window, hiding his expression from her. “So you’re ditching your search for your friend’s brother to help us with this case, for free?” He shook his head. “Sorry, honey. Something doesn’t smell right here.”

“Probably that left-over omelet sandwich. I’d toss that bag soon if I were you.”

His lips twitched. “I wasn’t talking about the omelet and you know it.”

Her muscles bunched in that way they always did when she met a skeptic a-hole hell-bent on dismissing her, and nothing she said or did could persuade him to the opposite.

Where the heck was Rebecca? Alexandra would have given anything in that moment for his mother to share some information to really freak him out.

“I don’t expect you to understand. I have a question for you now.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

“What does that grim reaper drawing have to do with the woman who was murdered in the cemetery?”

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

A series of images flashing in her mind momentarily disoriented her. The grim reaper cartoon she’d already seen this morning. An image of water. A woman’s hand falling into water. Water flowing onto sand.

She blinked when the road came into focus again in front of her. She blew out her breath and glanced toward the back seat. She didn’t see the dead young woman sitting back there, but Alexandra suspected the woman was hitching a ride and feeding her information telepathically.

This young woman must be the victim. That’s why she was drawn to me, but she’s new, still confused, probably scared. Trying to see if she can trust me before she reveals herself in full.

Alexandra returned her attention to the man beside her. “She wasn’t killed in the cemetery, was she? Her body was just placed there after.”

He shifted in his seat. “What?”

“She was killed near water.”

Dylan shook his head and then laughed. “This is Charleston. Water is all around us.”

A-hole.

Alexandra felt a little nauseous—that sometimes happened after such visions—so she placed a hand on her stomach and willed it away. “I can’t begin to explain to you how this works, but when it happens, like it happened this morning when I saw the newspaper, it doesn’t matter what else I have on my plate. I feel such a strong sense of urgency about this case right now. I had to offer my help.”

Because Alexandra knew, deep in her soul, that whoever killed the woman found in the cemetery would kill again.

Soon.