Captive Spirit (24 page)

“You’re beautiful, Angel. I never want to stop touching you.”

She answered him with a soft purr, and her hands started moving. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”

His scars, the old ones and the new ones, didn’t seem to put her off at all. She touched them without any hesitation, like she was trying to memorize every rip, tear, and jagged line on his body. Her breasts pushed upward between her moving arms, and the dinar hummed as her nipples rubbed across the metal.

When he kissed her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, giving herself to him completely.

Duncan eased back until he felt the bed touch the back of his legs, then sat on the edge with his angel in his lap, her legs pressed against his hips, kissing her head, leaning lower to taste her neck. She pushed up her breasts for him to sample, then moaned and ran her nails across his shoulders. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but words wouldn’t be enough.

He showed her with his tongue on her nipples. He showed her with his mouth on her breasts, her chest, her shoulders, kissing everywhere he went. He showed her with his fingers sliding into her warm juices, then slipping inside her, making her writhe and cry out and grip the sides of his head as she leaned back against the arm he had around her waist.

Bela’s dark hair tumbled around her cheeks, and her eyes squeezed tight as she pushed herself against his hand, her ass rubbing across his erection with each thrust. Duncan waited for her breathing to get short and fast, then eased his fingers out, grasped her hips, and lifted her.

Her eyes came open, nothing but dark fire as she pressed her hands against his face. “Yes.” She kissed him as she moved in his grip until he felt her warm center over his sensitive lower head. His heart thumped in time with each word she said.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He brought her down hard, and she took him deep, with a low, screaming moan that drove him crazy. He lifted her and brought her down again and again, driving himself inside her hot, tight depths. Her hips ground against his. She leaned toward him, hard nipples ready for biting, and he caught them both with his teeth.

The floor rattled, shaking the bed and making her squeeze him tighter.

God. Almost there. This woman pushed his control.

Bela shoved his shoulders, urging him backward, until his shoulders hit the bed’s cotton spread.

Duncan lay back, thrusting even harder, groaning with the sweet perfection of seeing her on top of him. She touched herself everywhere as he moved her up and down, pushing into her, pushing her toward climax.

She rode him like she’d been waiting for him all day, all year, her whole life.

“Nothing sweeter than you, Angel.” His voice was just a growl. “Nothing better.”

Her nails tracked past the coin, digging across his chest.

Her head tipped back, thrusting her breasts high as her walls clenched. Her whole body pulsed and shook as she screamed, and he was done, he was gone, groaning and spilling himself inside her until there was nothing left at all.

Bela draped herself forward, and he wrapped his arms tight around her.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered into her ear, and she shivered, sending shocks through his spent muscles.

Duncan started to pull out, but she whispered, “Stay. Stay forever.”

New, sweet heat filled him, and he found her lips, kissing her as the room started shaking all over again, answering the slow, cool flow of her earth energy.

Then the walls
really
shook as something down the hall exploded.

Bela’s mouth froze on Duncan’s, and she got very still.

From upstairs came Andy’s sleepy, irritated, “What the fuck was that?”

From down the hall in the lab, Camille yelled, “Damnit, Bela, all that banging around blew up my hydrazoic acid. It stinks like hell in here now.”

Bela pushed herself away from Duncan’s mouth long enough to yell, “Later, Camille!”

“Hydrazoic acid.” He gazed at his angel as she frowned, rubbing the tight muscles in the small of her back. “Hydrazoic acid?”

Bela glared down at him and gave his hair a yank. “You’re the one who wanted to leave a fire Sibyl alone in a laboratory.”

Duncan turned his head enough to glance at the tools in the corner. “You could throw that leather belt on and go help her clean the mess. I’d like to see you wearing that thing, all naked and hot—”

She kissed him.

Duncan kissed her back. He tucked her against his chest and cradled her there, adoring every inch of her, and every second she gave him.

“I love you,” she whispered, biting his ear hard enough that he felt it in his slowly waking cock. “But you’d look better naked in that tool belt. I’m sure of it.”

(24)

The last person Bela wanted to see after three delicious days and nights of making love to Duncan was Jack Blackmore.

What
a buzzkill.

Good thing she’d left Andy back at the townhouse to supervise Camille, who was still blowing shit up in the lab every few hours, trying to simulate the projective metal in Duncan’s dinar. Bela smoothed her white tunic over her jeans, wondering what would be left of the brownstone when she and Dio and Duncan got back.

Duncan pulled a chair out for her, and she seated herself at a wooden table in an interrogation room on West Thirtieth, in the old Fourteenth Precinct station house the OCU still used to interface with the public. He pulled out a chair for Dio on the opposite side of the table, and Dio sat as Duncan headed out to get Merin Alsace for his interview.

Dio was wearing a dress, short-sleeved and knee-length, with bold camel and burgundy patterns that made her blond hair and gray eyes seem almost electric in the big pane of one-way glass that took up the end of the room. Jack Blackmore glanced at Dio but didn’t leer, so Bela decided not to rattle a hole in the floor and stuff him in it. For now.

He dropped a stack of files on the table, then eased his tall, muscular frame into the chair at the head. He was favoring the knee he’d hurt when Andy washed him out of the townhouse, and his right eye was still purple with an interesting green tinge. “Creed and Nick already gave you copies of what we have in these files, and there’s nothing new so far.”

“We’ve been all through it,” Dio said. “Pretty thorough information. We don’t have anything to add yet, either.”

“They know you’re not with the NYPD, but we weren’t specific beyond calling you special liaisons.” Blackmore arranged a digital tape recorder the size of a cell phone next to the folders he’d brought. “You can ask questions, but back off if his lawyer objects. We don’t need him wondering too much about your official title and capacity.”

“Got it.” Bela glanced away from Blackmore’s bruised face, remembering this place from back before the townhouse had become the center of Sibyl-OCU operations. She’d always thought the refurbished building looked like a castle, with its stone façade and turrets. The Traffic Task Force had its headquarters here, and the OCU used it, too, knowing that nobody paid much attention to the top floor.

The stenciled letters on the double doors leading into the handful of rooms said
Police Annex
. It was nothing but a holding cell, a few desks, an office, a storeroom converted into this interrogation room, and a couple of all-purpose areas crammed with old files and gear. The whole place smelled like dust and old typewriter ink, but the OCU could interview people here without having to reveal Sibyls and demons and whatever else might be slithering through the halls at Headcase Quarters. Officially, the annex was listed as an overflow for Midtown South, and that was enough to answer most questions.

Duncan came in with Reese Patterson, who had on a lightweight gray summer suit tailored to fit his broad proportions. The tall, awkward young man who came in after him had on jeans, and a green T-shirt that read
GLOBAL WARMING—NOW
THAT
’S HOT
, printed over a picture of the earth on fire. Bela thought he looked about eighteen instead of twenty-seven, just a few years younger than her, like the OCU profile had indicated. He had big brown eyes and a wannabe beard, and standing in between Duncan’s muscles and Patterson’s bulk, Merin Alsace looked like a kid in serious need of a few protein shakes.

The three men took the table’s remaining seats, with Duncan closest to Bela, Patterson at the end, and Alsace next to Dio. Not a typical bare-bones interrogation setup, where a suspect got crammed in the corner farthest from the door, isolated from the light switches and thermostat and exit, just to add to the freak-out. But still probably intimidating, with Blackmore and Duncan looking so police-professional in their black slacks, white shirts, and black ties.

Alsace gave Dio and Bela the once-over but didn’t seem too interested in either of them. Patterson, of course, gave Dio a flourish and nod. “Glad to see you again, pretty lady.”

Dio smiled at him, and the expression seemed genuine. Bela thought she liked the guy, though not the way Patterson would have preferred.

Merin Alsace wasn’t smiling at all. He eyed Reese Patterson like the lawyer was a traitor to the realm, and kept doing it the whole time Blackmore and Patterson discussed the digital recorder. Bela catalogued everything in her mind, from the way Alsace’s mouth twitched as he got more annoyed to where his eyes focused when Patterson argued a point with Blackmore on Alsace’s behalf. She was no police detective, but all Sibyls learned the basics of questioning subjects, like getting a good fix on their behavioral patterns before the tough questions start.

A few minutes later, Blackjack switched on the digital recorder.

Alsace seemed to be familiar with the routine, because the minute Blackmore pressed the recorder’s on button, he faced Blackmore and spoke directly toward the microphone area of the machine. “I’ve already talked to the police twice, so I’m not sure how this is going to help.”

Blackmore’s expression remained stern but kind, and Bela realized he was adopting a good-father style designed to put Alsace at ease. “We’ve read the interviews, Merin, and we appreciate your cooperation so far.”

Alsace’s irritated posture relaxed a fraction, and Bela awarded a few points to Blackmore in her mind.

“Uh, thanks,” Alsace said. “So, is this a follow-up?”

Blackmore nodded toward Patterson at the other end of the table. “I’m sure your attorney explained that we’re a special division of the NYPD, and we check into crimes that have unusual elements. What he might have left out is that we investigate illegal activity that appears to involve aspects of the occult.”

Bela let her earth senses ease forward toward Alsace, and she felt a whisper of Dio’s wind moving, too. He didn’t react to Blackmore’s mention of the occult, at least not on an elemental level.

Alsace’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Katrina didn’t have anything to do with the supernatural. She was heavy into church.”

“Religion doesn’t rule out interest in paranormal phenomena.” Dio’s voice sounded as soft as a breeze, but Alsace’s answer came fast and firm.

“It did for my sister. Katrina thought anything outside of strict Christian interpretations was evil.”

Okay, that had a lot of emotion. Bela could taste Alsace’s forceful feelings, even if she couldn’t identify them. Still no elemental energy, though. She made eye contact with Duncan, and gave him a slight shake of her head to let him know.

He acknowledged her communication with a tap of his fingers on the table. His gray eyes shifted colors, back and forth, but whatever John Cole was telling him, Duncan didn’t bring it into the interrogation.

“What about you, Merin?” Blackmore picked up the ball again and ran with it. “Do you have any interest in the supernatural?”

Alsace shifted his weight in his chair, and his tone grew more defensive. “I believe in it, if that’s what you mean. I’m Wiccan.”

Blackmore’s face remained completely neutral, and his tone reflected no judgment when he asked, “How did Katrina feel about that?”

“She hated it.” Alsace focused on Blackmore, more or less ignoring everyone else at the table, including his attorney. “Katrina gave me a lot of shit about it when we were younger, but we put that to rest after our parents died.”

“Because she was their sole heir?” Duncan’s turn now. He was playing hard-ass to Blackmore’s nice daddy. The shifting eye color definitely added to the effect. “If it weren’t for your sister, you wouldn’t even have a trust fund, would you?”

Alsace looked at Reese Patterson, who gave him a nod to continue.

“At first, yeah, that was it.” Alsace addressed his answer to Blackmore. “We hadn’t talked in about five years when my dad passed. I was living in San Francisco and working for the Climate Change Awareness Foundation—C-CAF.”

Blackmore rested one hand on his stack of folders. “But you came home for the funeral. Then you stayed because … ?”

Alsace put his own hands on the table, then stared at his fingers. “I stayed in New York City because Katrina told me she’d set up the trust fund and give me an allowance if I did, and if I went to church with her at least once a month.”

“You must have resented that,” Blackmore relaxed in his seat, seeming even more sympathetic. “I hated it when my mother made me go to Sunday school.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Alsace said. “I picked up lots of donors for C-CAF from her congregation, and the people were pretty nice. Katrina and I agreed on a year in the city, but I got used to the place. Even the church.” He glanced up at Blackmore, who reassured him with a calm smile. “There’s as much going on here as California, in my opinion—with the environmental movement, I mean. And here, I’m closer to D.C. to join marches and help with lobbying.”

Bela was still tracking Alsace’s reactions, and no elemental energy moved around him at all. She decided to try a question of her own, to see where it took them. “Is global warming your only cause?”

Alsace straightened up, happy to answer this one. “I’m a vegetarian, and I strongly advocate no meat or animal products or by-products. And I belong to two antiwar and disarmament groups.” He named them, and then Dio picked up the thread.

“Do you practice your magick alone, or do you belong to a coven?”

Both Duncan and Blackmore frowned at the words
magick
and
coven
, but Bela warned them off with a glare. Patterson, she noted, didn’t seem to have a problem with the terms.

“We have a little group,” Alsace said, “but it’s small. We get together every week or so.”

Blackmore acted surprised, or maybe it wasn’t an act. “Was Katrina aware of that?”

Alsace shook his head, and Bela saw shame and guilt etch into each line and shadow on his face. She suspected the emotions rose from lying to his sister and shutting her out of his life, not because he thought practicing his beliefs was wrong.

“It would have hurt her.” His gaze went back to his hands, which were still folded on the table. “She liked believing she’d brought me to the light, you know? To her faith.”

Duncan’s eyes shifted colors again, from black to gray. “Would she have cut you off financially if she found out?”

“Not possible,” Patterson cut in, managing to look at Duncan instead of Dio. “The trust was irrevocable.”

Alsace let out a breath. He sounded more sad than combative when he said, “I got my share, and it’s plenty. But I’d rather have my sister. She was—” He let out a breath. “Katrina was a good person.”

Bela’s senses registered his deep sadness, but nothing past that.

Duncan’s shoulders hitched backward, like he, too, might be battling some powerful emotion. Somehow the colors of his eyes were perfectly blended, gray at the center and black around the edges.

“Have you ever crossed into curses or negative spells?” Dio asked her question in the sweetest voice, but Alsace physically recoiled from her, obviously disgusted by what she implied.

“No. That’s against everything I believe.”

Bela thought about the humans in black sweatshirts who had helped the Rakshasa disrupt Duncan’s healing. “Do you know people who do believe in drawing power from perverted rituals?”

“Nobody.” Alsace sounded emphatic.

Bela glanced from Duncan to Blackjack, until she was sure they understood that Alsace didn’t seem to be hiding any secret store of elemental power. The answers he had given seemed straightforward and unrehearsed, and his clear disgust over the suggestion that he would violate the basic tenets of his Wiccan faith lent him credibility.

Blackmore took the finish, since he was the one who had established the best relationship. “Merin, if you and your group hear of a coven practicing perverted rituals, will you let us know? It could help us find your sister’s killer.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Alsace took the card Blackmore offered him and tucked it into his jeans pocket. “And—thanks. For trying to hunt down who murdered Katrina. I wasn’t sure anybody still gave a shit.”

Blackmore shook Alsace’s hand, then turned his focus to making notes on a pad beside the stack of folders.

“We care,” Duncan told Alsace, breaking out of the hard-ass role. “And we’ll do whatever we can to get Ms. Drake some justice.”

He stood to see Patterson and Alsace out of the interrogation room, and Alsace shook Duncan’s hand before they left.

About ten seconds after they cleared the room’s door, Dio said, “I got nothing.”

“Me neither.” Bela leaned back in her chair. “If Merin Alsace has elemental talent, it’s buried under a shield so skillful even a Mother couldn’t detect it.”

Dio frowned. “Damn, that was a lot of preparation for ten minutes of talking and no real results.”

Blackmore didn’t look up from his notepad, but he gave a little chuckle. “Welcome to
my
world, Ms. Allard. And we aren’t even finished yet.”

   According to Blackmore’s files, Jeremiah Drake had told the first officers who interviewed him that he and Katrina were divorcing because they’d “grown apart”—nothing more, nothing secret, nothing special.

Bela thought that was a cliché, but there was nothing on record to contradict him. The NYPD hadn’t turned up any domestic violence complaints or society newspaper columns whispering about public disagreements or dissention. Every photo the police provided showed two dignified people who appeared to get along peacefully if not well—and no suggestive pictures of either Katrina or Jeremiah with someone else.

When Jeremiah Drake arrived about an hour later, Bela noted the same dignity she had seen in the photos collected by the NYPD. He seemed as different from Merin Alsace as he was from Reese Patterson. Average height, fit, dark hair with gray streaks—older than Katrina by about fifteen years. His slacks and shirt were higher-end but not designer, and when he spoke, he sounded well educated without being conceited.