Frostbite (Modern Knights Book 1) (5 page)

He continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Factor in your intelligence, your choice of reading materials, and the losses you’ve endured…If you start losing your grip on reality and morality, you could be a very dangerous man. There are some profilers in the other room who think you already may be.”

“Then why are you letting me go?”

“Because you didn’t do this. Not the store clerk, not the others. But, Mr. Fisher,” he held out a business card in his hand, “If you ever want help, call me. If you get in over your head and you want out, there are people who can help.”

I tucked the card away in my jeans pocket. “I thought psychopathy was incurable.”

He smiled, but it was a sad smile. “You’re not a psychopath. You empathized with Agent Devereaux. It’s how you got past her act; you sensed what she was really feeling instead of merely what she was showing. You’re not a psychopath…but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t be a monster. Some of the worst predators are the ones who use their empathy to find the vulnerability in their victims.” He locked eyes with me again. “Have you killed anyone yet, Mr. Fisher?”

“No.”

“I believe you.”

I looked away from his gaze. “Then why…?”

“…are we talking?” He thought about it for a minute, the silence between us comfortable, not cop and suspect in interrogation. “I helped with the aftermath of the Columbine shootings early in my career. The more I learned about it, the more I wondered if the right person at the right time could have helped those boys do something different. I never met them. But I’m meeting you. If I can be that person, I want you to call me when the time is right.”

“Look, I think I’ve got everything under control. But if I start to lose it...”

“Start? We’re well out of the starting gate of insanity, my friend.”

“…I’ll call you. I promise.”

I stood up, ready to see this mysterious lawyer of mine and hunt down some dinner. “So how did they figure out I didn’t kill that guy anyway?”

Agent Salazar looked grim. “There was another killing while you were in custody. Same MO.” He shook his head. “Go bury your father, Mr. Fisher. Try and forget about this mess.”

4

N
o fewer than three officers walked me downstairs to my attorney. No doubt they were hoping I’d kill someone on my way out so as to make my recapture simple. Their manner was tight, closed-mouthed, and disciplined. Second body or not, these men still believed me guilty of something. I wondered how much the FBI had told the OSBI about Sarai’s disappearance.

I spotted her immediately, though lawyer was not the first, second, or even third idea I connected to her. Her hair was an unsullied white, coifed to right below the shoulders in a manner that assured she kept a professional stylist on a hefty retainer. As I got closer, I amended that to an entire professional salon on salary. Her white linen dress reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. She filled it out in a way that would have made even the first supermodel jealous. A tan, lean leg stretched from an ivory spiked high heel to a slit in her dress just before her thigh. If she had been handcuffed, I would’ve thought she was a very expensive hooker.

“If she was handcuffed, I’d ask how much.”

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, she looked over at me. I blushed, half-afraid that she had heard my lusty inner voice. The embarrassment turned to confusion as I realized my escorts were marching me directly to her. Within moments of arriving next to her, the officers scattered as if whatever she or I had was highly contagious.

“Mr. Fisher.” Her accent was vaguely continental. “I am glad you are finally free. Will you forgive me for taking so long in liberating you?”

I accepted her manicured hand and bowed to gently kiss her knuckles. “Of course, I didn’t even realize I had a lawyer. Somehow I doubt you’re a public defender.”

Her laughter was rich and throaty. “No, you’re quite right. My employer instructed me to fetch you.” She whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “There’s not enough money in the world to get me to defend some of these parasites…or to get me in handcuffs if I don’t want to wear them.”

I pulled back at that and looked her over again. She was flawlessly beautiful. Her skin was a creamy olive color that no spray or tanning bed could ever imitate. Her eyes and lips shimmered a ruby plum. I simultaneously wanted her and wanted to be nowhere near her. Had she heard my thoughts? I doubted it, but...

“I’m sorry,” she purred. “I can be a little forward. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“No, no, you haven’t. I just…I had thought of you in handcuffs before we ever spoke and your comment caught me off guard. Great first impression on my part. Colin Fisher, horny pervert.”

She wrapped her arm around mine. “Duchess Deluce. Shall we get out of here or are you going to proposition me in front of all these officers of the law?”

There was something about her that suggested she was used to getting what she wanted from men with a whisper, a purr, and an arm-wrap. That was enough to make me want to go the other direction just to prove a point. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to find out what they did with my car.”

“Already taken care of. It’s being towed from impound to an auto shop. I can provide our transportation until she’s ready.”

“Oh. Thank you, Miss Deluce, but I don’t know that I can afford a mechanic.”

We started walking toward a series of glass doors leading out to the street. “As I said, it’s already taken care of. My employer gave me a healthy budget for this task and there’s plenty extra since I didn’t have to post bond for you or bribe any public officials. And, please, call me Duchess.”

“She corrected the name, but not the ‘miss’ part. Jackpot.”

“Hush, you. There’s clearly been some kind of mistake. I don’t have any friends rich enough to hire her to help me. We’ll be nice, meet her employer. And once he figures out I’m not the guy he thought I was, I’ll offer to pay him back out of my inheritance…assuming I haven’t been formally disinherited.”

When I looked up, we were standing beside a Lincoln MKX, a uniformed driver holding the door open for us. Duchess was staring at me, her head tilted to one side as if she were confused. I smiled and made a sweeping gesture into the vehicle. “After you, Duchess.”

As she bent over to get in the car, I duplicated the spell I had used at the store last night, imagining an eggshell-white protective layer all over. I don’t know why I did, but somehow I felt naked next to her.

“I can’t imagine why you’d associate her and nudity. Really, not a clue.”

5

W
hy the dinner date remained popular was a mystery to me. Most of the foods I preferred were difficult, if not impossible, to eat while projecting an aura of
savoir-faire
at the same time. It was even worse when the female half of the date was so obviously out of my league. Fortunately, I was starving and my survival instinct vetoed any desire to impress my lawyer.

Duchess had suggested a place called the Petroleum Club, but I stood firm. I didn’t want to run up the tab any higher than I had to until I actually met her mystery employer. She had assured me a few thousand here or there wouldn’t faze him. I then played my trump card and said that after only two candy bars and bean paste in the last day, I didn’t think I could wait for a kitchen to prepare anything. Consequently, Duchess was the most elegantly dressed woman to ever sit in a McDonald’s booth.

“So when do I get to meet this boss of yours?” I asked between monster-sized bites.

She slurped from her strawberry milk shake. “Tomorrow morning. He’s flying in from Boston.”

I laughed. “You’ve never been awkward a day in your life, have you?”

She glanced around nervously, as if the décor might attack her. “What? Is there…?”

“No, I mean you looked mortified when your straw made that noise. Have you ever even eaten fast food before?”

“Is it that obvious?” She shook her head and returned my laughter in kind. “I haven’t giggled like this in ages. You…I can’t predict you.” She slurped loudly, this time on purpose. “So, client-to-lawyer…did you kill any of them?”

“Are you sure that’s a burger-and-fries type of question?” I glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “And how many is 'them'? The FBI wasn’t particularly specific as to how many bodies I was supposed to have racked up.”

“Six in the last month. All frozen, all mutilated. The police are getting desperate. Be glad I showed up or you’d still be stuck in there, sixth body or no sixth body. And you didn’t answer me. Did you kill any of them?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“But you’ve killed someone before?”

“No…I don’t know.”

“Yes.”

Duchess winced as if she had an air horn go off next to her ear. I put my hand on hers. “Are you okay?”

“That’s the second time something like that has happened. Let me try something.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just keep talking to her and stealing glances at her chest. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Duchess…are you all right?”

She shook her head, looking very far from all right. She stole a swig of my Dr. Pepper. “Headache, I think, nothing too...”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

She stopped in mid-sentence, her cheeks paling till they were the same tint as her hair. “All right, all right, I’ll behave,” she said weakly.

I nibbled my fries contemplatively. “You’re a telepath.”

She nodded. “I barely even think about it anymore. Most people practically broadcast what they’re thinking. You…your defenses are impressive.”

I tried my shielding spell again, adding a helmet-shaped bubble covering my head. “Be careful when delving into the affairs of wizards for they are subtle and quick to steal your French fries. I may be misquoting.” I waited another second. “Is that better?”

“I’m out, Girl Scout's honor. I can shut it down when I have to.”

“Murder, telepathy, and handcuffs. Definitely not the usual first dinner conversations. Most people would have run away screaming long ago.”

She snaked one golden strand of crisp potato between her luscious lips. “I’m not most people. Unseelie fey blood on my mom’s side.”

Now it was my turn to look shocked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, what about you? You’re clearly not human.”

I didn’t know how to answer. “As far as I know, yeah, I am. I have been studying magic ever since...”

“Totally human, absolutely. Nothing to see here, move along.”

When I didn’t finish, she picked up where I left off. “Since when? I’ve met a few wizards and most of them are as easy to read as anyone else. Fakers and shakers.”

“Since…you asked me if I ever killed someone. I haven’t. At least I don’t think so. I had this fiancée in college, Sarai. I loved her like crazy. She worked in a bookstore off campus. I must have bought a hundred extra books just as an excuse to see her. It took a while, but she gave in. We had a year together. One wonderful year…and then she was gone. She had spent the night in my apartment. We stayed up late reading spooky stories and munching popcorn. When morning came, she had simply disappeared. I…it changed everything.”

Duchess rubbed her hand on top of mine. “Let me guess. You spent all your time looking for her instead of going to class. You saw her everywhere, but it was never really her. Losing a love sucks, believe me, I know. But you didn’t kill her. And how did it get you into magic?”

“Maybe I did kill her. I have trouble remembering that night. And…the door was still chain-locked in the morning. Either she jumped out of a fourth-floor window, walked through a wall, or she never left the apartment.”

“You ate her. Every last drop.”

Duchess leaned back and closed her eyes. She tightened her face in an effort of concentration. “I believe you, Colin. I’m going to tell him that you didn’t kill any of his employees. I’m also going to tell him to hire you. If he offers you a job, any job, I suggest you take it.”

“Is that why he sprung me out of jail? A job offer?”

Her smile was melancholy. “No. He wanted you free so he could torture and kill you himself. He’s not happy that someone is picking off his employees. And when he’s not happy...” Duchess shuddered all over.

6

I
called home to Uncle James and Aunt Celia that night before going to bed. It was awkward and difficult.

My sleep was restless for the rest of the night. I blamed it on the soft mattress at the hotel. I had gotten so used to sleeping in the car or under the stars that a real, honest-to-goodness bed gave me bad dreams. Thinking about murder all day might have had something to do with it as well.

In my mind’s eye, I could see Sarai, curled up into a ball at the end of that hideous paisley couch I had back in college. Her feet were tucked underneath her, her arms wrapped around her knees, her teeth absentmindedly digging into her lower lip. I’m reading a story from the book, that cursed, vile tome I threw into the fire years ago. Every word terrifies her, tantalizes her, the fear and the passion all tangled up together inside of her. Sarai loved to be scared.

In the dark recesses of that ancient cavern,

I could hear the mad priest still chanting,

His deathless voice repeating the forbidden words,