Read Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel) Online
Authors: Patricia Rosemoor
Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel)
Hot Trick
By Patricia Rosemoor
Shelley Caldwell’s career as a Chicago homicide detective is complicated by her city’s supernatural underground, her abilities as a sensitive and her half-vampire lover, Jake DeAtley.
Meeting a crazy banshee with visions of someone drowning in a trunk is the latest strange incident. Shelley ignores the warning—until famous illusionist Sebastian Cole reveals his new trick: escaping from a locked trunk submerged in the Chicago River. Sebastian gets out alive, but a woman across town isn’t so lucky. Then another person is found killed in circumstances eerily similar to one of Sebastian’s acts.
Shelley is certain there’s a link between the magician and the murders. Even more unsettling is the way Sebastian invades her mind and stirs her senses. Not to mention Jake’s negative reaction to the man. Can Shelley fight off Sebastian’s supernatural influence to determine if he’s the killer…or another victim?
69,000 words
Dear Reader,
What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.
We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella
Fatal Destiny
by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel,
Mercy,
can look forward to her follow-up story,
Redemption,
set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.
Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shot trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with
Double Shot.
In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.
Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors,
Liar’s Guide to True Love
by Wendy Chen and
Unscripted
by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.
Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
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I love Detective Shelley Caldwell and her hidden supernatural world, so I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to bring my readers the sequel to
Hot Case.
Look for short stories
Hot Corpse
in digital formats, and
Hot Note,
part of
Thriller 3,
to be published by Mira in Summer 2012.
Good reading,
Patricia Rosemoor
A crimson streak bleeding into a rising full moon held me mesmerized outside the Area 4 office of the Chicago Police Department. On my way to the parking lot after a seventy-two-hour stint working a homicide, I couldn’t for a moment move. Though I wanted to believe this was no dark omen, simply a phenomenon of nature—strange cloud cover extending a colorful sunset across the western evening sky—a shiver coursed through me.
Already late, I shook off the odd feeling.
Rushing toward my red Camaro convertible, I was unprepared for the scrawny man who popped up in front of me and stopped me cold in my tracks. Though the evening was warm, he wore a tweed suit with vest and a Donegal tweed cap.
“You must be Detective Caldwell,” he said, his accent faintly Irish.
That would be me—Detective Shelley Caldwell, Homicide. “Who wants to know?”
His narrow face spread into a wide grin, showing off a gold tooth, and his sandy eyebrows wiggled. “The name’s Casey Brogan.”
“What can I do for you, Brogan?”
“’Tis not what you ken do for me, but what I ken do for you.”
“Which would be…”
His grin faded, leaving a serious expression on his wizened face. “To tell you of the murder, of course.”
Another shiver. “You have information about the White case?” I’d thought we’d solved it. Did he have new information to add?
“Na, na. I’m here to tell you someone is about to die.”
My gut clenched as it always did when I was about to investigate a murder. “About to… Who?”
“I wouldn’t be knowing the name.”
But he obviously knew something. My exhaustion faded as adrenaline pumped through my veins. “What would you be knowing?”
He went all glass-eyed and a long, eerie moan escaped him. “I see a trunk…bound hands…” Another moan. “Water…
deep
water…”
“Seeing?” I interrupted, having a moment’s doubt. “As in psychic?”
“Not psychic, not exactly, ’tis my heritage as a banshee to know these things.”
Banshee. Uh-huh. I raised my eyes to the full moon and wondered why it always brought out the kooks. They came to the district office on a monthly basis with stories that spanned the city and beyond. Really beyond, as in alien arrivals. I played him along.
“Now why would you tell me if you were a supernatural creature?”
“Because you’re a sensitive.” His forehead wrinkled. “You would know soon enough. I’m figuring ’tis best to start out with truth between us.”
I ignored the chill that shot up my spine at the word
sensitive.
The only person I was sensitive to was my twin, Silke. We’d always had kind of a radar which I generally chose to ignore. The curse of being an identical twin, I figured. But how would Brogan know about that?
“As far as I recall from my childhood books,” I said, “banshees are young women with long fair hair, wearing flowing white dresses—”
“Not very PC of you in this day and age, Detective.” Brogan sounded mildly indignant. “Why can a
man
not be a banshee? Sexual discrimination is against the law, you know.”
Part of me wanted to laugh, but with the adrenaline gone, most of me was simply exhausted and all of me wanted out of here. Circling the man to get at my car, I said, “Only if I were denying you work or some kind of financial dealings.”
“Well that you are,” Brogan insisted, following on my heels. “You’re in need of an informant—I know how the last one died a horrible death in an alley, his poor body broken.”
He knew about Junior Diaz, who’d been left in a garbage can by his murderer. Only, again…how? Junior’s death hadn’t made the evening news.
“I happen to be available to take his place.”
So he was looking for a way to make some easy money. That explained a lot. “Look, that’s not how it works. Informants don’t apply for a job. They come up with intel and if it turns out to be all good, they get paid.”
“Well, that’s what I’m proposing then. The economy is hard on everyone, you know, not just on humans.”
I sighed. “All right. So when is this murder going to happen?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“I told you—deep water.”
“Nothing more specific?” When he shrugged, I realized he was wasting my time. “Brogan…” I was about to say
nice try
, but his pronouncement didn’t really qualify. “Good night.”
“But Detective!” was all he got out before I slammed the car door in his face and started the engine. “Your da would have believed me.”
He stood fast as if the reference to my late father could make me listen, and I laid on the horn for a moment. His expression turned dark and that shiver returned to spook me a little. But then he moved out of my way and I slid the Camaro out of the space and out of the lot, glancing back only once.
By the time my gaze met the rearview mirror, however, he’d disappeared.
I headed downtown to the address given to me by Silke. My twin had told me she had a big surprise for me tonight and that I shouldn’t be late. Something about a new job. Thankfully. The last one had ended when the Goth bar Heart of Darkness, where she’d worked as a waitress for several months, closed.
Thinking about why still gave me weird vibes.
Young girls connected to the bar had been drained of blood after which their bodies disappeared. Everyone in and out of the department thought the “cult” killer had died in an explosion. Only Silke, my boyfriend Jake and I knew the truth. The murderer had already been dead. A vampire. Having already gone through a psych evaluation when the first body disappeared on me, I’d kept the secret from the department. Not to mention Jake was half-vampire and I had to protect him. But I’d tried my best to put all woo-woo stuff out of mind.
Times like tonight brought the horror home, though. Even so, I forced myself to tuck the memories to the back of my mind and concentrate on Silke.
Always worried about how my actress-wannabe twin would get along in life, I was happy to know she finally had another job. Not that I’d had to support her. Somehow, she always got along on her own. It was simply natural to worry about someone you loved who didn’t have a sensible goal in life.
Like there were no worries to being a copper…
Arriving in the Loop, I checked Silke’s directions, took the nearest bridge across the Chicago River and looked for Escape’s address. Expecting to find a bar or restaurant, I parked a block away and set off on foot. Judging by the crowd surrounding the place, it must be popular. A dance club, maybe?
But drawing closer, I realized the crowd was glued to the riverbank where a platform had been set up, a crane hovering to one side. My stomach fluttered. This wasn’t good.
A quick inspection of the area told me why—parked nearby was a bus painted with moons, stars and planets and the name
Sebastian Cole
scrawled across the side.
Suddenly it became clear why Silke had been so excited. There was no bar or restaurant called Escape. My impractical twin had gotten a job working with a well-known
escape artist
.
Sebastian Cole used to have an act in Vegas, but was now known for his guerilla performances around the country. He’d been on the news the other day when fans learned he’d set up a studio in Chicago. His public relations person alerted the fans and press via email and social networking and the next thing everyone knew, he was doing some kind of stunt in a public venue. The fans went wild for his performances. No charge, but donations were accepted and supposedly went into a charity account that helped victims of violent crimes fight injustice.
All good if true, but being the suspicious type, I figured Sebastian couldn’t possibly be so unselfish.
Hoping Silke hadn’t gotten herself involved with a con man, I pushed through the crowd, trying to catch sight of her.
“Hey, watch it!” one guy growled. “We were here first.”
“Good for you.”
I went around him toward the stage, but the guy grabbed my hand to stop me. Quickly rotating my wrist until my thumb lined up with the weak part of his grasp, I quickly seized my captured hand and pulled myself free.
“Hey!”
I ignored the guy and spotted Silke at last. I headed straight for her.
While Silke and I are identical twins, we don’t look anything alike. At the moment, her long, almost purple hair hung in waves around her face, while mine was its natural chestnut and pulled back into a pony tail. My face was scrubbed clean except for a whisper of lip gloss while hers was dramatically enhanced, especially her raccoon-ringed green eyes. Silke wore the bohemian look today—full skirt, skimpy top partially covered by a shrug, lots of bangles and shoulder duster earrings—and I was decked out in pants, a T-shirt and light jacket, and the only jewelry I wore other than a watch was a pair of handcuffs on my belt. And the gun snugged up against my back, of course.
Just then, Silke turned and spotted me. With an enthusiastic wave, she urged me closer to the stage. “You made it!”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“This isn’t exactly your thing.”
Indeed, the stage with dozens of colored lasers, silver balls floating above the deck and mysterious red smoke was exactly
not
my thing. Trying to figure out how they were floating, I stared at the silver balls for a moment. No wires that I could see.
“No doubt the reason you didn’t tell me what the thing was.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” Silke waved her hand at the stage. “Surprise!”
Uh-huh.
Of course Silke would get herself involved with someone like Sebastian. She lived for controversy, or so it seemed to our mother and me. How many times had Mom tried to coerce or cajole me into taking Silke in hand and getting her straightened out?
“So what exactly is your role in all this?” I asked.
At the same time, a tall blonde in black leather touched Silke’s arm, while giving me a thorough once-over. Or once-through. Her piercing eyes seemed to look right through me.
“You must be the sister.”
I couldn’t tell what she thought of that.
“I am,” I said, trying not to rush to judgment. “And you are?”
“Sebastian’s right hand.”
“What happened to his left one?” I joked.
The blonde stared at me, her lips not so much as quivering. Okay, no sense of humor…
“Um, Oriel, this is my sister Shelley. Shelley, this is Oriel Leger. We work together.”
“He’s ready now,” Oriel told Silke without taking her gaze from mine.
“Gotta go, Shell. Later.”
I watched them move away, Oriel giving me one last intense glance that triggered a curious negative reaction. I tried to shake it off. Undoubtedly she was searching for similarities between Silke and me. Nothing more dire.
Benches were set up before the stage, and on either side, donation buckets with slit tops were handled by an older man and a dark-haired woman. Signs “suggested” twenty bucks as fair donation for a seat. Very low tech compared to the stage and the way the gig had been promoted online.
I preferred to keep moving, to watch the crowd from different angles. My training, I guess. It would be difficult to stand still and enjoy a performance with so many potential problems brewing.
Like the couple at the back of the crowd arguing. The man’s expression was dark, his hands balled into fists as though he was ready to use them on the woman. Or the drunk swaggering around the perimeter of the stage, ignoring the security guard trying to get him to move. Or the four gang members wearing baggy pants and black bandannas around their foreheads milling through the crowd, their gazes glued not to the stage but to the donation buckets.
Instincts ticking, I decided to keep an eye on them.
Sheets of paper were being passed through the audience. I took one, a program of sorts.
“Escape fans, may I have your attention,” a deep voice boomed over the crowd.
I turned to the stage and the man who’d been seating people. He might have been in his early forties, but his brown hair showed no silver and his trim waist no paunch. He wore gray designer trousers and a paler gray shirt open at the throat. According to the program in my hand, he was Conrad DeGroot, Sebastian’s producer/manager.
“Sebastian Cole is about to present his underwater escape homage to Harry Houdini,” he said. “Houdini was fastened with handcuffs and leg irons and placed in a pine box that was nailed shut and secured with iron bands and ropes. The box was then lowered into New York’s East River. Houdini escaped not only his shackles, but the box. Once he appeared in the water, the box was brought up…iron bands and ropes still in place.”
My pulse quickened as the trunk was mechanically raised above the stage platform.
Trunk…water…okay,
deep
water…
I looked out along the river, then back into the crowd. Casey Brogan—was he here somewhere? If so, I couldn’t spot him. How had he known where I was going? Why else would he have warned me? And why had he brought the memory of my father into the mix?
“Escape fans, may I present…Sebastian Cole!”
The crowd thundered its approval.
And despite myself, I found my attention arrowing away from my search and straight for that stage. Another movable platform rose, bringing to the audience’s attention a tall figure, whose narrow black pants and open ruffled black shirt displayed a body that would make any red-blooded female salivate.
Long, wavy dark hair in constant movement as if it were being blown by an invisible fan framed an angular face. His cheekbones were wide, his forehead broad, his chin square and kissed with a slight cleft. All good, but only serving as a setting for deep-set dark eyes that nearly jumped out of his tanned face.
On one side of him, Silke held up a set of handcuffs, while Oriel whirled leg irons over her head. Sebastian turned his back to the audience, at which time the women shackled him. The moment the cuffs and irons snapped shut, they began to throb with a sinuous glow, which then moved around his wrists and ankles as if the constraints were alive.
The thought spooked me. I’d never quite seen an act like this one before.
Oriel opened the trunk, releasing a burst of light and smoke, a mini-explosion that trailed off, leaving the area with an eerie coating like magic dust.
Both women helped Sebastian into the trunk. Once he was inside, Oriel closed the lid and locked it. Then she and Silke lifted chains that surrounded the trunk, and Oriel padlocked those together as well. She did everything with an extra flourish, as though she, rather than her employer, was the star of the show.
The trunk gleamed, a moving morass of red and gold that stood out against the night sky. Undoubtedly, Sebastian already had the handcuffs off. He would probably be rid of the leg irons before the trunk hit the water. All he had to do was somehow open the trunk and free the padlock from the inside…
Silke attached a chain hanging from the crane to the trunk, while Oriel climbed into the cab.
Voices rose in the audience as the crane lifted the still-glowing trunk and swung it over the river. Gradually, it was lowered, and just before it hit the water, the glow snapped off.
A giant neon clock onstage ticked away the seconds as the trunk remained submerged.
The murmuring around me grew excited.
So why was I filled with dread as I watched one minute pass…then another…and no Sebastian?
The audience began to chant his name.
Three minutes.
Shades of Casey Brogan… My stomach began to knot.
Four.
“Bring him up,” I yelled, knowing I wouldn’t be heard.
Surely Sebastian couldn’t hold his breath that long. This was it, then, the death the so-called banshee had seen. What to do? Even if I dived into the river, I wouldn’t be able to open the padlock and save him.
Finally, Sebastian’s team seemed concerned. They ran around onstage, shouting for Oriel to
do
something. A murmur spread along the anxious crowd, their voices combining into a headache-loud buzz.
Oriel operated the crane to slowly pull the trunk from the river and lever it back onto the platform.
Five minutes.
I waited with dread as she dramatically removed the padlock and chain and unlocked the trunk. Her scream made the hair on my arms stand on end.
Two security guys rushed forward and tilted the trunk so all could see…
Empty.
I took a long, slow breath.
Somehow, Sebastian had escaped the locked trunk. But where was he?
Lights shone on the river and the men in the boat below looked for him. Or for his body.
A shiver shot through me.
Instinct and something darker—an insistent pulsing at the back of my neck—turned me away from the mayhem to see a perfectly dry Sebastian making his way through the crowd to the stage. He stared at me, and unable to help myself, I was mesmerized.
Blood coursed through me at an accelerated pace. Its rush filled my ears. My vision telescoped and for a moment in time, I saw no one but Sebastian. Those nearly black eyes—ringed with a smudgy gray-violet—had the power to evoke emotions I couldn’t explain.
Fans finally recognized the escape artist’s presence. They oohed and aahed and cheered.
The applause became deafening.
Sebastian took the stage and raised his arms for a dramatic moment, after which he put one hand over his heart and took a deep bow. The audience whistled and cheered as he stepped to the edge of the platform and took a microphone from Oriel, who remained glued to his side as if to take half the credit for the illusion.
“Thank you,” Sebastian yelled over the applause. “And thanks to Harry Houdini for the inspiration.”
More applause. An appropriate pause. He was good at controlling the crowd. All around me, spectators were riveted to his every word, every gesture.
Except for the guys I’d identified as gang members earlier. They were going to be trouble, especially the one who looked older than the others. Undoubtedly the leader, he had eyes that were flat of expression and oddly pale against his caramel-colored skin.
Snake eyes.
An Hispanic kid whose bare arms were decorated in one continuous tattoo hung close to Snake Eyes. The other two—a skinny white kid with lanky hair and an Asian, who was obviously a body-builder—moved off together.
“The donation buckets are still open,” Sebastian announced. “Tonight’s proceeds are going to help pay legal counsel hired by Benita Rivera, whose brother Pablo was murdered and whose killer walked free.”
He indicated the young woman who sat to one side of the stage, a toddler in her lap. Her thick hair was pulled away from her face in a ponytail. Color tinged her broad cheekbones and her large dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Tension seared my muscles and quickened my breath.
My case
…he was talking about
my case
…and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was now looking directly at me.