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Authors: Kate Serine

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BOOK: Red
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I shrugged my shoulders, mentally pushing Nate away. I’d felt that kind of a connection to someone before and knew just how dangerous it could be. No way was I going to put myself through
that
again.
Chapter 2
 
I always hated going in to headquarters. The glossy black marble floors and one-way glass walls sucked the light out of the air and made me feel claustrophobic. Much like the lives the Tales led among our human brethren, or Ordinaries, our law enforcement agency was shrouded in secrecy and shadows.
Blend in. Avoid suspicion. Act human. That was the warning drilled into each Tale after crossing over, and the building’s lack of personality was a perfect reflection of this doctrine. In fact, if it weren’t for the pixie couriers flitting between offices delivering field intelligence, you would’ve thought you were in your average, run-of-the-mill, secret government installation.
But it wasn’t just the ominous decor that made me twitchy. I preferred to be out on the road, doing my thing and bringing in the bad guys, not sitting in some office, dealing with bureaucrats and politicians as they argued about jurisdictions and budgets and whatever else happened to be the issue of the day.
Apparently, today’s issue was more serious than the usual fare, if the hushed tones of conversation and studiously averted gazes were any indication. Not one person I passed was willing to look me in the eye. I certainly didn’t have a lot of friends within the FMA, but I wasn’t usually the leper I seemed to be today.
If the silent treatment in the hallways hadn’t tipped me off that something was up, the Chief ’s scowl when I entered his office certainly would have done the job.
FMA Chief Director Al Addin was a menacing SOB even on a good day, but today he was flat-out frightening. I was betting whoever had pissed in his Post Toasties that morning had received one serious ass-chewing.
Al was a damned good Investigator and had worked tirelessly to turn the FMA into what it was today. Considering it was his genie involved in the little kerfuffle that’d landed us in the Here and Now, he felt like he owed it to the rest of us to bring some sort of order to the chaos of our abrupt relocation. Unfortunately, it was a never-ending struggle that had cost him his fortune, his marriage, and his peace of mind. And yet he dragged his ass into work every day to make sure that the rest of us had a chance to live free and happy where fate had tossed us.
That’s why I respected the hell out of him. As long as he continued to pay me better than he should have without grumbling too much about the occasional mess I made, I figured the least I could do was put up with a trip to the office every now and then.
“Rough day?” Al grumbled with a scowl as I dropped into the leather chair across the desk from him.
“You have no idea,” I muttered, flipping a thick lock of ebony hair over my shoulder and propping my cherry red combat boots on his desk.
(What? The
boots
? Hey, if I’m going to be saddled with the moniker anyway, I might as well rock it right. Besides, a cherry red leather trench coat, while wicked cool, was a bit impractical in my line of work. Too visible. Mine’s black, natch.)
Al’s brows lifted a bit. “Oh, I think I might. Get your boots off my desk.”
I dropped my feet back onto the floor. “Listen, Al, there was nothing I could do. Dave has never carried a weapon in all the years I’ve known him. I had no idea he—”
“This isn’t about Hamelin’s suicide,” Al interrupted.
Now it was my turn to be surprised. “It’s not?”
Al leaned back in his chair, his already dusky features seeming to grow darker. “We have a problem.”
“When
don’t
we have a problem?” I joked, trying to lighten his mood and make myself feel better at the same time.
It didn’t work.
Al opened a drawer and pulled out a manila folder that he then handed to me. “Take a look.”
Warily, I peeked inside and quickly flipped through the crime scene photos, my gut clenching at the violence and gore captured in startlingly vivid detail.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t disturbed by the carnage I saw in those eight-by-ten glossies. The victims had been ripped apart, savagely mutilated. It wasn’t the aftermath of your average mugging gone wrong or even your run-of-the-mill contract hit or crime of passion. I’d seen plenty of those, trust me. No, this was far more personal. There was a rage behind it that was animalistic, inhuman.
“What am I looking at here?” I asked, my voice quivering in spite of my best efforts to seem unaffected.
Al leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk pad. “Four Tales have been murdered in the last thirty days. There wasn’t much left for us to examine, but from what we can tell, they were all killed by the same person.”
I glanced up at him in surprise. “A serial killer?”
Al nodded solemnly. “Looks that way.”
I pulled out one of the photos and looked at the victim more closely. After a moment, I realized it had once been a man and not a Jackson Pollock gone awry. I cleared my throat of the bile rising there. “Who were these people?”
“Minor characters for the most part.” Al took the photos from my hands and spread them out on his desk. “Julie Spangle,” he said, pointing to the first. “She had a bit role in a Restoration Comedy in the sixteen hundreds. She’d been trying to break into the theater scene here in town but was waiting tables to get by.”
I scooted to the edge of my seat to get a better look as Al tapped the second photo.
“This one is Dale Minnows. He was an unnamed sailor in
Moby-Dick.
Made a fortune in shipping since coming over but had become a complete recluse over the last couple of years.” He slid the third photo forward. “Sarah Dickerson. Ms. Dickerson was the maid in “Sing a Song of Sixpence” and stayed in domestic service after she came over a couple of years ago. She was dropping off dry cleaning for her employer when she was attacked.”
I picked up the fourth picture—the one that had nearly made me retch just a moment before. “And this guy?”
“Probably the only name you’ll recognize—Alfred Simon.”
“Simple Simon?” I said, tossing the photo back onto the pile. “Poor little guy. Last I heard he was holding down a good job delivering soda to restaurants or something. Who’d want to hurt him?”
Al shook his head. “We don’t know why anyone would want to hurt any of these victims. There’s no discernible connection between them.”
“Has anyone talked to the families? Employers? Friends?” I asked.
“They can’t give any reasons, either.”
“Wrong place, wrong time?”
Al shrugged. “That’s what we need to find out.”
“Any suspects?”
He took a sudden interest in the notepad on his desk as he replied, “A few.”
“What about a murder weapon?”
“Claws,” he said, his tone sounding almost apologetic. “Massive blood loss.” When he looked back up at me, I was surprised to see true regret behind his expression. “I’m really sorry, Red.”
He was
sorry
? Oh, I
seriously
didn’t like where he was going with this.
“Any number of creatures could have done this,” I insisted, waving my hand toward the pictures. “What about the Jabberwocky? That guy’s a certifiable lunatic. Last time I brought him in, he was sucking out goat brains in rural Texas and scaring the hell out of the locals who swore up and down they were being attacked by a chupacabra. As I recall, you had a fun time trying to spin that one. Coyotes with mange, was it?”
“Jabberwocky’s still safely in the Asylum,” Al assured me, ignoring my acidic tone.
I ran a hand through my hair in frustration and let the heavy locks fall loosely over my shoulders. “What about one of the witches? There are loads of those twisted sisters who could have pulled off something like this using a ritual or a curse.”
Al opened his palms to me in a gesture of sympathy. “I already had forensics test the bodies. There’s no indication that magic was used to commit the murders remotely.”
Now I was just getting pissed off. “How do we even know it’s one of
ours
? There were some pretty crazy things hanging out in the Here and Now long before we showed up. What about that Sasquatch guy we dragged in for questioning last year? What was his name? Phil Something. He really rubbed me the wrong way—shifty eyes.”
Al sighed but didn’t respond, letting me work through everything in my head until I came around to the same conclusion he had. I wasn’t quite there yet.
“And what about an Ordinary? They’ve had their own fair share of sickos,” I reminded him. “Jack the Ripper, Belle Gunness, H. H. Holmes, Jeffrey Dahmer . . .”
“All dead, which you well know. Besides, the Ordinaries have no reason to target us this way.” Al’s stony expression softened a little and his voice was quiet when he said, “This was an inside job.”
“Says you.”
“Red—”
“Who found the bodies?”
Al sighed again, apparently willing to indulge me for the moment. “You know who.”
“Nate.”
Al nodded, then steepled his fingers, looking like an Arabian Sigmund Freud as he leveled his gaze at me. “Nate Grimm would be a damned good detective even without being a Reaper,” he reminded me. “You know he doesn’t make the kinds of mistakes you were about to suggest.”
Al knew me all too well. And, apparently, Nate knew me better than I’d thought. The little dance number in the alley now made perfect sense. He’d been playing me—probably hoping his so-called charm would cushion the blow of the bombshell he was about to drop.
“We need you to bring in the suspects for questioning,” Al continued, interrupting the progress of my rapidly growing grudge. “That’s all it is for now.”
I gritted my back teeth, knowing who would be top on their list without even asking.
I’d told Al that any number of creatures could have committed the murders, but that wasn’t entirely true. As much as I liked to think there was a hoard of potential suspects, I had to admit only a few consistently came to mind as I sat there mulling it over. And one of them was Seth “Big Bad” Wolf—the man I’d thought was my Happily Ever After.
I’d been wrong about that, so it was possible I was wrong about this, too. After all, I’d seen Seth defend himself against a lynch mob of angry villagers and come out of it without so much as a scratch, so I knew firsthand the kind of damage a cornered werewolf could do. But my intuition told me there was no way in hell Seth had committed the murders.
And Al
had
said “suspects,” I reminded myself
.
Plural. More than one. So even though he and Nate had probably already convinced themselves Seth was their guy, they were at least keeping their options open.
I couldn’t fathom what would have made Seth—or anyone else—go on a killing spree this savage. But someone had. Someone with a serious ax to grind.
Fortunately, it wasn’t up to me to figure out a motive. I’d leave that part to Detective Twinkle-Toes. All I had to do was round up the suspects. Then I could just walk away.
Well, that’s what I told myself anyway.
“Okay,” I said, holding out my hand to receive the assignments. “Give me what you’ve got.”
Al handed over three thick files. I didn’t even bother looking at them as I rose stiffly.
“Red,” Al called out, bringing me to a halt as I strode to the door. “I need this one over before the Ordinaries catch wind of it. Something like this could destroy everything we’ve built here.”
I paused, staring at the floor so he wouldn’t see the emotions raging war inside me. “I understand, sir.”
“Sir?” Al repeated. “You never call me ‘sir.’”
I attempted a saucy smile. “First time for everything.”
Al let out a long sigh and pushed back from his desk. Knowing what was coming, I tried to open the door and make my escape before he could offer any friendly advice, but he was there with his hand pressing the door closed before I could open it more than a crack.
“I know this one isn’t going to be easy,” he said gently. “But you’re the best Enforcer I’ve got. I need to know you’re on this.”
I didn’t immediately respond.
“Red?”
“Yeah,” I snapped, wrenching open the door and knocking his hand away. “I’m on it.”
Chapter 3
 
I put on my best Don’t Fuck with Me scowl when I left Al’s office and kept my head down so I wouldn’t have to see all the pitying and anxious looks my colleagues gave me as I barreled down the hallway. It was taking all my restraint not to run toward the nearest exit to escape those stifling corridors as it was—the last thing I wanted was for someone to try to strike up a conversation that might seem well-meaning but was more about getting the latest gossip.
Besides, there was something about this case that was making my skin crawl with apprehension . . . and it wasn’t just the prospect of having to haul in my former lover. The whole thing just didn’t feel right.
I liked to think I had my ear pretty close to the ground when it came to these kinds of things, but I hadn’t heard anything lately that was out of the ordinary. If someone was harboring a grudge this powerful, he was keeping it well hidden. No easy task, I imagine. Hatred that potent has a way of spilling out at the most inconvenient times. Which meant eventually he’d slip up and give himself away. And I’d be right there to drag his ass to jail.
“Another job well done, Red. Bra-
vo
.”
Speaking of barely restrained hatred . . .
I stiffened immediately at the one voice that could get my hackles up in an instant. Forcing a smile that felt grotesque on my lips, I turned around and batted my eyes innocently.
“Well, if it isn’t Mistress Mary Quite Contrary,” I drawled, infusing my voice with my own special blend of syrupy sweetness and pointed disdain. “My visit wouldn’t have been complete without bumping into you. Tell me, how
does
your garden grow?”
Mary “Quite Contrary” Smith was so named for a reason. She was the most condescending, abrasive, ball-busting bitch I’d ever met. She also happened to be the FMA’s prosecuting attorney and had a hard-on for making me look bad at every opportunity. What was most irritating, though, was that she managed it with the kind of cold, calculating finesse that almost made me want to thank her for the effort.
A little more salt for my wound? Why, yes, thank you—don’t mind if I do. Could you give that knife another twist while you’re back there? Perfect!
Funny thing was, if I hadn’t hated her so much I think we might’ve actually been friends.
Mary looked down at me from her statuesque height, peering over the top of her naughty librarian glasses to make sure I realized that she was far superior to me—from her perfectly coiffed golden tresses to the tips of her six-hundred-dollar Manolo Blahniks.
“Original as ever,” Mary sneered. “Your sense of humor’s as stale as your sense of style.”
Ouch. That one hurt. I live in jeans and combat boots—so sue me. It’s a little hard to do my job in a business suit, no matter what you see on TV. And running in heels?
Please.
“So, did you stop just to chat about my inability to accessorize,” I asked, keeping my expression mildly bored, “or did you actually have something worth saying?”
Mary looked like she would’ve liked to punch me in the face, but she was far too poised and professional to give in to her baser urges, which was lucky for me. Don’t get me wrong—I had no doubt I could wipe the floor with her pretty little buns of steel, but after she picked herself up off the floor she would have had me behind bars in a fairytale minute. And as much as I love to invite authority to bite my ass, I couldn’t deny that being stuck in the clink with the very people I hunted might be a bit . . .
awkward
.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on killing yet another criminal,” Mary oozed. “What does this make now—four this year?”
Okay, so sometimes things get a little rough when I’m picking up a mark. Tales can get a bit panicky when faced with being confined again after having had a taste of freedom from the stories that’d held them prisoner for so long. Unfortunately, panic makes people stupid, and I really can’t be responsible for the ones whose extra dose of dumb-ass sends them running at me with a gun or a knife. That’s why there’s a “dead or alive” clause in my employment contract. But, honestly, considering how many criminals I bring in every year, my track record really isn’t so bad.
“Only three,” I informed her. “Suicides don’t count. This one wasn’t my fault.”
Mary’s crimson lips twitched at the corners as if she could barely restrain her derisive amusement. “Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled. “From what I hear, men who come in contact with you have a way of meeting rather bad ends.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Have you looked at your most recent assignment?”
Well, no, actually I
hadn’t
. It really didn’t matter. I’d bring them in, regardless; it was my job. But something about Mary’s smirk was enough to make me want to put my hands around her pretty little throat and squeeze. Hard.
“Sorry to steal your thunder,” I bit out, my fist clenching at my side to keep it in check, “but I already know Seth Wolf is a suspect.”
Mary laughed mockingly as she turned on her stiletto heel and headed toward the elevators. “He’s not the only one,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It should be quite a lovely trip down memory lane.”
The elevator doors slid open in perfect dramatic timing, allowing her to slip inside before I could ask any more questions. But, apparently,
she
wasn’t quite finished. Her beautifully manicured hand caught the edge of the elevator door, bouncing it back just long enough for her to stick her head out and offer me a final parting shot.
“Oh—and, Red? Do try to bring in your boyfriends alive—it’s not nearly as entertaining to prosecute a corpse.”
Boyfriends?
Frowning, I looked down at the thick folders I held in my arms, fanning them out so I could see all the names. A horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach made me want to hurl—not something I do as a general rule. But Mary wasn’t kidding.
Memory lane? Try highway to hell.
“Son of a bitch.”
“I hope you’re not talking about anyone I know.”
I turned the full ferocity of my glare upon Nate as he sidled up to me, which wasn’t completely fair, but I was pissed, he was there, and—abracadabra!—instant scapegoat.
“I wasn’t,” I hissed, punching the elevator button, “but I could be.”
Nate moved closer to me, ducking his head a little. “What are you talking about?”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I replied, punching the button several times in rapid succession in case it hadn’t gotten the message the first time. “Was that the reason for the little dance number earlier tonight? Trying to distract me from the fact you were about to screw me over?”
Nate jerked slightly at my harsh accusation. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I shot back.
Punch, punch, punch, punch.
Nate blinked at me in dismay. “I wish I did. Then I’d be able to defend myself.”
What the hell was the deal with the elevator, anyway? It’d been more than obliging for Mary’s dramatic exit but was totally ruining mine. Kind of tough to pull off the whole righteous indignation thing when you can’t storm off.
Exasperated and annoyed, I cursed under my breath, abandoning the elevator and darting around Nate toward the stairway. I heard him close on my heels as I made the first landing and was just about to take the next set of steps when he grabbed my arm, bringing me up short.
“Want to tell me what this is about?” he asked, his body crowding mine.
I shoved the folders into his chest, forcing him to take them. “You tell me.”
Nate’s glance flicked down at the files as if he already knew what they were. He confirmed my suspicion when he said nothing in response, just looked at me with a slightly contrite expression.
“Seth Wolf. Vlad Dracula. Todd Caliban,” I said, pointing to each of the folders in turn. “Anyone else from my past you want to target? There are a couple of other guys I’ve slept with who didn’t make the list. Want me to bring in Achilles? Maybe Charlie d’Artagnan?”
A muscle in Nate’s jaw twitched and his eyes seemed to darken slightly. I’d never seen Nate pissed off, but I had a feeling I was getting close. “Wolf and Dracula were the only two with records of this kind of violence,” he countered. “And Caliban’s a known hothead with violent tendencies. But, hey, you know Achilles and Charlie better than I do, so maybe we
should
bring them in, just to be on the safe side.”
“Go to hell, Nate.”
Nate shrugged. “Been there. It’s not that exciting.”
With a huff, I brushed past him and started down the stairs again, not surprised to hear him still following. “Why them?” I called out. “Why not one of the other monsters creeping around in the shadows? It’s not like there’s a shortage.”
There was a slight pause before I heard Nate sigh. The next instant he was in front of me on the landing, blocking my path. His sudden appearance startled me, making me stumble backward.
“Damn it! Don’t do that!”
Nate held out the folders, ignoring my rebuke. “These murders are the worst I’ve seen in a long time, Tess—”
Ah, hell, he was using my real name. This
was
serious.
“—I need to find the person responsible as soon as possible. And I need your help.”
I shook my head, completely confused by his logic. “So, you pulled your primary suspects from my little black book?”
“You’ve got it backward,” he explained. “They really are the most likely suspects, but if you can help me clear them, great—I’ll cross them off my short list and we can figure out who’s really behind these murders.”
“I’m an Enforcer,” I reminded him, “not an Investigator. And I work alone.”
“Maybe it’s time to change that.”
I studied Nate for a long moment, taking in every nuance of his chiseled features and wondering what else he wasn’t telling me. “Knowing my personal history with these three suspects, wouldn’t someone else be a better choice?”
Nate shook his head slowly. “Nope,” he said with a grin, the familiar, flirty tone coming back into his voice. “You’re the only one for me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Nate.”
Nate’s expression sobered once more. “Fine. The truth? I asked the Chief to put you on this one. You can get to these guys easier than I can. People tend to panic when Death shows up on their doorstep. I’d rather not have any bloodshed bringing them in.”
“Did you forget about what happened earlier tonight?” I asked, averting my eyes in embarrassment. “Bloodshed and me, we’re kind of going hand in hand lately.”
There was a whisper of motion and I suddenly found myself staring up into Nate’s eyes again, my chin held in his grasp. “You help me solve these murders, Red, and I promise we’ll get to the bottom of Dave Hamelin’s suicide.”
BOOK: Red
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