Authors: Kate Serine

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy

Red (3 page)

BOOK: Red

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Chapter 4

After Nate and I parted ways in the parking garage, I checked my watch and cursed under my breath. I’d planned to make a quick stop in the office, then head over to Elizabeth’s, but all the drama had taken quite a bit longer than anticipated and it was now pushing ten o’clock. Still, my conscience nagging me, I gave Eliza a call as I pulled out into the nightlife traffic. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find her still awake.

“Sorry for the delay,” I told her sincerely. “Do you still want some company?”

“Of course!” she said eagerly. “Shall I brew the tea or uncork the wine?”

“Wine,” I said firmly. “Definitely the wine.”

“That sounds rather ominous.”

Dear Elizabeth—perceptive as always. “You have no idea,” I informed her. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.”

Fortunately, Eliza’s house was nestled in one of the elite neighborhoods of Chicago’s North Shore and so wasn’t that far a drive from headquarters. Twenty minutes later, I was standing in her foyer, finding myself the recipient of Eliza’s warm embrace.

No matter how often we saw each other, Eliza had a way of making me feel like she had desperately missed me while we were apart and couldn’t wait to hear all about the events of my life.

As I followed my friend into her favorite sitting room, I was struck as always by the tasteful yet opulent decor of the Darcy home and how perfectly it reflected Elizabeth’s personality—warm, open, comforting, but exhibiting just enough sass to make it interesting without being pretentious.

The moment I curled up on my favorite sofa I had in my hand what I knew would be a fabulous glass of Pinot Noir. As soon as Elizabeth had procured her own glass, she nestled into the opposite corner of the sofa, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Rough day, dearest?” she asked with a grin as I took a long draft of my wine.

Yep, it was just as good as I’d imagined.

I laughed a little, in spite of how I felt. “You could say that.” I took another sip, smaller this time, then let out a long sigh. “One of my marks committed suicide on me tonight.”

Elizabeth’s lovely face contorted into a concerned frown. “Are you all right?”

Leave it to Elizabeth to be more concerned about my well-being than the details of the story. It was moments like these that reminded me why we were friends.

I nodded, staring down at my wine. “It doesn’t make sense, though,” I told her. “He was scared to death of being taken in—literally, as it turns out. What would make a person so afraid that he’d take his own life?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Elizabeth told me gently. “But I
do
know that if anyone can discover the truth, it’s you.”

“That’s just how the night
started,
” I told her before draining my glass. Without even asking, Elizabeth got up and poured me another. As soon as I was holding the next installment, I continued, “Right after you called I got another call from Al at headquarters, requesting my presence in his office posthaste.”

Eliza’s brows rose just enough to indicate her surprise. “Oh?”

I let my head drop back against the cushions as I sank lower into the couch. “There’s a series of murders the FMA’s investigating and they want me to bring in the three main suspects.”

“That’s not so unusual, is it?” Elizabeth asked, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, waiting for my response.

I shook my head a little, wishing I could tell her more specifics. “No,” I replied, “not so unusual. It’s just a tough case.”

“I imagine so.”

We sat in silence for a long while, sipping our wine and listening to the fire in the fireplace crackle, the occasional pop enough to keep me from dozing off in the warm glow of firelight and friendship. Then I heard Eliza’s barely perceptible sigh and sat up straighter, suddenly realizing what a lousy friend I was.

“How are
you
?” I asked, feeling guilty for not asking sooner. “Is everything okay?”

Elizabeth gave me a tight smile. “Mmm-hmm. I love being in the Here and Now,” she said rather whimsically.

“But?”

“But Darcy . . .”

“Still not adjusting so well?” I filled in.

She shook her head, confirming my suspicions. “I thought it would get easier. . . . It really has been wonderful for us—thanks in large part to the Character Relocation Bureau. Darcy has been very happy with his firm, we have a beautiful home, wonderful friends . . . but he still misses our former life.”

“And what about you?” I prompted.

Eliza dropped her eyes briefly, trying to hide the tears that I knew would be there. After a moment, she looked up to offer me a sad smile. “I miss Jane,” she admitted. “Some days I can hardly bear it.” She laughed a little through her sorrow and wiped at her cheek, brushing away one of the few tears that had managed to escape. “I even miss Lydia and all of her ridiculous antics. Can you imagine?”

I reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “Yes, I can.”

We’ve never been able to figure out why some characters come over and others don’t. At first, it was just us Fairytales who were affected by the magical duel. But then the Literary and Nursery Rhyme characters began to migrate over—sometimes individually or in pairs, other times en masse.

Elizabeth and Darcy had the good fortune to come over together in the Lit Migration of 2000. They were lucky. Random migrations have shattered the romances of many loving fictional couples over the years. Unfortunately for Darcy and Elizabeth, none of the others from their story joined them—a loss Eliza still mourned and I suspected Darcy did as well.

Eliza’s way to cope with the loss of all she had ever known was to embrace her new circumstances, to throw herself into the Here and Now with the same zest for life she had exhibited in the pages of her story. She was beautiful, witty, intelligent, and had the added benefit of her story’s enduring popularity among the Ordinaries, who never seemed to run out of ideas for sequels and adaptations for Eliza—a fact that made her the envy of all Tale society. Everyone wanted to know her, be near her, and claim her as a friend.

Darcy, on the other hand, had retreated to his former reserve, unsure how to relate to the twenty-f irst century and unable to embrace their new life with the same eagerness as his wife. He had enjoyed a tremendous amount of success with his business ventures; having a quick mind and what seemed to be a sixth sense for the ups and downs of the Ordinaries’ stock markets had netted him a fortune within a very short time of their migration. But Darcy was a man of his times—cultured, mannered, proud—the very essence of British aristocracy, and as such had a difficult time accepting the ways of contemporary America.

His disdain for modern culture notwithstanding, I had seen the way his eyes sparked with love and desire the moment his beloved walked into a room, and was a little envious of that kind of undying affection. In spite of all their losses, they could at least find comfort in the unshakable love they shared.

“He’ll come around,” I assured her. “You might just have to nudge him in the right direction.”

She gave me a glance that clearly conveyed her doubt. “I fear he does not approve of my more modern ways. I am no longer certain my influence would be eagerly accepted.”

“Have you tried including him in some of your activities that are important to you?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes, but he does not share my activist spirit.”

“What about something with your kids?” I suggested. “I thought you told me William is going to be starting Little League in the spring. How about that?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I cannot see Darcy coaching baseball, I am afraid.”

She had a point.

“You’ll find your common ground,” I assured her confidently. “You two were meant to be together.”

“I have always thought so,” Elizabeth said with a grin.

I laughed, which was exactly what she had intended. “No, you haven’t!”

Playful and teasing now that her fears had been allayed, she laughed with me. “Well, perhaps I had my doubts in the beginning, but I saw the error of my ways.” She cast me a searching glance, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And what of you, my dearest friend? When shall you find the one with whom you are meant to spend eternity?”

I groaned and melodramatically rolled my eyes, as was my typical response. “Eternity?” I repeated. “I’d settle for Saturday night!”

I was gratified to hear my friend’s rich laughter but was more than a little surprised when her question brought to mind the image of a certain homicide detective whose dark eyes still haunted me hours later when I finally drifted to sleep.

Chapter 5

I awoke the next day to the wonderful aroma of cinnamon rolls and bacon—and nearly hurled. Wine and I as a rule don’t mix so well, but I can never turn it down when it comes as a token of Eliza’s hospitality. Maybe one day I’ll figure out how to tell her I prefer a good Irish stout or a shot of Goose to the fruit of the vine. In the meantime, my stomach and I were going to have a serious conversation about the evils of fermented grapes from Burgundy.

“Red? Red, my darling?”

I cautiously opened one eye just enough to see the still-stunning silver-haired woman standing in my doorway, then closed it again. On a good day, my eyes were robin’s egg blue, but considering the way my head was pounding, I was guessing they were pretty shot with red today. With a groan, I rolled over so that my back was to her cheerful smile. “Go away,” I grumbled. “It’s too early.”

“Pish posh.” Gran laughed, gliding into my room and leaving an aromatic trail of jasmine in her wake, which in combination with the cinnamon rolls and bacon brought a whole new level to my agony. “It’s already half past seven, my dear.”

“Seven?” I mumbled into my pillow. “I’ve only been asleep for four hours.”

Gran gave my rump a swat as she strolled by on her way to my bedroom window. With a quick
swish
she pulled open the curtains, letting the early morning sun assault me. “Rise and shine!”

“Oh, come on!” I protested, burying my face in my pillow.

I heard Gran’s exasperated sigh, then her jaunty steps as she exited the room. The smell of jasmine began to dissipate, so I risked lifting my head only to see her standing in the doorway once more, arms crossed, her brows raised expectantly.

I let my head drop back down for a moment but then forced myself into a sitting position. Guess it was time to get up whether I liked it or not. I ran my hands through my tousled hair and blinked several times, trying to get my bearings. “Don’t you need to be at work?”

Gran’s lips parted in an affectionately amused smile. “Don’t you?”

I glowered at her. “No.”

Gran laughed. “Well, now that you’re awake you might as well get moving.”

I looked at her with one eye—the other had managed to close again on the sly—and realized she was already in her best suit and makeup, ready to head in to the office. “Who are your guests today?” I asked, hoping that trying to carry on a conversation would force my brain into activity.

Gran’s eyes lit up. “Pete and Wendy Panella! Can you believe it?”

My brows shot up. “Seriously?”

Even though I was still half asleep, the magnitude of such famous guests on Gran’s television show didn’t slip by me. Matilda “Gran” Stuart was something of a celebrity in her own right among the Tales. After we came over, she’d discovered a whole new side to herself, a creativity and sense of unique style that soon made her a highly regarded expert in all things domestic.

Her skills in the kitchen became legendary and eventually branched off into a very successful series of cookbooks, a line of cookware, a home decor business, and now her own talk show, which, in addition to giving tips on how to create the perfect flan or Christmas wreath, featured Tale celebrity guests. Gran was a natural when it came to hosting her own show—there were days when she had the entire studio audience in tears as they listened to some poor character’s struggle with adjusting and his subsequent rise to glory and success. She made Ordinary talk show queens look like two-bit hacks.

“How did you manage to get Pete and Wendy?” I asked, my mouth finally catching up to my brain.

The Panellas had come over in the seventies and had had a more difficult time than most. Not only were they completely uprooted but they’d also had to deal with finally growing up. In the end they’d come through okay, eventually married, and after changing their last name—something about copyright infringement—they’d managed to channel their experiences into business ventures that skyrocketed them to success.

Pete was now a motivational speaker, traveling the world and giving seminars to Ordinaries and Tales alike on how age was all a state of mind, and Wendy owned an upscale chain of day care centers that had revolutionized childcare. Getting them to drop by the studio for a sob session on Gran’s couch was quite a coup.

“Let’s just say I pulled a few strings,” Gran said with a wink. “Now, come on—you need to come down and eat your brunch. It’s getting cold. And that nice gentleman from the FMA has already eaten, so you don’t want to keep him waiting too long.”

I straightened in surprise, fully awake now. “What? What nice gentleman?”

“You know,” Gran said, her hand fluttering as if my question were an insect making an aerial assault. “The dark and mysterious one. What’s his name?”

My already sensitive stomach clenched tightly. I felt my control over its contents beginning to slip as I realized who she meant. “Nate Grimm?”

“Yes!” Gran replied, turning on her heel. “That’s the one.”

I threw the covers back and stormed down the stairs, brushing past Gran in my fury. I charged into the kitchen, fully expecting to light into Nate about barging into my house—okay, well, not technically
my
house
,
but still—but when I saw him I slid to a halt, briefly wondering if I’d wandered into a parallel dimension.

Nate had discarded his omnipresent suit jacket and fedora in exchange for one of Gran’s pink frilly aprons with a creepily cheery gingerbread man embroidered on the front. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscled forearms and intricately drawn tribal-style tattoos that were completely out of sorts with the girly cooking attire.

When he heard me come in, he turned away from where he was scrambling eggs with peppers and onions and offered me a wide smile. “Good morning, sunshine,” he called over his shoulder.

I intended to stun him with a witty comeback that started with
Piss
and ended with
Off,
but before I got the chance, he added, “Breakfast will be ready in a sec. I hope you like your eggs loaded. I didn’t figure you for a cinnamon roll kind of girl, but Gran insisted I whip some up when she heard my recipe.”

I blinked at him, now certain about my alternate reality theory. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Nate added some shredded cheese to his concoction and gently folded the eggs a couple of times before responding, “Thought we’d get an early start.”

I hopped up onto one of the stools nestled around the kitchen bar and gave him a wary look. “Start on what exactly?”

“I figured we’d drop in on Wolf,” he said. “Get it out of the way.”

I felt my stomach flop ominously. Probably just the hangover. “He’s nocturnal,” I muttered. “Maybe we should wait until later in the day.”

“Or we can catch him unawares so he doesn’t run,” he rejoined.

I bristled a little at his tone. “Seth won’t run.”

Nate shrugged. “Because he has a history of sticking it out when things get rough?”

“Fine,” I snapped, having to admit he had a point. “But he’s not the guy.”

“So you keep saying. As soon as he’s cleared, we’ll move on to Caliban.”

Nate scooped the eggs onto a plate and arranged a few slices of crisp bacon, perfectly toasted sourdough, and a sprig of parsley around them before setting the lot in front of me.

I stared down at the beautifully arranged food before me and wondered if I should eat it or take a picture of it. My stomach grumbled in spite of its queasiness, which really left only one option. I shoveled a bite of eggs into my mouth and had to stop myself from moaning with delight as Nate set out a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“So what do you think?” he asked, studying me in that über-intense way of his.

“I think Caliban can be an arrogant, foul-tempered asshole,” I mumbled around my eggs, “but I don’t think he’s your perp, either.”

Nate laughed. “Not what I meant. The breakfast—do you like it?”

I swallowed, lifting my face from the trough—uh,
plate
—and meeting his gaze. “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

He gave me a wink and went back to the stove, gathering up the frying pans and utensils and loading them into the dishwasher. Bemused by the decidedly surreal experience, I continued eating and was just polishing off the last of the most delicious cinnamon roll I’d ever consumed when Gran came bustling in.

“Well, I’m off!” she cried cheerily, her cheeks aglow with excitement. “Wish me luck, my darlings!”

Darlings? Plural?

Nate hastily dried his hands on the edge of his apron and shook Gran’s hand warmly. “Best of luck, Tilly—”

Tilly?

“—I’m sure your interview will go swell.”

Swell?

Gran tittered like a schoolgirl, blushing at Nate’s encouragement, then good-naturedly batted at his shoulder. “Oh, Detective, if all my audience was as kind as you, I would never worry about ratings!”

Dear God, it was a morning-person conspiracy.

I groaned at their chipper banter, my nausea returning with a vengeance. “You two are insane.”

Gran cast an amused glance at Nate, then came around the bar to smother my face in grandmotherly kisses in spite of my best efforts to dodge her.

“Good luck with your investigation, Red, my dear!” she called as she bustled out of the kitchen once again. “See you tonight!”

I shook my head and turned back around only to find Nate leaning on the counter, his wide smile a little too blinding and cheerful for my sleep-numb brain. “So, you ready to get going?” he asked. “Need to get dressed, take a shower or anything?”

Suddenly aware that I hadn’t bothered to make myself presentable before storming downstairs in nothing but a T-shirt, I felt my face growing warm. I ran a hand through my tangled hair and slid from the bar stool, my legs feeling extremely bare and exposed. “Um, yeah,” I stuttered. “I’m going to head back upstairs.” I tugged the hem of my shirt down a little, making sure it covered my ass, then took a couple awkward steps backward. “You go ahead and make some coffee or something. I’ll, uh, be back in a bit.”

As I made my way up the stairs, I heard the coffeemaker grinding the beans and had to smile in spite of myself. A girl could get used to being waited on hand and foot, especially if the one doing the waiting was as drop-dead gorgeous as Nate (no pun intended).

And if his coffee was as good as his cinnamon rolls, I could almost forgive him for being insufferably cheery before noon.

Almost.

BOOK: Red

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