WITCHCRAFT (A Paranormal Romance) (12 page)

Ten

Erin nearly turned and ripped Roy's head off.

"What in the hell are you doing? This is my God damned
sister
."

"That's exactly why I can't have you going off half-cocked," he said. He wanted this conversation quiet, surrounded by a hodge-podge of her colleagues and his. Erin had no such compunctions.

"What gives you the right to just step in here, and get me suspended?"

Her voice got louder with every word, until Roy started rubbing the bridge of his nose, as if he were wearing glasses. Only her wasn't. It must have been a force of habit, she thought.

"Look, can we move this conversation somewhere else?"

"Fine." She looked at him expectantly for half a second. "Well? Where are we going? Lead the way, your Majesty."

He let out a breath. Part of her felt bad, but it wasn't a large part, and it was only the part that had spent several hours with him inside her not long ago.

"Come on, this way. I've taken one of the empty offices. Nothing's set up yet, but it's someplace we can talk."

He took her over to the corner office. Her corner office. The one she was supposed to move into when her damn promotion finally came through, but with all the red tape around it she'd been waiting with half her files in boxes for a month now. So much for that plan.

"How are you holding up?" He closed the door behind him, and his face was still as soft as it had been throughout her screaming at him.

"I was holding up a lot better when I was doing something concrete."

"I was going to call you, I just, my plane only touched down twenty minutes ago, and I had to—"

"Leave it. I'm not ready to talk about that right now."

"Okay, what's got you so riled up?"

"You know exactly what has me riled up. My sister is lying down on a cold metal slab with her guts half hanging out because of some scumbag, and now I have to wait and just hope you catch the son of a bitch before he kills someone else's little sister."

"Erin—"

"Don't you 'Erin' me. I'm not wrong, and you know it."

"I know. But there's a reason that the protocols are in place. You're too close to the case. You’re upset and you're going to be bolting at shadows."

She considered telling him that she'd already found a shadow to bolt at—a solid lead and serious answers to the big questions that she'd been able to raise in just a few short hours. But she kept it to herself.

"How did you get out here so fast?"

"We started moving the minute we got a call that someone was looking for a case like this."

"Like what? It reads like a mugging."

"Sure it does. But there are specifics we were keeping an eye out for. Nothing taken, seven stab wounds to the abdomen. Young woman, pretty, dark-haired. It's pretty specific, and as soon as my guys have had a look at the body we'll be sure."

"What's so special about all that?"

"In four years, we've had five killings just like it."

"And why didn't L.A.P.D. get anything on their search?"

"2012, it was in Montgomery. 2013, Augusta Maine; 2014, Scottsdale; 2015, two murders, almost back-to-back, in Chicago."

"Okay, so it's a repeat offender. Seven stab wounds exactly, you say?"

"Every time."

Erin let out a breath. This wasn't over her head, but it certainly was above her pay grade. Not that it changed anything.

"What are the details?"

"No details," Roy said. He sounded apologetic. "We've got a few ideas about who it could be, but no leads locally. We do know that they were all using the same dating service. Online thing, you communicate through text and then photos, and then—well, you get the idea."

She didn't, but she could make a few good guesses as to how exactly it went.

"Okay, so—forgive me here, but I assume you've contacted the dating service? You know who they were all dating?"

"Yeah, we know. That's the thing. Not the same guy."

He picked up a thick leather binder and unzipped the outside, flipped it open. Four different faces stared out at her. Sometimes suspects would change their hair style, trim their beards or grow them out. Look different.

Makeup and disguise could do a lot, and she didn't want to rule out that she was being fooled, but there were at least two men here. Men who couldn't have faked being the other.

She let out a breath.

"And do you have information on Becca's date?"

"Sure, it's coming through any minute now."

Erin reached into her pocket and unfolded a piece of paper.

"That's him. Craig Hutchinson, according to his FaceBook."

"You've been busy," Roy said. All business now. "That's all I need from you. You're dismissed." His voice softened again. "I'll call you later."

"Fuck you. My sister was murdered, you're not cutting me out."

"I can keep you informed, but only as a civilian."

"Not good enough."

Roy's face darkened, and he looked around as if he expected someone to be hiding behind the desk he had sat his ass up on. Her desk, or it should have been.

"Look, Erin. I can't do any better for you, and you know as well as I do that I can't stop you from doing whatever you're going to do. But don't fuck this up. We need to still have the evidence at the end of the day to nail this son of a bitch."

She let out a deep breath. "Yeah, I know."

"You know? Good. Now get your shit straight. Go on." He pointed her out the door with a nod of his head.

"Fuck off, Roy. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I'll call you later."

"I'm going to be busy later today."

"Then tomorrow."

"I'm going to be busy tomorrow, too. Pretty much all this month. It's pretty busy being suspended."

"Yeah, I hear," he said, sarcastic and angry.

"Good luck with the investigation, though. I'm sure that you Feds can take care of it just fine."

"Erin, we can. But this isn't over, and you know it."

"Yeah, I know."

"I know you're upset. Don't do anything to get yourself hurt."

"I'm not going to get hurt."

She could tell Roy didn't like that answer. He didn't get to tell her what to do. But she already had a plan forming in her head, and with some luck she'd be able to make it work.

With nothing more to say, she started towards the door. Roy stopped her a moment. "Wait, one last thing."

"What's that?"

"Whatever you find, I want you to come back in here and tell me. Every day."

"Maybe I will, when I feel like it."

"Erin—"

"I'm not your damn sex-bunny, Roy. You don't get to boss me around just because you're in charge now. You don't own me."

She about slapped him, but managed to stop herself.

"I know. But I know you're about to go do exactly the opposite of what I want you to do, which is nothing. When you do it, either you win or you lose, and I want to make sure that if you don't catch the son of a bitch, we don't have to let him go free and clear. Whatever you find, you tell someone before you go off on it. Is that understood?"

She turned and gave a mock salute.

"Then you're dismissed. Good luck, Detective Russo."

"Good luck yourself, Special Agent Schafer."

She stormed out, furious with him for taking the case from her. But she was more furious with herself for letting it hurt as much as it did.

Eleven

The little woman on her screen telling her how excellent her online dating experience was going to be made it all that much more real. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe she should have reconsidered. The temptation would be great, but what was it going to help if she ended up dead in a ditch somewhere?

It wouldn't help anyone, but they weren't going to catch the guy on their own. They weren't approaching the case with the right kind of serious concern, and it was going to bite them in the ass until they realized it.

She wasn't willing to wait that long. She was going to find this guy, and she was going to catch him. If she could only get him, then that would be one thing. But she wouldn't just stop there. She was going to go as deep down the rabbit hole first, before she pulled out and got the sons of bitches who did this cold.

Erin closed her eyes and tried to calm down. This was no time to be losing her cool. Not so early on. She needed to keep her head on her shoulders as long as possible. She was going into the lion's den here.

She had the account already. A few years ago she'd heard about online dating, and opened an account. It had lasted all of several minutes before she realized that it wasn't ever going to happen for her, and for that matter she didn't want it to happen that way if it was going to happen.

Pulling in a breath, Erin clicked the button to reactivate her account. It was a good thing that she had it already. If she had a one-day old account, it would make it difficult for him to trust when she emailed him out of the blue. As if someone had put up a fake account with a picture of his latest murder victim. He'd absolutely know the jig was up.

But now she had an account with two or three tasteful four-year-old pictures that were still just about good enough, she hoped. Then she got to messaging.

Craig Hutchinson might not respond. It might make him nervous, especially if he thought that she knew who he was, or who he had been, to her sister. But if he were a serial killer, or involved in serial killings, then he wouldn't be able to resist the chance at a repeat performance, even if he had misgivings. That was what the whole plan was built on.

She closed her laptop and went to watch daytime television, just like the Captain told her to. See, Erin thought to herself. I can do as I'm told. Besides, it might be hours before she got an answer from the guy, and it was a long shot in either case. She sat down on the couch, fished for the remote between her knees, and clicked the T.V. on. Some news story, but it wasn't about her sister. They probably weren't going to run anything about her on the T.V. at all.

Erin wasn't sure how she felt about it. If they let out all the details—that the FBI were involved, that they suspected the work of a serial killer, then there would be way too many unanswered questions and way too much trouble. They'd never be able to live it down. But if they left out details, then what was the point of doing any story at all?

So they didn't run one. That was typical. Exactly the reason that she couldn't stand letting someone else do the work to track down her sister's killer. One thing gets a little hard, and suddenly they're not so committed to the truth any more. If she wanted someone willing to do something hard, then she had to rely on herself. Nobody was going to do it for her.

She flipped the channel until she found a bunch of women talking amongst themselves. They had another woman at the table and proceeded to make ground beef out of her. It was like watching someone caught in a pack of hyenas. Everything she said was a chance to pick and criticize and fight.

Oh, it was all very friendly on the surface, but Erin knew all about how the game was played, and it was about as friendly as a gunfight.

She flipped the channel again. A T.V. judge was shouting at the defendant in a case. From what Erin could see, the girl deserved it, sort of. These shows held no real appeal for her, either. Everyone on them was scum. It wasn't a case of one person being injured and the other being a bastard. Everyone should have been put in the corner until they learned to get the hell along with other people.

Then again, that wasn't so different from real life. The judges were all a bit too keen to throw temper tantrums. Usually sitting judges manage not to do that, but it might have something to do with being able to threaten people with jail time if they don't shut the hell up. That probably made a pretty big difference in terms of frustration levels, Erin figured.

Her phone buzzed. An email had arrived. It was from the dating service. She'd gotten a message!, it read. Exclamation mark and all. Her face twisted into a taut smile. Already, the seed she had planted was starting to grow.

She opened the laptop again, refreshed her messages, clicked it open. Instead of Craig Hutchinson, she was treated to the profile picture of the man who had written her a very… excited message. A very explicit message, and attached was a very explicit photograph of a cock as thick as her wrist.

She closed it as fast as her fingers could click the buttons and she blinked. God damn it. That's exactly what she had hoped wasn't going to happen. Maybe this was a mistake. Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

She took in a deep breath and prepared to be disturbed. Then she clicked it open. A biker-looking type, built like he was still in the Army, smiled out at her. He still had all his teeth, which meant he was either just putting on airs with the motorcycle club vibe, or he was better in a fight than most.

That, or he had a very good dentist, but that was unusual by itself for that sort of guy in her experience.

He would love to meet. In public, of course. He suggested a coffee house on the south side of town. Too isolated for her, and it wouldn't play into her hand the way she'd hoped. What about the beach? She was right out by the boardwalk. It was crowded, so no danger for either of them. That would work better for her.

A message came back a minute later, asking how he'd know her. She took a deep breath. She had to play this to the hilt, that was the only way to do it. She'd be wearing a light blue swimsuit with a large flower-print. She didn't know how to describe the flowers, except they were dark-colored. Then she went off to find the bikini she hadn't worn in years.

Now her skinny figure would come in handy. She hadn't gained a pound in almost ten years, so the swimsuit should still fit, she hoped. But the problem was where it would be.

Well, that and how to carry her backup gun when most of her body was on display.