Earth Enchanted (2 page)

Cap had pried her out of his arms, cried with him. Jack wanted to go home. Yet he hadn’t wanted to face that huge house alone. In the end, he’d forced himself to turn the key in the lock.

He tossed the house keys into a bowl by the door, out of habit, but headed toward the bedroom. It wasn’t right. He should have been carrying her up the wide staircase to their room, not having to face it alone, covered in her blood. Pushing the door open, he let the quiet and the scents flow into him, along with the memories. They were all he could have now. Clothes were strewn about where they had rushed to change for dinner.

Had to rush, he remembered with a ghost of a smile, because they had taken advantage of the afternoon off by spending it in bed. He wished they had stayed there. She would still be with him.

Someone screamed in the night. Jack woke with a start and realized with more than a little embarrassment it was him. The nightmare he’d had since his wife had died. He was always on the outside watching, but able to do nothing to stop what he knew would happen. The worst form of torture he could imagine. Living through the anguish and horror of her death over and over again, and always, always waking up with the memory of her blood on his hands. Her death was on him. Why hadn’t he been able to see in time to stop it? He turned into the empty pillow next to his, and did something he’d never let another soul know. He squeezed the pillow tight to his chest much as a child does a beloved teddy bear, and cried.

This had to stop or he would go crazy. A part of him knew that, yet another wallowed in the pain. She was everywhere and nowhere at all. Her death haunted him.

Shaking the memories out of his head, he got out of bed and padded across the hardwood floor into the adjoining bath. Flipping the switch, he turned the faucet on full cold. Taking a deep breath, he dunked his head under the stream of water. He came up dripping, cursing, and wide awake, but the dream was still there. So was she, but it wasn’t a comfort. He studied his reflection in the mirror, and wondered how that stranger’s face could be his own. His wavy jet-black hair dripped and hung over eyes the color of melted chocolate. The face had thinned from his acquired habit of eating only if he felt like it or happened to remember. His dusky skin tone had paled as much as his genes would allow it. He felt hollow, and it showed. The strong chin and slashing cheekbones from some warrior ancestor long since dead didn’t lessen the effect.

It had been a year since she had died and taken half of him with her. Jack knew he was grieving himself to death, literally, but couldn’t find the want to care.

Most men would have turned to the drink, but he’d never had the stomach for it. He’d seen firsthand what it could and would do to a man, given time.

Jack thought back to when Cap had called him into his office. He hadn’t wanted to go to the station, but it had to be done.

Somebody had taken pity on him and packed all Serena’s office things for him. Probably Officer Bradstreet, a grandmotherly-looking woman who was known for her cookies and kind ear. Knowing him, she had packed his things as well. God bless her. He’d be eternally grateful to her. As he took a deep breath of relief thinking he had gotten out the door without tearful sympathies or pitying looks, Cap called him into his office.

“Spare a minute, Jack?” he said in an old gruff voice, commanding attention, and at the same time lending comforting strength.

Sam Berringer had been in law enforcement since his early twenties. Being well into his sixties now, he’d earned his title and his share of battle scars. Jack’s dad had been his partner until he retired, when Sam had decided to accept the post of Captain.

Jack huffed out a breath, but went with Cap into his office.

“Have a seat. This won’t take long.” Sam looked down at the box Jack had tucked under his arm, “I can see you’re anxious to be on your way.”

Taking a seat, Jack folded his tall frame into the wooden chair, one of two that graced the office.

“You have leave built up. No one is going to blame you for taking it, not after all that’s happened. It’s true your case load is twice as heavy, without your partner. I can shuffle your other cases to another detective, but the suspected diamond theft ring will be a bit harder to finesse.” Sam let the words hang, and folded up his hands as if in prayer. “But from the looks of that box, I’d say that you weren’t planning on coming back at all.”

“I’m turning in my resignation. I can’t do this anymore. I’m no good to you or anyone else. I can barely stand to be here now. Besides, as soon as someone connects the thefts, the feds will be crawling all over you.”

“Jack, I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been there before, and I don’t have to tell you it’s the worst damn place to be, but you can’t lay the guilt on yourself.”

Couldn’t he? Shouldn’t he? What good were feelings and premonitions if they didn’t come when you could use them? He pushed out of the chair. “Where else can it lay? She was my wife! Above and over all of it, I should have protected her. Nothing was more important than her life. I let the job get in the way, instead of going with my gut and getting us the hell out of there. She’d be here. It’s my fault.” Shouting, cursing, and pacing he dropped back into the chair. “I don’t want your sympathy. Not even yours, Cap.” He whispered it, afraid he would break into tears.

“You want to blame yourself? If it makes you feel better, then fine. You don’t want pity. Then I won’t offer it to you. Though I will give you some advice, wanted or not. Take some time to think about this, before you make up your mind.”

Jack stared solidly through the wall, trying to regain some of the composure and dignity he swore he must have somewhere. “No, I don’t want any part of it anymore.”

“If someone had killed my wife, I’d hunt them down like dogs and make them plead for every breath I allowed them to take. You still got a chance to catch him.”

“No, we never did. Trying to collar them is what got her killed.”

“So that’s how it ends, then. They win.” He spun his chair around and faced the wall that should have had a window in it, but budgets didn’t allow for niceties

Jack left his badge on the desk and walked out of the station. He hadn’t been back to that alley.

One year had passed and his world still spun out of control. This was normal? Would his life ever be normal again?

Chapter 2

Liv’s mission

The flight had been pure hell. The view of the Atlantic Ocean was a little piece of heaven. Liv Corrigan tried to tune out the other passengers, and the weather, a first for sure. Her nose was all but buried in the laptop on the pull-out tray. She was lost in a story, one of her own making. The heroine, kick-ass cop Macy Dean, had just walked into the old parish.

The storm was raging. Macy had to get in out of it, or be drowned like a rat. It was the very last place she would have sought sanctuary, if she’d had a choice. What with some psycho running loose murdering young women left and right and in the name of God no less, and he was coming for her.

The church was dark as pitch, and it smelled just as bad. Through the rank, she caught the faintly metallic scent as soon as she crossed the first row of pews. Blood. It was fresh and smelled heavy on the air. Great, she thought sarcastically, just her luck.

Curiosity and her job willed her to go forward, when her mind screamed to run. Macy wasn’t ready to face another dead girl killed in her stead. She walked cautiously and slowly toward the altar, knowing already what she would see there.

The body was laid out in front of the pulpit, the beautifully carved wood already staining. The girl, no more than eighteen if she was like the others, lay limp and lifeless in a pool of her own blood. Macy choked back the urge to vomit, and plucked up the note pinned to the girl’s shirtsleeve. She didn’t have to read the paper to know what it said, but she did so anyway.

“Only one left, Macy. How much longer will it be before I come for you? Her sins are forgiven. Yours never will be.” The killer had left notes on the other eleven bodies, and they all said the same thing. Was he still here, lying in wait for her? She took her little flip phone out of her pocket, dialed 911. “Lieutenant Macy Dean, I need to report a homicide at the old Saint Michael’s parish.”

“…Please fasten your safety belts,” the stewardess’ cheery voice announced over the intercom. It scared her right out of her skin, and for a moment, she thought her own creation had come off the page. Forgetting about everything except the story, Liv hadn’t worried about the plane crashing, which she did anytime she had to fly. Her newest novel was almost finished. It was bloody, terrifying, and confusing. No way would the reader know who the murderer was until he had killed his last victim. If time allowed, she’d be finished before she made the trip back across the foam. Most of her waking hours, and some of the dreaming ones, filled her mind with knife-wielding psychopaths, axe murderers, dispensable characters, and cold calculated plots. Who else could say that? Never would she dream of doing anything else for a living. Liv buckled her safety belt and waited with clenched fingers for the plane to land. With work set aside, panic grabbed hold, prompting fervent prayers that it wouldn’t crash, or blow up, or suddenly be under siege by a group of terrorists, or…

* * * *

Ryan Corrigan stalked back and forth in front of the courtesy desk. Liv’s flight was late, and now he would be too. He scowled at the board announcing arrivals and departures. The receptionist at desk was saying something about the weather being a factor in the delay, but he wasn’t paying attention. The plane taxied to a stop and began to unload passengers.

Liv dropped her carry-on and ran to meet him, her laptop banging against her hip with every stride. Lifting his sister off her feet, he twirled her round in a circle. “I missed you.” He set her on wobbly feet and picked up her bag. “Liv, you look great. I’m glad you’re finally here. It’s been too long. You couldn’t talk Skye into to coming with you? How’s Ma?” His grin split from ear to ear as he studied his little sister. She had grown into a pretty young woman since he’d last seen the girl she had been. Ten years had transformed her.

“One question at a time. No, he’s all broody about something dire happening to me. I left him to his doom and gloom. It will pass soon enough. He’s courting the Riley girl, if that’s what you’d be wanting to call it, and who knows else. Ma sends her love and biscuits.”

“Well, let’s get you home and settled in.” Ryan picked up on that survey of hers and hoped the worry didn’t show. Liv would nag him till his grave to get the heart of it, and he just couldn’t tell her.

“You’ve been in America too long, Ryan Michael, as you’re sounding like more and more like a yank.”

The house was a two story in an upscale neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. Living in the middle of all those people was more than he could have tolerated. Yellow roses twisted and turned up the side trellis. It boasted a garden in back. That had been his doing. His personal touch. Flowering fruit trees lent calm to the well-used small space. Their scents wafted heavily through the air. Petals from the cherry trees fell haphazardly on the ground in natural decoration. Two iron and wood benches stood facing each other, prompting an afternoon among the flowers or conversation. In the center of it all was a whimsical fountain featuring a young maiden and her frog prince. Water spouted from the golden ball where each of their hands rested.

He’d decorated the interior tastefully in dark wood tones, brilliant true colors, though it certainly wasn’t Spartan in nature. Clean lines and soft fabrics were the background for a treasure trove of figurines he’d collected for as long as he could remember.

Ryan ran a loving finger over a mermaid’s porcelain hair. She’d been a gift from his father. He had kept her, remembered his father’s words all of these years. He had found the woman, answered the questions. Then he’d lost her. Women were all manner of trouble, including the one in his living room. Liv might be pretending to take in the statues, but he knew she was really studying him.

“I see you brought out your collection, Ryan, and added ten times the like to it.” Wizards threw their arms high and cast spells. Fairies danced on grass and sand, or flitted through leafy ferns looking for trouble. Sirens called to their doomed sailors in the night. Dragons ran rampant, while knights fought against them valiantly. Some were cheap dime store trinkets while others were costly works of art. If it was mystical or a myth, he managed to find a place for it here.

“If you were in trouble, you’d tell me?”

Finally she had decided to get to the point. “Yes, I would, Liv.” He lied through his teeth. “I’m fine, just homesick. You being here will help that.” It was all he could say. Liv knew he was lying. So he wouldn’t talk about it yet. She glared at him. Good thing her telepathic link with Skye didn’t extend to him as well.