Page 3

Chapter

Three

LOGAN

I was steadily ignoring the stack of folders on my desk as I read over the toxicology report on a case I’d picked up a few weeks ago. At first glance, the case was a typical accidental death.

Robert Gleason had picked up a one-night stand. While in the throes of passion, things had gotten out of hand. Instead of squeezing the side of his partner’s throat like any well-respecting dominant in bed would while fucking a partner who enjoyed choking, good old Rob had pressed down on her windpipe, cutting off all oxygen and ultimately crushing her windpipe.

I didn’t know if fear had made him do the right thing, or maybe his guilt, but he called the police to report what had happened. At the time, he’d been told to sit tight while an investigation had been conducted. But now, sitting with the folder in front of me, the tox screen revealed traces of Rohypnol in the victim’s blood, taking the seemingly innocent accident of a man who’d used poor judgment into a whole other type of crime. It seemed Rob was not just an idiot. He was also a rapist.

With disgust, I closed the file, making a note to hand it over to the Drug Enforcement Task Force. With any luck, Robert Gleason would spill his guts, revealing his dealer, and hopefully, it would help get one more drug pusher off the streets.

I blinked down at the new folder that just landed on top of the closed Gleason file before glancing up to see Mac standing next to my desk.

“Medical Examiner’s report,” he gestured at the file as I reached to open it. “Our victim died of a wound to her heart. Looks like a wickedly sharp, thin blade. Right between the ribs. I know there weren’t any weapons found at the scene, so it goes to say the murderer took it with them.”

There was a 5x7 color photo sitting on top of a typed report that hadn’t been there the last time I opened the file. I took a good look at the wound in the picture. It was small and narrow, with a hint of bruising around the edges, indicating that the victim was still alive when the weapon struck. “No signs of ligature marks around the wrists or ankles,” I murmured as I flipped to the next photo, which was of the full body of the victim. “She wasn’t restrained. How did the murderer manage to keep her perfectly still while they performed the ceremony?”

I flipped through the photographs until I found the one I was looking for. The pentacle she’d been found in the center of had been drawn with chalk, the outline crisply lined with no signs of smudging from a struggle. Even where the body had been laying over the lines barely disturbed the precise lines. Without a toxicology report, it would be difficult to say, but I was leaning more toward magic than drugs to incapacitate. Whoever had murdered the elderly woman was a powerful witch.

As Mac settled into his own desk, causing the chair that was probably older than I was to creak ominously, I reached for my phone. I needed to know which of the witches in town would have the ability to magically hold another. “Hey, Mac?” I asked as I reached for the buttons on the phone receiver. “You talked to the daughter. Did she happen to mention how powerful of a witch her mom was?”

Mac scratched at the bristles on his chin and squinted at me. “I can’t say that it was something that came up when I talked to her.” I nodded and punched in the phone number. It was a quick call, and I had to make sure to give my apologies for the hit and run phone call while promising to show up for dinner sometime soon.

“What’s up with the grim expression?” Mac asked, eyeing me as I set the phone back down. I shook my head as I looked at the short list of names. “It looks like there are maybe five witches in the immediate area that would be powerful enough magically to hold down our victim, Mrs. Brooks. One of those five is away on a cruise.”

“So we have four suspects? That certainly narrows it down. The case should be open and closed for us. However, I don’t know how we can get magical evidence. How is that supposed to be proven in a court of law?”

“Well, there’s that. But that’s the least of our worries. I was told that there is no way the witches in this town would do to Mrs. Brooks what was done.”

I picked the ballpoint pen up from my desktop and sat back in my chair. I spun the pen around in my fingers as I thought of my next move. Mac was right in that it would be hell trying to get any kind of proof when it came to magic ability. I would have to go with my gut and what I knew. I wasn’t the District Attorney. If they were smart, they’d pull in every aspect of the occult they could find to set some kind of validity to what we were going to be accusing the murderer of.

Though there were several kinds of paranormal entities that lived among normal humans, few were aware of that fact. The truth that most people were blissfully unaware of was that witches were one of the least shocking of the paranormals. Luckily for my case, it would also be the easiest to get someone to believe enough to convict. Regardless, I would need to provide proof that someone physically held a knife and stabbed it through the victim’s heart. It didn’t matter how he or she managed to get Mrs. Brooks to hold still.

I sat up and set the pen down before closing the file. “I’m going to go visit the people on this list and get a feel for them. I doubt they are involved, but it’s best to be sure. Maybe, if we’re lucky, one of them will have additional information they can share.” I shrugged on my leather jacket and then stuffed the sticky note with the names on it in the pocket. “By the way, the tox report came back for the Gleason case. Might want to take a look at it and pass it on to the drug guys. We need to get a warrant for Bobby Boy’s arrest.”

Mac’s bushy eyebrows shot up at my words, and he was already standing and reaching for the file as I strode away.

I pulled my motorcycle over to the curb outside the only occult shop in Gainsburg. From the outside, it looked charming and even quirky. It was the perfect tourist stop, and I was sure it had plenty of items inside that would keep the locals returning throughout the year when the tourists weren’t around.

I swung my leg over the seat and set my helmet down. As I stood on the curb, taking in the bright red door, I made sure my badge was clipped to my belt. My resource told me that the woman who owned Oohs, Ahhhs, and Orbs was young and had recently inherited the store. Her grandmother, the previous owner, retired to see the world with the young woman’s mother. I frowned at the thought of the two older women leaving her alone and wondered if she had anyone else to rely on. If she were ever in danger or even ill, would there be someone she could call? It didn’t sit right with me. Young women were often easy targets for criminals.

I waited on the curb as a woman passed by pushing a stroller on the sidewalk, then swiftly strode to the bright red door, turned the handle, and walked in to the sound of a bell jingling above the door. A soft, melodic voice called from the back of the store, letting me know she’d be right out and to have a look around. I took in the sound of the voice, assuming it was Bridgette Waters, the young owner. The same woman, I was told, was the most powerful witch in the city or any other nearby city.

A lot could be determined from the sound of one’s voice, whether they are old or young, a smoker of three packs a day, or even if they are stressed or happy. What you don’t consider is how such a simple thing like a voice could affect you. As a seasoned detective, not much was able to get to me, but something about the woman had electricity buzzing under my skin.

I stood there at the door, doing my best to ignore the sensation, and took in the store from where I was standing. There were the things I had expected from a witch’s shop. Crystals lined one wall in a colorful array with small placards describing each one and how a person could benefit from them. There were herbs on a round table in the middle, along with bundles of sage. Abalone shells were strategically placed with a short glass vase full of feathers to choose from.

What made the whole shop inviting, however, were the whimsical statues of fairies posing with wolves, dragons standing or lying on hordes of shining gems, mushrooms in brightly colorful patterns, and dragonfly windchimes hanging at the end of a display aisle. I noticed along the back wall an entire selection of tea cups with loose teas to choose from. As I inhaled deeply, I imagined it was those teas that gave the shop the inviting aroma.

Movement out of the corner of my eye had me looking back to the shelf in front of me, but there was nothing but a display of grinning skulls. Some were cream and covered in porcelain butterflies. Others were black with shining gems arranged around the grinning teeth and empty eye sockets. But I didn’t see anything that would have made any movement.

The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor turned my attention to the back corner, and I began to walk that way, pausing briefly to take one more look at the skulls before shaking my head at myself. For a moment there, I had the feeling I was being watched, but there was nothing but those empty eye sockets.

As soon as my gaze landed on the beautiful woman, the world stood still. While I froze in place and rocked to my core, I had to fight my body for control.

My instinctual reaction was to reach for her, to make her mine in every way a man could. Starting with those bright red lips. She was stunning. Her hair was a deep red, bright but not coppery the way red hair typically was. I knew nothing about hair dye other than my ex-wife used to visit the salon every few weeks to maintain her preferred color. I hadn’t cared what color she’d chosen to wear. If it made her happy, I would pay for her appointments. Where I drew the line at keeping her happy was allowing her to fuck around with other men.

But this woman, with her deep red hair, I never wanted to change. Perhaps it was due to her magic. Maybe it was just damn good genes. Whatever it was, I wanted to wrap my hands in the strands as I held her still for a deep kiss that would leave us both breathless.

I cleared my throat as I did my best to make my cock behave. I hadn’t lost control of my dick since eighth-grade gym class when I’d popped a boner in front of the whole fourth period. I couldn’t believe that I had to work so hard for that control with just one glimpse of the woman.

She was smiling, but as soon as she looked up at me, that changed in an instant. She was holding a steaming cup but quickly set it down on the glass counter. Her moss green eyes flared wide as she watched me stride forward. Then, she stumbled slightly to the side.

“Are you alright, miss?” I asked as I took in the rest of her. I couldn’t see much with the counter in the way, but from what was visible, she was short, the top of her head only coming to perhaps my shoulder, and was petite, with a narrow waist and breasts that were hidden behind a green blouse and a black apron emblazoned with the store’s name. The logo was a dragonfly that looked like it was chasing brightly glowing orbs. Those breasts looked as if they’d fill my hands quite nicely.

Get your fucking head back on track. I chastised myself harshly. I’d seen many beautiful women. In fact, I had been married to one for three years until she’d decided I wasn’t around enough and she had needs , leading her to fuck another guy. But never had I felt such a visceral reaction to a woman before.

“What? Um, yes. I’m fine. Sorry. I just got a little light-headed there for a moment.” She shook her hands in front of her and inhaled deeply before pasting that bright smile back on her cupid’s bow lips again. I had to hold back a grin. She was flustered, and it was adorable. “How can I help you, sir?”

I tapped a finger to my badge, drawing her eye to the gold emblem. Her eyes stayed glued to the gold shield for an extra long second, and I had to fight my body’s reaction while wondering if she was checking out my dick. “Bridgette Waters? I’m Detective Logan Storm. I am working on a case and wondered if I could have a word with you.”

She jerked her eyes back to mine with a slight jolt. “Oh, yes, I’m Bridgette. Of course!” she said as she reached down for her teacup and lifted it to her lips with both hands. It wasn’t obvious, but there was the slightest tremor in her fingers. She lightly blew on it before taking a delicate sip. I watched with fascination the way her bright red lipstick didn’t even leave a trace of pigment behind. “How can I help you, Detective Storm?”

“I hate to bring bad news to your place of business. There was an elderly woman who was murdered recently. Perhaps you knew her? Emily Brooks?”

Bridgette gasped, and her teacup met the glass counter with a sharp clink. “Oh my goddess! Poor Mrs. Brooks! What happened? How can I help?”

“Did you know her well?” I asked, eyeing her reactions carefully, taking in everything the way I had been trained to do. Bridgette looked concerned, but she didn’t look guilty. Though she could be an extraordinary actress, my gut told me this woman had absolutely nothing to do with the murder.

“No, I didn’t. But my grandmother knew her. Oh, poor Grandmother. She’s going to be devastated.”

The bell over the door rang cheerily, announcing a new customer had arrived. I glanced over my shoulder to see two young women entering, giggling and talking quietly to each other, pointing out different items on the shelves. Turning back to Bridgette, I made a spur of the moment decision. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and withdrew a business card. Setting it on the counter, I reached over toward the cash register and grabbed one of the pens sitting in a glass jar, choosing the least ornate one I saw.

“This is my personal cell number,” I said as I wrote on the back of the card. “There are some things I won’t be able to discuss about the case, but if you are willing, I could use some… expertise with some aspects. Things only a witch would have the answers to.”

I noticed her fingers were still a little shaky as she reached for the card I slid towards her. “You want my help.” She said it with a bit of confusion lacing her tone, with an undercurrent of something that sounded interestingly like disappointment. “Because I’m a witch.”

I inclined my head. “As I said, there are some things I won’t be able to share, but if you agree to help with some knowledge about things like ceremonies and rituals, it could help greatly.” I eyed her with a hint of challenge. “If you have that sort of knowledge. If not, perhaps you could point me in the direction of someone who does?”

I bit back my grin as her back straightened and her chin lifted. “Of course, I know about rituals and ceremonies. I’d be happy to answer your questions and help in any way that I can. When did you want to have this discussion?” I’d pegged her correctly; Bridgette had a competitive streak, it seemed.

“How about tonight? We can have a bite to eat, and you can tell me everything you know.”

I watched as she bit her lip and hesitated, seeming to be struggling internally. She looked up at me through her lashes as she pretended to study the card. “Tonight? I think I can do that,” she finally acquiesced.

I pushed away from the counter and tapped the glass once. “Great. Give me a call once you close up for the night. I’ll pick you up.”

Her head nodded, but she didn’t look back at my face, leaving me with a need to demand those gorgeous mossy green eyes to lock with mine again. “Okay, Detective. Take care.”

Before I turned to leave, I watched as she slipped my business card into her apron pocket, and then she turned toward the two young women who were perusing the collection of gemstones and rocks along the opposite wall. As I pulled open the door, I heard her greet them with the same bright, melodic tone she’d called out to me when I first arrived and felt the same punch to the gut I’d had then.

I didn’t know Bridgette Waters yet, but I would. Our entire interaction was brief, hardly more than an introduction, but I’d felt the pull to her before I’d even seen her beautiful face. As a cop and now a homicide detective, I had learned to rely on my gut instincts. They saved me from some incredibly dangerous situations, or guided me to find much needed evidence in order to close a case. I wasn’t about to ignore the insistent twisting now. Something was telling me that the witch would mean a whole fuck of a lot to me.

But more than that, I believe she felt the same exact thing I had.