Page 9 of Unhallowed Murder (A Paranormal Halloween #2)

Chapter Eight

Ronnie had a small wardrobe unit in her office, where she kept shoes and clothing for nearly any occasion.

She changed out of her pantsuit and into low, tight jeans and a skimpy spaghetti-strap shirt, with her gun in a bellyband under the jeans.

It showed if you looked for it, but no one would stop her in that part of town.

She slid a second magazine and some zip-ties into the slots of her belly band, and refastened her jeans.

Her hair fell out of her bun and cascaded around her face, and she added a thick layer of eyeliner and red lipstick.

Finally, she sat and chose a temporary tattoo — she’d bought a variety of the heavy-duty realistic kind a while back, and should probably reorder, but the Cheshire cat would be perfect for the evening.

She put it on the front of her shoulder, so the tail wrapped down and around her arm.

She cut off part of a geometric design and put it on her inside right wrist.

No one ever scoped her and Jamison as cops when they went in undercover. Granted, they were usually only under a few hours, and never more than a few days, but still — they could pull it off.

She strapped her boots on and walked to the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe’s door. A few adjustments to her belly band, some bangles on her wrist, her badge in one pocket, phone in another, and she was good to go.

Jamison had gone home to get his motorcycle, but he was already back when she walked into her murder room.

He’d put on athletic shoes so white they hurt her eyes, jeans, and a snug t-shirt that showed every damned muscle.

It was really too bad she didn’t date humans. She also didn’t date anyone she worked with, so he had two strikes against him, but he was a good friend and a great partner.

Her men whistled and sent catcalls floating around the room, and she rolled her eyes at them and walked out. Carter would follow.

Agent Graham waited for them in the parking lot, and he handed them both an earpiece.

The FBI utilizes tiny little one-use dots you stick to the skin just inside your ear canal.

With her long hair, the county’s earpieces were fine for Ronnie, but Jamison’s hair wasn’t even a quarter of an inch long .

This wasn’t the first time Ronnie had ridden on Carter’s bike, so it didn’t seem odd to wrap her arms around his oh-so-muscular torso and lean into him. She wanted to enjoy the ride, but there was too much to think about and consider, and they were there before she knew it.

Ordering food and drinks in a bar was always tricky, because they couldn’t drink on duty — especially right before a situation where they might need to discharge a weapon — but you can’t go into a bar and order a Coke without arousing suspicion.

She could drink several beers and have zero percent blood alcohol thirty minutes later because of her shapeshifter metabolism, but she couldn’t explain that to Carter. Or to her bosses.

However, this bar served beer in the bottle, which meant they could pretend to drink and no one should notice.

Josef’s voice came into her head. I’ll make sure no one notices.

Thank you.

God, she was going to have the voice in her head, the voices in her ear, and people talking to her in real life. She was used to dealing with two conversations, but three was going to push it.

I’ll keep that in mind.

No — tell me what I need to know. I’ll sort through it all. Don’t hold back to try to make it easier on me.

Carter leaned in and put his mouth to her ear. “Waitress at three o’clock, that table is known CHM. Booth in the back corner is a bookie and his muscle.”

Ronnie wondered why the Master Vampire owned this not-so-fine establishment, but didn’t ask Josef.

“Two workin’ girls at the bar,” she told Carter, her mouth to his ear. “I want cheese fries and Buffalo wings. ”

The bar in the center is lined with bulletproof material so we can attempt to keep our employees safe. The Abbott owns establishments that cater to all walks of life.

He needs to put his hand in all the cookie jars?

Josef’s telepathic chuckle was as sexy as his real one. Not that this one wasn’t real, but… she shook her head and focused.

Carter ran a proprietary finger over her Cheshire cat. “I like this. Ready for a kiss?”

“Lay one on me.”

Whoever finally ends up with Jamison Carter is going to be a lucky, lucky girl.

His lips landed on Ronnie’s, his arms leaned her back and held her in place, and she melted in his arms. Mostly, it was for show, but this was an excuse to get into it, and she tried to ignore the vampire in her head so she could enjoy her few moments of stolen pleasure.

Kissing like this was safe because it wasn’t going to go any further.

The waitress had just brought their food when Sergeant Perry’s gruff voice vibrated through her earpiece. “Flores. Entering the parking lot in an older model red Toyota Supra. He has two men with him. Neither are Ramirez.”

Ronnie stole one of Carter’s fried mushrooms and then hand fed him a bite of her Buffalo wing. She made him pose for a couple of silly selfies, cajoling him like a girlfriend might, and the dude on the other side of the bar finally stopped watching them like a hawk.

Most people look at Detective Jamison Carter and a see large black man with a shaved head and enough muscles to have played college football, and they’re right, but they miss the part where he got a psychology degree with a minor in criminal justice while football paid for his college education.

Ronnie’s hackles went up when Flores walked by and she picked up his scent. He’d been in Wendy’s bedroom. She couldn’t tell her team, but she knew .

Flores stopped three tables away from them, across from a man who’d been sitting alone. Flores gave a brief nod of respect, said, “Tigre,” and waited for the older man to motion for him to sit before he made a move. A show of respect and deference.

Ronnie bumped Carter with her shoulder while they ate, a signal that she could hear Flores and Tigre’s conversation. The men knew she could hear things they couldn’t, though they didn’t know just how much she could hear.

“Fuckin’ smurfs are looking for Spyder,” Flores told Tigre. “He stayin’ with some cunt in the Knob. Gonna git himself dead.”

“We need him, Calacas. You can’t kill him.”

Flores looked across the room like a petulant toddler who’d just been told it was bedtime and was scheming his way out of it. Some of these men were nothing but overgrown babies, throwing tantrums with guns when they didn’t get their way.

“You sure he won’t turn on us? He brought family in who ratted — he got no call to threaten me for taking care of his fuckup! ”

“I’ll handle him, but you were supposed to take care of her. Raping her was uncalled for and you know it.”

“She had to be taught a lesson. You’d rather I killed the cunt?”

Tigre’s eyes flashed. “You didn’t?”

“No, esé! I fucked her to warn her she need to keep her cunt mouth shut!”

The older man shook his head, as if he didn’t understand the younger generation. “Then who the fuck killed her?”

“I bent her over her goddamned bed, fucked both her holes, and warned there’d be fuckloads of mothahfuckers workin’ them holes if she gabbed to the smurfs again.”

Ronnie’s blood pressure went through the roof, and she let the cat inside her calm her nerves. Most people had to contain their animals, while Ronnie’s tiger counselled her to be patient. Cats are predators, and they excel at waiting until just the right moment to make their move.

She put her mouth near Carter’s shoulder to be sure no one read her lips, and softly asked, “Do we know who he’s talking to? No one’s mentioned Tigre, but it sounds like he’s higher up than Flores. I thought Flores was in charge?”

Jamison kissed the top of her head and moved his lips closer to her ear. “I don’t remember Tigre’s legal name. He keeps a low profile, but it’s rumored he’s the leader behind the scenes. We haven’t been able to substantiate that, as far as I know, and Flores always seemed to be in charge. ”

Ronnie turned and inhaled, but she only picked up the scent of the wolves she’d smelled when she first walked in — the bartender and at least one bouncer.

He’s human, little Tigress. We employ wolves, but you’re the only supernatural customer at this time.

Ronnie cataloged the arrest warrants she’d need — Tigre had ordered her to be taken care of, and Flores had raped her. But who the fuck had killed her?

“Ramirez is pulling into the parking lot with a woman. Not his car, possibly hers, but he’s driving. Running the plates now.” Ronnie wasn’t surprised Sergeant Perry had commandeered the FBI’s headset. He didn’t trust them to keep her and Detective Carter safe.

Ramirez intends to kill Flores. Josef told her.

If not today, soon. He’s going to take El Tigre’s temperature — see how he feels about Wendy being raped — before he decides whether to take Flores out in the coming days, or whether to wait a few weeks.

Ramirez thinks Flores raped her and then killed her.

And he didn’t?

No.

Does anyone know who killed her?

No one here seems to know.

Thanks.

Ramirez walked in with his girl, helped her onto a barstool, and told the bartender whatever she wanted went on his tab. He finally made his way to the table in the back, but only after he’d done a thorough scope of the entire room. This man was much more dangerous than Flores .

He also had spider webs tattooed over much of the skin they could see, which explained the street name. The gang task force needed to update his picture in their database.

Ramirez walked to the table, turned to look the room over again, and a splintering bomb went off in Ronnie’s head.

She slapped her hand over her ear at the same time Carter did, as well as two guys on the other side of the room.

No wonder Graham hadn’t argued about the local PD being the ones inside — he’d placed his people, too.

But now they had four people who’d just announced they were LEO, because Ramirez was smart enough to check to see if any were in the room.

And they were all operating without comms, because they’d ripped them from their ears.

Carter and the two FBI agents had their weapons drawn, but Ronnie walked to the table with her hands out to the side and facing forward, so they could see she wasn’t going for hers.

“It’s my job to find out who killed Wendy, Spyder, but it’s also my job to keep you from killing whoever you suspect did it. Flores admitted to raping her and threatening her it’d be worse next time if she kept talking, but says she was alive when he left her. Who else might’ve wanted her dead?”

Flores drew his weapon and was in the process of directing it at Ronnie, and she took the final four steps fast, slammed his head on the table, disarmed him, rode him to the ground, and zip-tied his arms behind his back.

She couldn’t carry regular cuffs undercover in a skimpy outfit, and the rapid-fire clicks of the zip-tie sounded sweet going around his wrists.

Meanwhile, the other men moved in and secured everyone else at the table, while a dozen uniformed and plainclothes deputies streamed in to keep an eye on the rest of the room.

“Tigre,” Carter said as he marched the older man out of the room. “So many rumors about you. Which are true?”

Ronnie handed Flores off to a deputy and found Graham. “I don’t care if we take them to your place or mine, so long as I get first crack at Flores.”

“Pretty sure you broke his nose, so you’ve already…”

He must’ve seen she wasn’t in the mood for jokes, and he stopped talking and shrugged.

“My case is mostly made at this point — he raped her to silence her, and they needed to silence her because they tried to bribe her. I have Flores on both. An official confession would simplify things, and that seems to be one of your many specialties. Let’s step to the side and consider strategy. How can I help with your murder case?”

Ronnie looked at him, trying to figure him out, and Josef spoke in her head.

He’s an honest to goodness good guy. Doesn’t want anyone to get away with murder.

The offer doesn’t come with strings. Well, it may, but at this time, he isn’t planning for it to.

Shoot straight with him and he’ll repay the courtesy.

Thank you. Again.

“While everyone’s here,” Ronnie told Graham, “we’ll argue about who gets them. Loud enough they can hear, but not enough to be obvious. I’ll win. That way, while I’m interrogating them, I can pretend I’m saving them from federal charges, but they have to cooperate or that stops.”

He nodded. “Tricky, but I trust you know how to pull it off and stay legal?”

“I do.”

“Well then, let’s play ball.”

He raised his voice. “Absolutely not! Our case came first — you get them when we’re done with them!”

“Hate to break it to you, but my people cuffed them. They’re ours! Take a number and I’ll get back to you.”

She spun away from him and walked to her people. “Get them processed and ready for me. I put a uniform with Ramirez’ girlfriend at the bar. I’ll talk to her here, with the threat of taking her in if she doesn’t share whatever she knows.”

They aren’t that close. She let him stay with her and use her car because he’s keeping her supplied with crack.

He’ll show positive for a variety of drugs — he’s self-medicating to keep from dealing with his grief.

She only knows he has access to drugs, he shoots off way too fast in bed, and he can be scary when he doesn’t get his way.

Seems to be the extent of her knowledge.

Thanks. I have to go through the motions anyway, but it’s good to know.