Blood Moon's Servant: A Paranormal Thriller Page 9

  The knocking began again, a damage-inducing hammering of fists. “This is the police. Open this door immediately.”

  His heart froze in his chest. His stomach lurched in a freefall. He scrambled from the bathroom shirtless. “What’d you do?” He spoke in a taut whisper and darted a nervous glance at the window to the left of the door. The blinds were still drawn, thank God.

  Damien bolted upright, his face a mask of terror. “N-nothing!”

  “Okay. Get your butt in the bathroom and lock yourself in.”

  “What?”

  “I have to answer the door, or we won’t have one soon. It’s the bathroom or one of the closets.”

  Damien hightailed it into the bathroom. Peter gulped in a breath and answered the door. His mouth fell open at the sight of Kimmy Wolf, the cop who had arrested him two years ago, standing on his doorstep.

  Kimmy was tiny, barely five feet tall. Her thick curtain of midnight hair flowed freely over her shoulders and was pinned up at the front away from her perfect face. Her skin was as flawless as Peter remembered, her deep blue eyes like pools of starlight. She was dressed in full police uniform, a pale gray button-down shirt with several badges on its sleeves, loose-fitting dark blue trousers, and black ankle boots. A thick, leather belt complete with pistol, Taser, handcuffs, and wallet topped off her ensemble. She was a drop-dead gorgeous force of nature.

  “Peter Jenkins, I need to ask you a few questions.”

  His pounding heart dropped into his gut and bounced about on a roiling sea of dread. Had her tone been colder than an icy winter storm? Was he imagining her frosty scowl?

  His throat was dry. His mouth refused to work. He struggled to think of something, anything to say. How had she found him so fast? He had cleared his move to Vancouver with his parole officer. Had he accidentally violated the terms of his probation? Did she know about Damien? Did she know he was there right now, hiding in the apartment?

  “I thought you lived in Toronto.” Words popped from his mouth before his brain gave them permission to be spoken out loud.

  “I’m based out of Vancouver. I was only in Toronto as a favor to Justin Evans. May I come in?”

  “No!” His cheeks heated. He pictured the scene from her point of view and prayed for the ground to swallow him whole. He was the picture of shady paranoia.

  “Excuse me?” She fixed him with a penetrating scowl. “Do you have something to hide, Mr. Jenkins?”

  He stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. That was better. He relaxed a fraction. A closed door might give Damien enough time to disappear if he had to. He forced a sickly grin. “Normally it would be fine, but my roommate is feeling a little ill this morning. You don’t want to go in there. It’s not pretty.”

  She huffed out a sigh. “Fine. Meet me at Tim Hortons in ten. We’ll talk there.”

  His skin prickled. If she hadn’t come to comb his apartment for escaped criminals, what did she want? “Okay. May I ask what it is we need to discuss?”

  “No, you may not.” She marched away down the covered outside corridor. Her boots stomped against the concrete as if her tiny figure alone was a thundering force of might. She paused at the top of the stairs and leveled him with a look. “And put on a shirt!”

  Peter stepped into the apartment and leaned against the door. Kimmy couldn’t arrest him again, could she? He had done nothing wrong…except for harboringa fugitive. His gut clenched. This had the potential to ruin his parole. Had helping Damien been a colossal mistake? Their plan had gotten him halfway across the country, but as everyone he knew seemed to have followed him, the move hadn’t done much good.

  “What’s going on?” Damien exited the bathroom and tossed Peter his shirt. “Did you talk to the cops like that?”

  “She sounded like she meant business, and I got distracted hiding you. I don’t know what she wants yet. I have to meet her at Tim’s in ten.” Peter stifled a crazy urge to laugh. Tim Hortons was the Canadian version of American coffee shops, like Dunkin’ Donuts. Kimmy had proudly embraced the donut-loving cop stereotype.

  “Oh, great.” Damien flopped face-first into bed. “Now you’re going on dates with cops.”

  Peter pulled on his shirt and grabbed the iPhone Damien had bought him yesterday. “This is so not a date. More like an interrogation. If you don’t hear from me within the hour, I’ve probably been arrested.”

  “Try to tone down that cheerful outlook.” Damien burrowed beneath his blanket and put a pillow over his face to hide from the sun.

  “I don’t think Kimmy knows you’re here, but you might want to think up an escape route in case more of her cop friends come knocking.”

  “Don’t even worry.” He heard the smirk in Damien’s voice, even from under the pillow. “Escape plans are my specialty.”

  Peter sprinted to Tim’s and arrived seconds inside Kimmy’s ten-minute window. She was sitting at a table in the corner of the café, munching a box of Timbits and sipping from a smoothie. He dropped into the seat across from her. “Hey.”

  “What were you doing Monday morning at one a.m.?” She fixed him with that soul-searching stare of hers and launched her interrogation without politeness or preamble.

  “I was on a red-eye flight from Toronto to Vancouver.” Relief dulled the turmoil churning in his gut. He had several alibis for this mysterious crime Kimmy thought he had committed. It was his bad luck that they consisted of an escaped criminal and three people his former gangmates had done their best to murder.

  Kimmy wound a lock of midnight hair around one slender finger. “You left Toronto awfully fast after your release.” As she hadn’t phrased her remark as a question, Peter chose not to comment. “Why was that?”

  “Everyone I know in Toronto is involved with gang stuff. I want no part in that life.”

  “What about your family?”

  He regarded her box of donuts with a thoughtful frown. Her questions were borderline illegal. He lifted one shoulder in a resigned half-shrug. Kimmy had helped him once. The least he could do was continue his tradition of cooperating with her. “No family to leave behind. My mom and sister died a few years back, and I don’t get on well with my dad.” Sympathy flickered in her pretty blue eyes. He met her gaze. She looked back to her clipboard.

  “Following your arrest, did you have any contact with Alexander Cardelle?”

  “Alex? No! He’s a psychopath if you ask me.” Peter longed to launch his own interrogation. His skin itched with the desire to find out what she was writing, and his mouth watered at the fragrance of her donuts. Would she mind if he sampled one? “Johnson, uh, Nathan Johnson and I were housed at the same facility for a while, but we never hung out.”

  “I see.” She gazed thoughtfully into her smoothie. “Are you aware that Cardelle escaped the prison system late last night?”

  Peter cursed under his breath.

  “Yes or no will suffice, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Sorry. No, I had no idea. How the hell did he manage that?”

  “He allegedly seduced a guard.” Her beautiful face was set in a grim frown.

  “Bastard. You have any leads yet? Where⸻” He stopped short and met her level gaze. “You were hoping I’d give you a lead. That’s why you’re here.”

  “I came looking for information. It’s nothing personal.” Why did she always have to sound so defensive?

  “Alex has a little sister.”

  “We are aware.” She gave him a quizzical look from beneath her long, dark lashes.

  He struggled to keep from being distracted by her beauty. Had it been this way the last time he had seen her? Everything, from her musical voice to her petite little hands, was addictive perfection. “Their parents died when Alex was sixteen. He got legally emancipated and adopted her. She ended up in foster care when he went to prison. He might try to contact her now he’s out.”

  “That’s an interesting idea.” Kimmy gave him an approving nod. “How well do you know Alex’s sister?”

&
nbsp; “Pretty well.” He smiled affectionately as he recalled her childish crush on him.

  “All right, you’re coming with me.” Kimmy stood, brushed crumbs from her hands, and made for the door. “I need to know everything you know about them.”

  “Hold on one second.” Peter followed her from the coffee shop but stopped at the curb. The blue sky had turned overcast with a towering mass of storm clouds looming in the distance. “You’ve cleared me, right? I’m not in trouble?”

  “Relax.” Kimmy smiled, dazzling him with her unearthly beauty. “I did my best to lighten your sentence. I’m not about to send you back to jail.”

  “Good.” He settled himself in the front seat of her squad car with an enormous exhalation of relief. He and Damien were safe. “Why is your car so tiny? I hate these lowered models. I have to scrunch my legs the entire time I’m in them.” He winced internally. Relief made him babble.

  “My roommate says the same thing.” Kimmy laughed and tossed her mane of midnight hair. She peeled down the street with hard rock blasting from her speakers.

  “You have a roommate?” Peter had to shout over her deafeningly loud music.

  “Why do you look so surprised?” She bobbed her head to the beat. He turned down the music. She shot him a filthy look. “Hey! I like that song!”

  He kept his hand on the volume control so she couldn’t crank the tunes. “You’re not exactly the roommate stereotype. Too successful.”

  “Everyone has roommates in Vancouver. Welcome to the land of exorbitant housing.” She cocked her head. “What do you think my type is?”

  He gave her a contemplative look. “Buff husband in the military, two little kids, maybe an old family dog?”

  “That’s a picture.” She laughed musically. “But you’re dead wrong on all of it, except for the dog. One of my roommates has a sweet, little golden-lab cross.”

  “How old are you?” When she wasn’t busy interrogating him or arresting him, she acted like someone in her early twenties. How had she gotten so good at her job?

  “Twenty-three. Why all the questions about my personal life?”

  “You started it.”

  She giggled. “We’re almost at the station. Anything else you’d like to ask?”

  “Yeah, about Alex’s sister. Nova’s a good kid. Even if Alex does contact her, she won’t get into any trouble, right?” He fixed her with a firm stare and failed miserably at intimidation.

  “How old is she?”

  “Eleven, I think.”

  “Then I highly doubt she’d get up to anything remotely bad enough to land her in trouble with the law.”

  Twelve

  ALEX CLIMBED THE hill to the cemetery with a lump in his throat and a dull ache in his heart. He was feet from her final resting place and long overdue in paying his respects. He stumbled forward like a soldier coming home from war, his soul calling out to hers and receiving no reply.

  The road was bordered with beeches and willows, the grass in between dotted with yellow and white wildflowers. Late morning sunshine dappled the thick carpet of lush green grass, and a gentle summer breeze rustled through the branches. It was a beautiful September day, yet Alex felt no joy.

  He pushed open the cemetery’s iron gate and slipped through it in a haze of sorrow. Standing here was surreal, like walking through an old, familiar nightmare from which he would never be able to wake. He took in the neat rows of headstones, each one telling a story that had come to an end. Some graves were laden with fresh bouquets, others only sported one or two wilted clusters. His gaze fell upon a simple stone with no flowers at all. Her name was etched across it above the days she had been alive. Grief swelled within Alex like a hot Floridian storm. Her life had been too brief, her days too few. Pain curled around his anger like weeds smothering a thorn. It constricted his throat and made it hard to breathe.

  Alex fell to his knees in the dirt beside her grave and buried his face in his arms. If only he had arrived sooner, gotten help quicker. He ran through the memories of that day, searching for the flaw, begging for the answer. But no matter how many times he relived that terrible, mid-summer’s nightmare, she always died at the end. The one thing that mattered never changed. He always lost her.

  He rested his hand on her headstone. Three bouquets of long-stemmed roses appeared in his arms. He laid them on her grave with tender care. “Sorry I missed your birthday,” he whispered. The breeze carried his words away. His heart struggled to beat through the tightness in his chest.

  “Oh, Alex.” The female voice was laden with gentle sympathy.

  “No!” His voice cracked with grief. “You can’t come here. Let me have one moment, one final moment with her!” He spun on his heel, expecting to see an apparition fading flawlessly into the trees. Instead, his only friend in the world stood a few feet behind him.

  Felicia Pacherri was like no other girl. She could have been a model with her tall, slim figure and those mischievous sky blue eyes. She was dressed for any occasion in a flowing, floral print sundress with black flats and silver earrings. Her golden-lab, Bacardi, sat obediently at Felicia’s left side, looking dignified in her guide dog harness and martingale collar. The tip of her fluffy tail twitched as she gazed lovingly up at Alex.

  “Ah, it’s you.” He sighed heavily. He had worried something like this might happen.

  Felicia was a phoenix, a species rare even in the supernatural world. Their magical power was ten times that of a mage. News of his escape must have reached her back in Vancouver, and all because of her blabbermouth roommate. Alex cursed Kimmy for the millionth time since she had arrested him. Felicia had to have tracked him with magic and teleported to his location. He scrunched up his face. Felicia could have found him, even without magic. She had known him since he was eleven, had been like a big sister to him for years. The cemetery would have been the first place she thought to look.

  She sat in the grass beside him. “I’m so sorry.” The overused phrase sounded different on her lips. Each word was laced with empathetic pain.

  He struggled to speak around the tightness in his throat. A tear splashed onto her hand.

  “Come here.” She held out her arms to him. Alex buried his face in her shoulder. She smelled of Chanel No. 5 and strawberry shampoo, a warm, soothing combination. His own mother had never held him this way. She hadn’t had a nurturing bone in her body. Felicia’s hugs, all those years ago, had been the first glimpse of kindness he had ever experienced.

  Silent sobs wracked his body. He clung to her and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain away with stiff lips and a clenched jaw. He couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. He was stronger than this. But the sight of her grave, the thought of her lying beneath the ground, cold and alone.

  “She’s in a better place.” Felicia stroked his hair.

  “I know that!” He wrenched himself free of her embrace. Being angry at her was way easier than feeling his feelings. Bacardi licked his face. “I’m not crying,” he told them both.

  Felicia slipped Bacardi’s harness over her head, sending a silent message that it was okay for him to pet her. Alex stroked her fluffy fur. He normally hated dogs with their shedding and their drool. Bacardi was the one exception. Impeccably trained with a huge heart of gold, she was impossible not to love. The same was true of most guide dogs. Their devoted natures, sweet dispositions, and brilliant minds were admirable to even the most damned of human souls.

  “Why did you come?” he said. “I was fine before you showed up.”

  “You acted fine because your parents taught you to bottle your emotions. It’s why you always have so much rage. And I came because I wanted to see you.”

  Alex smiled despite himself. One of the many things he loved about Felicia was the natural way she acknowledged her blindness. She never avoided using words like ‘see’ or ‘look’ and put disability newbies at ease with blindy jokes and straightforward answers to their inevitable barrage of questions.

  He scratched behind Bac
ardi’s floppy ears. “Why did you want to see me?”

  “It’s been a while.” Her tone was light. “I did miss you, you know.”

  “You could have visited.” His words had a bitter edge to them. An occasional friendly face on the inside would have been a welcome relief from his torture.

  “Kimmy would have killed me. Imagine her face if she found out I was chilling with inmates she put away.”

  Alex scowled at the mention of Kimmy. Felicia’s angel friend was near the top of his hit list. He had promised to find her one day and reap his revenge. He tucked the thought away before Felicia picked up on his intentions.

  Felicia plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. “You’ve had a hard two years. Why don’t we get coffee and talk?”

  “You asking me out?”

  She grimaced. “You wish, child.”

  Felicia got to her feet and smoothed her wavy red hair. Alex gave Bacardi one last snuggle before Felicia put her harness back on and petting her was no longer allowed. They set off in companionable silence, which he occasionally broke to give Felicia the odd verbal direction. She and Bacardi were an excellent team. All Felicia needed in an unfamiliar place was for someone to give her quiet verbal directions a few steps before they reached a turn. Felicia relayed them to her dog, and she and Bacardi did the rest. Bacardi weaved around pedestrians and obstacles. Felicia read traffic and managed Bacardi’s dog distraction, her one minor weakness.

  They chose an out-of-the-way coffee shop and tucked into cappuccinos and ham and cheese croissants. Felicia kept gazing across the table with an anxious, concerned look in her eyes.

  Irritation, always so close to the surface these days, spiked within Alex like an out-of-control fever. “What is it? Why are you actually here?”

  She took a slow breath and brushed fiery hair off her shoulder. “I want to help you.” She leaned toward him, her sky blue eyes earnest and kind.