Chapter 15

The man across from Catlyn peered at the cards laid out on the table. When he surreptitiously brushed at his eyes, she turned away. She hated when readings confirmed the client’s worst expectations. His marriage was in shambles from bad decisions and lies. A spicy-warm scent seeped into the room, and she lifted her head, gazing at the door. The scent was familiar. She sniffed deeply, recognizing it as Detective McLarkin’s.

Twice in one day! Is he off work? Does he want to see me? A thrill zinged through her. Then the sour scent of worry and unease burned her nose. Her excitement changed to dread.

It took all her professional skill to finish her reading for the gentleman, giving him what hope the cards offered. She accompanied him to the door, and as she stood on the threshold, she noticed Sean flipping through a book.

The bloody vision of Amelia washed over her.

The world tilted. Darkness pressed down on Catlyn.

Detective McLarkin rushed across the store and caught her before she fell. “Here, let’s get you sitting down.” He guided her back into the room, onto a chair, and eased the door closed. He grabbed a bottle of water from the side counter and handed it to her.

She took several long gulps and blinked away the image of Amelia sprawled in a pool of blood. “When?” She cleared her throat. “When did she die? How?”

“We found her body yesterday. It wasn’t good. But then, no death is good.” He sat in the other chair.

She dropped her head into her hands, covering her eyes. Hot tears pricked, threatening to overspill. She blinked them back. There would be time to mourn. Later.

Raising her head, she looked him in the eye. “I told her not to go out with him and that it would end badly. I couldn’t ethically tell her she’d die if she did. But, Detective McLarkin, I saw it. I saw her death in the cards. I tried as hard as I could to change her mind. But then, after she told me she wouldn’t continue dating him, they showed up together at the restaurant. The smug bastard.” She put a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say the last.

“You say she went out on a date?” He leaned forward. She found it ironic that he was sitting in the chair she sat in to do readings. “Do you know who her date was?” Excitement tinged his voice.

She shook her head, then stopped. Jade had told it to her when he’d shown up at the Mexican restaurant.

“Michael Drogger. She mentioned he was her boss’s son, and she works for Thomas Drogger, so I assume that’s his name.”

He dug into a pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped a few times, then held it out to her. “Is this him?”

A man dressed in a business suit, his blond hair slicked back, hard pale-blue eyes, peered at the camera. A smile, rather than his usual smirk, revealed a dimple in his left cheek. Amelia had been with him at the fancy restaurant in LA. He’d appeared again with her watcher at the Mexican restaurant with Jade. She’d been too scared at the time to notice, but Blond Guy had treated Michael as a superior. Michael was her true stalker!

She shakily nodded her head, fighting the queasiness in her stomach. She hadn’t truly believed Jade when she’d said he was bad news. However, having the detective—the homicide detective—asking about him made her reevaluate Jade’s warning.

Detective McLarkin’s eyes narrowed. “You know him, don’t you, Catlyn? Where have you seen him?”

“He’s had his men stalking me.” She told Sean about the first time she encountered Michael at the beach and the two men who’d become her constant tails afterward. She left out the fact no one else saw the black sedans. While she talked, the detective picked up her tarot cards and idly shuffled them.

“I’ve seen the car often enough over the past two weeks that I know the license plate number by heart. Do you want it?”

Sean set the tarot cards aside and withdrew a small notebook from a jacket packet. She smiled at his old-school habit. As she rattled it off to him, she wondered for the first time why an illusionary car would have a license plate.

“I called the police,” she added, “but they said they couldn’t do anything unless they harmed me. What good does that do, Detective? By then it’s too late for me.”

“We have to have proof they mean you ill. If they’ve stayed on public property and haven’t approached you, I’m afraid it’s just hearsay.” He sat back and ran a hand through his short, sandy-blond hair. “Believe me, I wish we could do more.”

“How helpful. Not.” She glared at him. Then relented. He was trying to find Amelia’s killer. “Sorry about that. I know you’re doing your best.”

“Well, if you think of anything else, call me.” He dug into his pocket again, pulled out a business card, and wrote down a number. He put it on the table next to the tarot cards. “That’s my personal cell.”

After he left, Catlyn cut the deck and turned over the stack in her right hand. The two of Cups—the card of lovers and relationships. Her forehead crinkled as she pondered it. Then she recalled her recurring dream about the man with blue eyes. The detective had blue eyes. He might be the one behind the kind, gentle ones. A flush of pleasure tightened her core. Erotic dreams, leaving her horny as hell, always followed those dreams.

She set the card to the side, then laid the rest of the cards down on the table, fanning them out. She pulled another one—the Tower. Chaos and change would soon come knocking—but for her or for him? Or for both of them? She decided this reading was for both her and Sean. Catlyn disliked seeing that card in a reading. Its change was never easy. The next card was the five of Wands, indicating a time of strife and conflict.

The Devil turned up next. Usually she read it as signifying lust or addiction, rarely as evil. Memory flashed of the reading she’d done the night she’d first seen Michael. She’d used the Lakota Sweat Lodge oracle cards. The image of the card, Mahpia, which meant addiction and compulsion, pushed its way forcefully to the forefront of her mind. A shiver of clear insight told her the two cards were linked.

She recalled the cold, pale-blue eyes of her dreams. They had to be Michael’s. The two cards indicated Michael Drogger was evil personified. Following after the other cards, this didn’t bode well for her and Sean.

Taking a deep breath, she drew another card—the nine of Swords. A struggle of mighty proportions was inevitable, but with strength of will and courage, they could get to the other side of it. The last card of the reading was the Star. Through it all, hope and light would guide them through their ordeals. It also gave the reading, as a whole, a sense of destiny.

Were the three of them—Sean, Michael, and herself—destined to dance this game together? What part did she have to play? And why her?

She considered the question and drew one more card.

Her hand trembled. Her heart stumbled.

The High Priestess.

Catlyn stared at the card for a long time. Even though she made a living as a healer and psychic, she knew she only played with her abilities. Something held her back from fully accessing them. Something more than the constraints and beliefs of society that what she did was strange and terrifying. But now she was being asked to step into her destiny.

A faint memory teased her. Terror blazed under her skin like flames licking at a burning log. Trembling, she lowered the card to the table.

It would take all her courage to draw back the veil to her unconsciousness to reveal her true nature. Was she ready to accept the responsibility of the position of high priestess? An image flowed to her, showing her holding a glowing sword guarding the passageways between the worlds against dark shapes straining to pass. A whimper escaped her lips. She wasn’t a fighter. How could she be that type of high priestess?

Sean leaned against his car, legs outstretched in front of him, arms crossed, as he studied the metaphysical shop. Something about Catlyn called to him, making him want to enfold her in his arms and keep her safe from the ugliness of life—among other things. He imagined how it would feel to run his hands over her soft curves. He liked curvy women. From there, it was easy to visualize how she’d look flushed with desire, moaning beneath him, as he tasted her lips and body.

He scowled at his wayward thoughts, subtly adjusting his now too tight trousers. He’d sworn off women after Ginny had worked him over. His heart still ached from her betrayal.

Since then, he’d thrown himself into his work, tracking down any leads on the Iron Maiden killings, and investigating his other cases. The large city of Anaheim had enough cases to keep the homicide detectives busy. Sean used his work to make sure he didn’t have time or energy for relationships. And now, here he was thinking erotic thoughts about a witness, his only eye witness so far. He rubbed his face to clear away the thoughts.

Out of habit, he scanned the Mystical Enchantments’ parking lot and noticed an odd empty parking space in the otherwise full lot. Sean squinted, and the air wavered in front of the spot, giving him a glimpse of a black sedan. It vanished when he blinked. Frowning, he walked toward the spot, but it remained empty. Brushing it aside as yet another strange thing in his life, he climbed into his car.

As he drove the few blocks to the Red Orchid, he called Brian to check the plate numbers of the black sedans following Catlyn. He flipped the top back on his Camaro, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. It was a long-shot he’d find Michael at the club this early.

He walked up to the manager’s office and knocked on the door. Joshua’s eyes clouded when Sean entered. “There’s been another killing, hasn’t there?”

Sean sighed heavily. He took his phone from his pocket and showed Joshua a picture of Amelia. “Have you seen her?”

“Yeah. She was Michael’s latest fling. Although she hasn’t been here for over a week.” Joshua paused, leaning his elbows on his desk and holding his head. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“She is. A victim of the Iron Maiden killer.”

Joshua groaned and lifted his head from his hands. “When will this stop, Sean? We both know Michael is the culprit.”

“He never leaves any forensic evidence. And as powerful as his father is, the District Attorney won’t file charges without ironclad proof. Circumstantial evidence won’t cut it in this case. When was the last time you saw him with Amelia?”

“That was her name?” Joshua leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling in thought, then rocked forward to face Sean. “A week ago, Thursday. How about the rape cases from the women Michael has attacked in the club? Have you heard anything from the special victims’ unit? Tell me they are at least pressing forward with those.”

Sean grimaced, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “They aren’t following up on your leads. They claim none of the women will testify against Michael. It’s likely Thomas Drogger’s money shushed them.”

Sean knew of at least ten women Michael had raped inside the club. Joshua probably knew about more. But unless one of the victims was brave enough to file charges and testify, his colleagues couldn’t do anything.

Joshua swore, slamming a fist into his desk.

“I know how you feel, Joshua. If Michael were behind bars for rape, then he couldn’t kill anyone. But I’d much rather convict him of murder. I just need to find the evidence.”

Joshua made a face at the big screens above his desk. “You’d think with as many security cameras as we have installed, we’d catch him in the act. But he knows where they all are and never catches a woman where it can be filmed. Speaking of the devil, he just arrived.”

Sean glanced at the screens, noting Michael settle into his favorite booth. He thanked Joshua and walked downstairs to the club’s main floor. It was early still, and the nightclub hadn’t filled with patrons yet. They wouldn’t have to shout over the music. Sean slid into the booth across from Michael and glared at him. “Do you know Amelia Caldwell?”

“No,” Michael said. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. But then, I fuck so many women, I rarely ask their names.”

“A regular Don Juan.” Sean squeezed his hands together hard, fighting the urge to knock the smugness off Michael’s face. “She’s one of your father’s employees.”

“Good hell! He has over a thousand employees. How am I supposed to know them all? I take it she’s missing, and you think I did something to her.”

“She worked in his office. And yes, she’s dead. We have an eye witness who saw you with her at La Bouchiere in LA. You were the last person to see Amelia alive. You remember, young, pretty, blond.” Sean showed Michael her picture and watched him closely.

Michael leaned in, licking his lips. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. A great fuck. I took her there, plying her with drinks and expensive food. Too bad you can’t take a date there, but then you’d have to have money and class, which you don’t.”

Sean let the jibe slide. “And after dinner?”

“We took the yacht on a jaunt.” Michael examined his fingernails. “She started whining and wanted a commitment, which I can’t tolerate. I sailed to shore, threw her off my boat, and the boys and I went down the coast to Mexico.”

“Where did you drop her off?”

Michael leaned back and crossed his arms. “Del Mar? Oceanside? I don’t remember. I haven’t seen her since and don’t plan on ever seeing her again.”

Sean stood, towering over Michael. “I’ll be watching you.”

“Good luck. You won’t see anything.”

The next day, Sean convinced his partner, Jerry, to take point on their other cases while Sean followed Michael. At first glance, Michael’s movements were innocent enough, but something niggled at the back of Sean’s mind.

That afternoon, Sean eased onto the freeway, letting a few vehicles slip between his car and Michael’s, while still keeping his quarry in sight. Michael sat behind the wheel of his black Ferrari, sliding in and out of the traffic. In conservative Orange County, the sports car stuck out like a sore thumb. It would have fit better in LA. Michael swerved across three lanes of traffic to take the interchange from the 55 north onto the 5 north.

“Where are you going, Michael? And where are your bodyguards?” Over the last two years, Sean had come to know his suspect well, and Michael rarely traveled alone. This was the first time in six months Michael didn’t have at least one of his big hired guns at his side.

Michael took the exit to Buena Park, and Sean stomped on the gas to reach the exit in time to note which direction Michael turned. A few minutes later, Michael pulled into the rutted parking lot of a large white building with Arabic writing on the filigreed signage. Sean waited out of sight on the street until Michael strode inside the building. He winced when the undercarriage of his Camaro hit a large pothole in the parking lot.

When he opened the building’s door, thick sweet smoke drifted out, making Sean grimace in distaste. Orange County only allowed smoking inside a few places. Hookahs sat on each table, most of which were filled with people lounging and smoking tobacco and herbal mixtures. Brightly colored pendant lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow on the red painted walls. The decor had a distinct Moroccan flair, and the spicy scents of Middle Eastern food and the various tobacco mixtures made his nose itch. He slipped into the hookah lounge unnoticed, hidden behind a party of young people jabbering excitedly about trying the new experience.

Sean glanced around the room and spotted Michael in the rear, sitting in a private booth with an older, well-dressed gentleman. The man’s thick black hair was smoothed back from his face and silver lined his temples and short beard. As Sean slipped into a nearby booth, the man turned his head. A ruby glinted from his earlobe. He locked eyes with Sean.

Warning bells clanged, and Sean’s heart pounded in his throat. On instinct, his hand floated to the gun at his side. Sweat beaded his upper lip as primal fear swamped him. He narrowed his eyes, and a black dragon superimposed over the old man. Sean blinked in surprise and shook his head.

“No. There’s no way I saw that!” Sean murmured, rubbing his eyes and face. “I’m just exhausted and seeing things. Dragons aren’t real.” Sean lowered his hands, took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to the man. He appeared normal again, but a smirk played over his lips as he winked at Sean.

Sean ordered a Moroccan mint tea, sipping it while he strained to catch snatches of Michael’s and the gentleman’s conversation. The laughter from the noisy party-goers made it difficult to hear. He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it, trying to dislodge the strange, low humming in his ears. The hookah smoke burned the back of his throat and made his eyes water. Finally, the two men shook hands, and Sean hurried from the lounge before Michael could spot him.

The sun had set while Sean had been in the hookah lounge. He wrinkled his nose at the dearth of lights in the parking lot. Although it made it easier for skulking.

Michael exited the lounge, but before he could open his car door, three thugs surrounded him. Michael threw his arms out wide, and with a laugh, greeted them. Sean gaped as the men bowed low to Michael and kissed the ring on his left hand. The group talked in earnest whispers for several minutes. The biggest thug nodded, then reached into his jacket and held out something to Michael. As he did, his hand shimmered into a black claw for a split-second. Red paper crisscrossed with gold braid covered the package. An avaricious gleam filled Michael’s eyes as he took it from the henchman.

Sean ducked behind a car as Michael whirled in his direction. A car’s headlights caught Michael’s eyes, causing them to glow red. Sean sucked in a panicked breath, hoping Michael hadn’t seen him.

As Sean trailed Michael back onto the freeway, he considered the frightening red glow in Michael’s eyes and the exchange with the thugs. Somehow, Michael was connected with the strange crimes that had been striking the county for the last month, and not only the Iron Maiden killings.