Chapter Nine

 

From the office, the drive to Orange only took fifteen minutes. Leroy lived in a historical neighborhood, where the Craftsmen homes built in 1905 were renovated to their natural radiance with their gentle sloping roofs and wide eaves draping over deep porches. Leroy’s house stood in walking distance to his coffee shop, too. Most likely this was why the Watcher chose the location.

Lucca parked his Rover in front of the house. The neighborhood was quiet with only a few humans out walking their dogs. A brisk wind hit his face as he opened the car door and stepped out. The sky looked clear, but the electrical current and the strong scent of ozone made him suspect rain would be in the forecast for tonight.

He made his way up the perfectly trimmed walk and took the porch steps two at a time. His finger pushed the ringer mounted on the side of the front door. He could hear the buzz warning Leroy he had a visitor. After a few seconds with no one answering the door, he pressed the ringer again. This time pushing it with annoying small jerks in hopes of irritating Leroy into opening the door. “Come on,” he shouted. His fist came down on the door with a quick rap. The sudden impact pushed the door open.

It hadn’t been locked?

Leroy lived in a nice area, but Californians, preternatural or human, didn’t leave their doors unlocked. His back tightened and his bound wings stirred, making his back burn with the warning of potential danger. His hand went for his Glock tucked into the back of his jeans.

He inched the door open wider. “Leroy?” he called to him, not really expecting an answer when the scent of blood hit his nostril. The tangy iron smell mixed with… “Brugmansia,” he murmured under his breath with a curse. His brows drew together. Brugmansia was a poisonous plant to humans, but ingested by an angel or a half angel, it would make them ill, but it also had another interesting purposes. It could be used as a truth serum. “What were you hiding, Leroy?” he murmured.

He kept the gun ready to use as he took careful steps not to be heard. If he came face to face with a preternatural being, the bullets wouldn’t kill the prick, but it would hurt like hell. His lips curved. A little pain went a long way in finding out the truth. He didn’t need a truth serum.

The living room sported a couch, recliner, and a big screen TV mounted on the wall. Nothing broken, nothing looked out of place. His gaze landed on the entryway to the right of him. He could see a tile counter and pine cabinets. The room was most likely the kitchen. As he neared, the rancid scent grew stronger.

He entered with his gun forward and ready to shoot. His eyes widened at the scene. Splattered blood decorated the counters, the tile floor and the table as if a Zen painter turned psycho went to work on the place.

The body or what was left of the poor bastard lay in lumps of flesh and crushed bone.

His nostrils flared. Not because the metallic scent of blood, but the scent of mint and rosemary—strong and potent. “It can’t be,” he murmured in disbelief.

“Drop the weapon and put your hands up, nice and slow,” the voice behind him demanded.

His eyes closed in a deliberate blink. His finger let go of the weapon where it fell to the side of him. Lifting his hands in the air, he turned to face her.

“You,” she accused, her eyes widening to large pools of green. Her hand wavered for a second before suspicion took over again and she jabbed the gun at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Maybe we should have car pooled.” The third meeting within twenty-four hours proved too much of a coincidence. Shakespeare, my friend, we are not in control of our destinies and Fate is being damn pushy here.

“Answer the question.” She waved the gun at him, her eyes narrowing. Good Lord, she looked pissed and beautiful all in one. His gaze swept over her attire: Worn blue jeans that looked comfortable but didn’t hide the fact she had a terrific figure. The yellow knit sweater complimented her sun-lit strands that were pulled back in a ponytail, making her look so young. Hell, she was young compared to him, but the determination glinting in her eyes proved she knew her way around a gun. One wrong move and she’d shoot off a round.

Hmm... No badge. No uniform. Not a cop. Could she be responsible for Leroy’s death? If so that would make her a preternatural being. No human could have ravished a Watcher’s body in this fashion. He couldn’t help but wonder if she were one of the Fae. Her scent worked like an aphrodisiac and they were known to use scents to manipulate. Even now with her determined stance to shoot him full of holes, his body hummed with an undercurrent to claim her, his wings fluttering against its binds, trying to rip free. His gaze lingered on her lips with the thought of how they would feel beneath his—soft, full and—

“If you’re done checking me out, I want an answer,” she snapped, her patience gone.

He forgot the question. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Stay focused. “Leroy Fennings hired me.” He didn’t have to tell her he wanted him to meet someone. For a flicker of a moment, he wondered if Leroy meant for him to meet her.

“Hired you for what?” Her gaze flickered to the gun at his feet. “Do you have a permit for your weapon?” Even earthbound with his wings suppressed, his natural instincts were faster than a human’s response. If he wanted to, he could retrieve the weapon in a flash and this conversation would be over. He found he didn’t want to risk hurting her just to show his superior moves. His gaze wavered over her and for a second he thought of other moves he’d like to show her. He cleared his thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on the gun she held. Looking at any part of her anatomy proved to be the more dangerous weapon.

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

She waved the gun at him. “Don’t play cute.”

“Of course not,” he bit out, tired of this game. “Leroy thought someone was following him,” he told her. It was the truth after all, or it had been a few weeks ago. By the look of the room, he’d say the person hadn’t been a figment of Leroy’s imagination. “And yes, I have a permit for the gun.” His gaze swept over the room, blood darkening as it dried. This wasn’t right. Angels as well as half angels turned to dust when killed. They didn’t become minced meat. “I have a card.” He pointed to his pants pocket. “I’m going to pull it out. I’d appreciate you not ruining my day by shooting me full of holes.”

She gave him a quick nod and he fished out his business card.

“Just toss it to me,” she demanded.

She wasn’t taking any chances here. His fingers flicked the card in her directions. Without taking her eyes off him, she crouched down to retrieve the card. She glanced at it then looked at him. “Lucca Marlowe, private detective. Why private? Why aren’t you working for a police department?”

“I didn’t realize working for myself was a crime.” She didn’t answer and he sighed. “I wanted something quieter with work hours I set.” He met her gaze head on. “Your turn. What’s your name? Why are you here? Do you have a permit for your weapon?” Sarcasm dripped from the last question like a tease.

The sheen of sweat beaded at her temple and she licked her lips as she debated if she should trust him. “Leroy… Leroy was an acquaintance.” She lowered the gun. “I’m Juliet Romeo.” Her gaze met his and narrowed. “And yes, I have a permit for my weapon. Leroy called me last night and asked me to come by. Said he wanted…” A flicker of emotions flitted across her delicate features before she leveled her gaze at him again. “He wanted to talk to me.”

Lucca had a hunch she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “So you’re Juliet Romeo.” Another time and place, he may have made a wisecrack about her name. Either it was an alias or her parents were Shakespeare fanatics. He chose his human last name of Marlowe to honor his good friend Kit or as the world knew him: Christopher Marlowe. Who would have believed a son of a shoemaker would become a famous playwright, but more importantly, a dear friend to one of the Nephilim.

Juliet may not be lying about being an acquaintance of Leroy’s, but she held something back. Her emotions were not of a detective looking for evidence of who-did-the-nasty-deed, but of a person who had an intimate relationship with the victim. She knew Leroy, knew him well. The thought of her possibly being his lover rankled him more than it should. “You’re not the police, but you come packing to an acquaintance’s house. Seems kind of odd.”

She tugged at the necklace she had secured around her neck. The end of it lay hidden beneath her sweater. Pulling the item out revealed a badge. “Detective. Off duty right now.”

So she was law enforcement. Feminine, but lethal—he found he liked the combination. His lips twitched, threatening to smile.

“Do you find something amusing here?” Her terse reprimand disguised as a question sobered him.

He lifted his hand and coughed behind his fist. “No, of course not.”

Her hand moved behind her. She shoved the gun back in its holster. “Leroy asked me to come by this morning.”

“He left a message for me about six or so, asking me come by, too.” Had Leroy wanted him to meet Juliet? If so, why?

“Hmm...” Her brows furrowed as if her thoughts had taken her somewhere else.

“When he called you, did he sound scared?”

She shook her head. “No, just the opposite. He would have said something to me if he was scared,” she said the last more to herself.

Acquaintance be damned. He was right. They did have an intimate relationship. “Maybe your boyfriend,” the word tasted like acid in his mouth, “didn’t want to worry you. And don’t bother with pretending he was only an acquaintance. The ruse is up.”

Her gaze met his. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Leroy was a friend, not my boyfriend.”

Good to know. He held back the smile that twitched his lips. What was with this woman that made him want to grin like a fool? “Do you have any ideas who might have wanted to harm Leroy?”

She walked past him, taking in the gruesome scene. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, glassy pools of green. When she caught sight of him staring at her, she turned away, pretending to be interested in the crime scene.

Oh yeah, Leroy had been a very good friend. Again anger swirled and twisted in his gut at the thought of Leroy touching her. He shook his head. Where were these thoughts coming from? They were really ticking him off.

“Did you touch anything?” she asked, her tone accusing him.

“We’ve resorted to being condescending now?”

Her gaze riveted to his and this time it was her lips that twitched though she did a better job than he did at not giving into the compulsion to grin. “Maybe you bring the best out in me, detective.”

“Hmm...” He would have much rather looked at the evidence without her being here, but he couldn’t very well ask her to leave. “Out of curiosity, how do you know about the theatre company, Shakespeare in the Park?”

Her eyes narrowed, darkening with suspicion. “How do you—”

“You wore a T-shirt last night with the logo.” He didn’t let her finish.

“So you noticed more than my scent.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement. The woman had a sense of humor. He liked that, too.

His lips curved into a grin as he shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, if I came on too strong.”

She waved his apology off. “Your friend explained.”

“Gideon?” For the first time he wondered what else Gideon told her when he stepped outside the Laundromat.

She nodded. “He explained you were mugged and the meds had made you loopy.”

Mugging? Then he remembered his cuts and bruises that were all but healed this morning. A human would take up to a week or more to heal from the injuries he sustained, but by tomorrow, the worst of it would be a distant memory. “Yeah, I tossed the meds this morning. I need a clear mind. So are you involved with the theatre?” he asked again, determined to know more about her.

“Yes, tryouts are tonight if you’re interested.” She said in an off-handed manner, obviously dismissing him in having an interest in the arts.

“I might show up.”

Her gaze wavered over him. “Do you know anything about Shakespeare?”

His lips curved. Will and he had shared a pint or two, but he knew she wasn’t asking if he knew the man personally. “I’ve even performed in a few of Shakespeare’s plays.”

Doubt still lingered in her eyes, but also admiration. “Maybe I’ll see you there tonight. I’m in charge of wardrobe. We’re looking for a male addition to the troupe.”

Perfect.

Juliet’s features sobered as her gaze landed on a bloody print on the black stovetop. Her steps took her for a closer look. Their pleasant banter was put on hold for now.

The splayed handprint was a bold statement of how Leroy fought for his life. Leroy died protecting what exactly? Whoever did this wanted information and they took extreme measures to pry it from him.

“Who could have done this?” Her voice lowered to a hoarse whisper.

He had his suspicions, all of which he couldn’t share with her. This was preternatural business. Leroy may have wanted to spend the morning with Juliet, but his untimely death dragged her into this mess. Half angels didn’t usually buddy up with humans, even if... His gaze slid down Juliet’s curvy body and back up again. Even if the human looked like Miss Romeo. She grieved for Leroy. No doubt about it. Her emotions were thick as the blood splattered on the walls.

“This was personal. No one kills with such rage without knowing the vic,” she voiced her opinion.

She obviously didn’t know many Hashasheen demons. They enjoyed the kill almost as much as they enjoyed the hunt and they didn’t have to even know the vic’s name. With a quick once over though, he dismissed the Hashasheen demons of the crime.

He crouched down to examine the bloody flesh at the foot of the table. Edges of the flesh were black as if fire had been part of the torture. His hand reached out to touch it, hoping to pick up a signature reading of the being responsible for the carnage. He wasn’t very good at it, but it was worth a shot.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

Juliet’s shrill warning brought him up short. For a brief moment, he didn’t understand the horrified expression marring her otherwise perfect features. Then he realized humans didn’t touch blood without protection. The Fallen had very few things to thank their fathers for, but a supreme immune system happened to be one of them. “I wasn’t going to touch.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed look, indicating she thought he was full of it. “I’m calling this in. We need a forensic team.” Her hand slipped into her pocket, pulling out her cell.

Great, call in the humans to muck up the job. If he still possessed his glamour, he’d make her forget this little scene and have her go home, but without his powers, he allowed her to make the call and hope for the best.

After a few brief words, she finished the call and placed the phone back in her pocket. “They’re on their way.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you.” He headed out of the kitchen and into the living room with Juliet close on his heals.

“Wait, where are you going. You need to make a statement.”

“You can handle that end.”

“You can’t leave. You’re a witness.”

He whirled to face her and she slammed into him. His hands whipped out to steady her, soft but firm arms met his grip. The woman was in shape. Of course just looking at her, he could have guessed she took care of herself. Her flawless peach skin, shiny hair, and curvy figure said it all. “You saw what I saw. You give the statement. I’m off this case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Leroy hired me to watch his coffee shop. Leroy is dead. No client. No job.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. He didn’t see the point in mentioning Leroy wanted him to meet someone. Maybe Leroy had meant Juliet. The Watcher had asked her over for a chat, too. Well, he made the introductions, and he’d go from there. Case closed.

Juliet’s face turned a nice crimson color of flushed pink. “You don’t want to know who did this to your…client?”

“Sure, but it doesn’t mean I want to waste my morning telling the police what you could easily tell them yourself.”

“You can’t go.”

His brows lifted. “Am I a suspect, detective?”

For half a second, she considered it. He could see it in the way her gaze slid over him as if looking for one tiny speck of blood. They both knew he’d be up to his eyeballs in gore if he butchered Leroy.

“Would it be easier if I handed you a magnifying glass?”

Her gaze riveted to his with a scowl. “Fine, go. But don’t—”

“Leave town.” A smile tilted his lips.

“No, I was going to say, don’t forget about the tryouts tonight.”

“Oh, I won’t forget.” He bowed like he would have in the old days, when Will Shakespeare, Kit Marlowe, and he would entertain the ladies. He wouldn’t miss practice. It was one of the bright spots of his day and with Juliet there, he’d also have the chance to spar with her again. “Until we meet again.”

She shook her head, but he didn’t miss her sweet smile before she turned away.