Evan felt a vein would pop in his head. Nothing about this case was going well. As Chelsea had predicted, he’d been able to reach only one of the three men he had to question. Ronan McCarthy had been cooperative and had expressed deep sorrow when he’d heard about Shannon’s death, but the biggest surprise was that the man was married and claimed to be with his wife on the night of Shannon’s murder. Evan thought the guy was a sleazeball for frequenting a dating website while he was married, so he wasn’t sorry that he had to question both McCarthy and his wife. After confirming his alibi, he let McCarthy deal with his furious missus. Evan thought her eyes glowed a bit red—and for a good reason. He’d be surprised if she didn’t divorce the cheating sack of shit after this. But although he was a lying two-timer, he wasn’t a killer. At least not Shannon’s killer.
Malachi Doyle was out of town, but during their phone conversation, he expressed his sorrow for Shannon’s tragedy and claimed he would contact Evan at the beginning of next week—or as soon as he got back.
As for Jack Dunhill, his phone was off, and Evan couldn’t reach him at all, which was the main reason for his explosive state of mind. He didn’t know why, but suddenly this guy had become his number one suspect. He hated to think it was because Dunhill was Chelsea’s patient and had hit on her. Damn it, he had to be objective! All that was irrelevant. If Jack Dunhill were guilty, Evan would prove it and make sure he paid for his crime. But until Dunhill was back, he could only wait.
He’d made no progress with Black Dawn either. Chelsea didn’t answer her phone when he’d called her around lunchtime. He was still debating what to do next as he fell asleep face down on the desk.
It seemed only minutes later Kieran woke him by shoving his fat furry body against Evan’s head. For a moment, he couldn’t decide what hurt more, his stiff neck or his scarred shoulder. He straightened up inch by inch, gritting his teeth while his body protested the abuse. He really needed a day off just to sleep, eat, and sleep some more.
“Not gonna happen, so stop thinking about it.”
He lifted the cat, who was walking on the keyboard, typing unintelligible words over his report. Luckily, he’d learned to save his work every five minutes.
Yawning, he looked at his watch. It was ten to seven. Why hadn’t Chelsea called to make sure he would pick her up for the party?
Reaching for his phone, he dialed her number. It took several rings before she answered.
“Hey, are you okay? I tried to call you earlier,” he said.
“Yeah, I am. Sorry, I forgot to call you back, but I was doing my nails.”
Although her voice had a fake cheerfulness to it, underneath it, he could read something else. He just didn’t know what.
“Tell me you’re not dressing too fancy. Are we still on for the party?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll wait for you at eight. I know I said not to dress up, but maybe wear something other than jeans and a T-shirt?”
He rolled his eyes. “I knew I’d hear more about this. Okay, I won’t embarrass you, I promise. What are you wearing?”
“We don’t know each other well enough for you to ask me that,” she said in a low, throaty voice, then laughed. “You’ll find out. See you at eight.”
He stood with a heartfelt sigh and went to the bedroom. This wasn’t his idea of fun, but Chelsea was right. It was a distraction, a break from his mind. Who knew? Maybe he would be surprised and have a good time. Chelsea was fun, so this shouldn’t be too bad.
He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and splashed on some aftershave. He chose an outfit he thought worked for any occasion—a pair of black jeans and a black dress shirt. Not wanting to look too overdressed, he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and left the top button undone. There, he was ready, and it had taken him twenty minutes. Why Chelsea needed hours to get ready was beyond him. Unless she was going to wear some strange suit and paint all of her skin green, in which case he might pretend not to recognize her and walk away.
Grinning to himself, he filled Kieran’s bowls with food and water, polished his shoes, then took his coat and locked the door behind him.
It was 7:55 when he reached Chelsea’s house. He would have gotten there sooner, but he’d taken a couple of wrong turns on the way. He was still debating whether to go knock or simply honk when she opened the door and locked it behind her.
Evan climbed out of the car automatically, unable to suppress a wolf whistle. Chelsea laughed and did a pirouette.
“You like?”
“Mm-hm.”
Her tight black leather Catwoman costume covered her from neck to toe, yet little was left to the imagination. If he’d made educated guesses about the shape of her body before, now he could confirm each one. She didn’t wear a mask or any head attire, leaving her hair flow naturally down her back and shoulders. As she walked to him on high heels, her movements were those of a sleek, sexy feline. There was something predatory about her saunter.
Evan cleared his throat, trying not to stare at her luscious, cherry-red lips. If he focused on that sensual mouth, he might do something he would regret later.
“You look great,” he said, going around the car and opening the passenger door for her.
“Thanks. You, too.” She smiled, climbing gracefully into the car. “Ye clean up nicely, yank.”
Evan slid behind the wheel. “I’m no Batman, but I told you I wouldn’t embarrass you. Where are we going?”
She gave him the address, and he tapped it on the navigation screen. The estimated time of arrival was twenty-three minutes.
“Do you mind turning up the heat a little?” Chelsea asked. “My outfit is thinner than it looks.”
Her sheepish smile was sexy as hell. Evan wanted to lower the window and let the cold night air cool his head, but he did as she asked.
The streets were festively decorated, with myriad lights that highlighted spooky shapes and jack-o’-lanterns. Groups of trick-or-treaters walked the streets, wearing ghoulish outfits and vivid makeup. Doors opened without hesitation, and candy was handed out along with delighted smiles.
“Halloween really is a big deal around here, too,” Evan observed while driving.
“Sure it is. Don’t you celebrate it in the States?”
“We do, big time. Somehow, I’ve never gotten the spirit of it. Maybe it’s because, in modern times, it’s more of a commercial holiday than a true celebration of the spirit world—or whatever its meaning. To be shamefully honest, I never knew exactly what this holiday was about.”
Chelsea shifted her body to make herself more comfortable. “Halloween, or All Hallows’ Eve, is a Celtic holiday that marked Samhain, the end of harvest and the beginning of winter. The Celts thought this was the darkest time of the year—when the boundaries between this world and the otherworld thinned, and the spirits or fairies could come into this world more easily. The souls of the dead were also said to revisit their homes seeking hospitality. Places were set at the dinner table and by the fire to welcome them. The belief that the souls of the dead return home on one night of the year and must be appeased has ancient origins and is present in many cultures throughout the world. This is what Halloween is really about.”
As he listened to Chelsea’s quiet, modulated voice explaining the significance of the holiday, Evan had a strange feeling of déjà vu. His mother used to tell him bedtime stories in the same low, patient tone. Her voice alone could make him feel warm and cozy even on the coldest winter nights. He knew it must be the whole setting that gave birth to these unsettling feelings.
“Do you believe that?” he asked impulsively. “That there’s any way to return from… wherever it is we go after we die? Do you think the souls of our loved ones can come back, even one night a year?”
Chelsea was silent for long moments, pondering his question. Finally, she answered in a thoughtful manner. “As an educated person, I can’t say I believe that. I think humans are energy, and as soon as we cease to exist in one form, we are… recycled, so to speak.”
“Reincarnation?”
“Something like that. I don’t have a definite hypothesis on the subject.” Her brief smile faded slowly. “However, I can understand why people need to believe their loved ones are never truly gone. When you lose someone dear, it’s very difficult to accept they are lost forever. I understand why some people seek to create ways to communicate with the dead, everything from spiritualism to holidays like Halloween.”
Evan detected a trace of painful emotion in her voice. As he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her face bore a cloak of sadness. He wasn’t sure if he should pry, but if she needed to talk about something, he wanted her to know he was there to listen.
“Have you ever lost anyone dear, Chelsea?”
She moistened her lips before she spoke. “Aye, I did. My mother. She killed herself when I was twelve.”
“I’m so sorry.” Evan cursed himself for opening the subject in the first place. As he stopped for a red light, he gazed at her, wanting to apologize. But she didn’t seem to mind his being nosy.
In fact, she continued to speak, staring out through the windshield, her eyes illuminated by the streetlights.
“She had schizophrenia and was misdiagnosed at first. The doctors gave her some drugs that only altered her condition and pushed her into severe depression. When she didn’t get any better, my father urged her to go to another psychiatrist who changed her medication. After her death, we discovered she hadn’t taken it. She wrote in her diary that she was afraid to take any more pills in case they might damage her mind even more. She mentioned hearing voices, hallucinating, losing track of time, and forgetting things… Most of all, she was sad because my father neglected her and me. In the end, she couldn’t take it anymore. All she wanted was for the sadness to end. So she ended it.”
The silence in the car was heavy. Even the GPS—SatNav as Evan remembered they called it here—had fallen quiet because they had reached their destination. He parked in front of the club but didn’t interrupt Chelsea. Now that she had stopped speaking, he wasn’t sure what to say. In the end, he reached out a hand and placed it over hers. Her fingers were ice-cold, so he squeezed them harder.
“I’m so sorry, Chelsea.” He paused to choose his words and push aside his own grief. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent, but I imagine it’s worse when it’s their choice.”
Her attempt at a smile wasn’t quite successful. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time since it happened. I can’t say I’ve made peace with it, but I’ve learned to cope.” She squeezed his hand back, then released her seatbelt. “Tonight isn’t for bad memories, and I don’t plan to be lousy company. Come on, let’s have some fun.”
Evan watched as she climbed out of the car. He’d wanted to say something else to comfort her, but he sucked at these things. His relationships with women had always been simple, and this sort of sentimental depth was foreign to him. Maybe the only way to help Chelsea was to be a fun partner tonight and make her forget the bad things, even for one night. Sighing, he climbed out of the car and followed her to the entrance.
The club was a fancy one with private parking, right in the city center, on the shore of the River Liffey. It was an old, two-story brick house that looked majestic and spooky in its Halloween decorations. Lights flashed from the inside, revealing skeletons and ghosts at every window. As they entered, a whirl of smoke and lights enveloped them, along with the bass vibration of pumping music. The space was huge, crammed with people dressed in imaginative costumes, from aliens to vampires, to Catholic school girls and pirates. Some were dancing, some were drinking at the bar, which was decorated with spider webs and fake blood.
“Let’s get drinks,” Evan shouted in Chelsea’s ear.
She nodded, and he placed his hand firmly on the small of her back to guide her toward the bar. Even among all the attractive women—some of which were half-naked—he noticed several men’s gazes were drawn to Chelsea. She looked fantastic, her costume simple but incredibly effective. The tight leather reflected the flashing lights when she moved, outlining her body in a stunning way. As she slid onto a bar stool, the light toyed over her thighs, her hips, her shoulders. Evan realized he was licking his lips.
He blinked several times and focused on the bartender, noticing the young man’s zombie makeup was quite convincing. Chelsea ordered a scotch on the rocks, and Evan asked for non-alcoholic beer. He hated the taste, but since he was driving, it was the safe choice.
He turned to Chelsea, only to realize that conversation was impossible because of the music. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He was content just to sit there and observe. He loved the old architecture, which was so well maintained. It was one of the things he liked most about Europe. This building alone was probably older than the United States—their official history as a country anyway. Through the dim light, he saw iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and fake witches cleverly made to look as though they were flying around. There was a set of stairs at the other end of the room, and he wondered where they led.
A girl dressed as a belly dancer moved to the bar, and as she passed, she rubbed her body against him. He didn’t know if it had been deliberate, but he was embarrassed to see the corner of Chelsea’s mouth twitch in amusement. Maybe she felt he needed rescuing because she leaned over and asked, “Wanna dance?”
“Err… Sure.”
He put his beer on the cherry wood bar and followed her toward the thick cloud of smoke and into the sea of dancers. He wasn’t into dancing, had never been comfortable doing it, but the semi-darkness helped his confidence. Besides, it was surprisingly easy to match his movements to Chelsea’s. She seemed very at ease, even happy. He’d never guessed dance was one of her passions; as he watched her move and abandon herself to the music, he realized she loved it. That spurred him on, lifting his mood, boosting his spirits. There was something primitive about dancing, about the mass of bodies moving each in their own rhythm, creating a wave of almost palpable energy.
The music changed, and the DJ dedicated the slow version of Santana’s Black Magic Woman to all the ladies in the place. As the exotic guitar filled the air with magic, Chelsea smiled, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. Evan couldn’t resist. Unthinkingly, he drew her into his arms, moving his body in tune with hers. Their shoulders glided together, their hips undulating close together. The music was like a drug. His hands tightened on her hips, traveled up her back, enjoying the exquisite caress of her hair. Her fingers sunk in the muscles of his chest, clutching handfuls of his shirt. As the music grew more intense, so did their dance, the friction, the heat, the closeness. Evan buried his face in her hair, hoping for solace, finding none. The fresh, spicy scent of her was maddening, promising things beyond his imagination. He didn’t want to want her, but his body burned to touch her, to have her, to possess her. She had a magnetic quality he’d never encountered in any other woman. Maybe because she wasn’t just a babe with a stunning body. She also had a powerful and intriguing mind. She constantly challenged him, and he never backed down from a challenge.
It took several moments for both of them to realize the song had ended, and the DJ was taking a well-deserved break. People returned to their tables for drinks and rest. Evan sensed Chelsea was just as reluctant to let him go. As he stared down into her eyes, he thought they were burning as hot as his, and for the same reasons.
“Do you want to get some air?” he asked, regretfully sliding his hands off her hips.
“I’d love that.”
Once outside, Evan’s ears still rang. He told himself it was from the music, not because dancing with Chelsea had sent his blood pressure through the roof. The night air made their breaths look like steam, but he didn’t feel cold. By his side, Chelsea ran her fingers through her tangled hair.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No. I’m actually burning up.” She touched her flushed cheeks, laughing. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Do you want to go for a walk along the riverside?”
“Sure.”
They headed to the path that ran across the river. A full moon reflected its silvery light in the water, creating the illusion they were walking in a fantasy realm. A bridge crossed the river, its ornate lacy structure in perfect tone with the setting of the historical city center. It seemed everything in Ireland had a history of its own. Chelsea headed toward the bridge, and Evan followed, matching his steps with hers.
“I don’t know how you can walk in those,” he remarked, jutting his chin to point out her ultra-high heels.
She laughed. “Surprisingly easy. I don’t wear heels often now, but when I was in high school and college, I only wore high heels.”
“Why?” His tone echoed his genuine lack of understanding for the torture women called fashion.
Chelsea shrugged, amused. “They made me look taller. Besides, my mom loved to wear heels. I don’t think I’d ever seen her in anything else. She was an actress, so she had to look elegant. For her, that came naturally. Even in pajamas, she was a perfect lady.”
Evan stuck his hands into his pockets. As much as Chelsea wanted to sound casual, he could hear the pain in her voice when she talked about her mother.
“I’m sure she would be proud of the lady you’ve become,” he said finally, feeling just a bit foolish.
They were in the middle of the bridge now. Chelsea stopped, propping her hands on the balustrade. Then she turned to look at him.
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to say that. I always wanted to be like her, and then… I didn’t.” She shook her head, taking a deep breath as though to fortify herself for what she was going to say next. “I’ve always feared I would inherit her illness. Schizophrenia can be hereditary. I’ve watched my mental health obsessively. Over the years, I’ve let my guard down some since it’s an illness that usually debuts between sixteen and thirty years of age. But lately, I’m not sure… I do things I don’t remember doing, I forget things…”
Evan stepped toward her and took her face between his palms. Her cheeks had grown cold, her eyes were huge as she looked up at him. A trace of fear sparkled in them.
“You don’t have any mental illness,” Evan said, his thumbs moving soothingly over her cheekbones, his fingers buried in her hair. “Everyone forgets things. Hell, I don’t remember what I did this morning,” he added, happy to see she returned his faint smile. “It’s because we have so much on our minds; we have demanding jobs. We need to forget stuff so we can store new stuff. I don’t need to explain to you how this works.”
She smiled, and the color shimmered back in her cheeks. She covered her palms with his.
“Thanks for this, Evan. You really made me feel better.”
As he gazed down at her luscious red lips, his voice was deadly serious. “Don’t thank me, Chelsea. My intentions are… less than honorable.”
Her eyes drilled into his, and he saw she understood, even reciprocated his feelings. He didn’t move, waited for a sign. She moistened her lips and rested her hands on his shoulders. A heartbeat later, their lips met in a scorching kiss. Evan pulled her into his arms, thrilled to feel her body molding against him at last, her mouth just as hungry for his as his was for hers. Desire made him dizzy. No matter how deeply he kissed her, how hard he pressed her body against his, he couldn’t get enough of her. Feeling the way she responded to him was both agony and ecstasy. He couldn’t stop, but he sure as hell couldn’t do what he wanted to do right here and now.
Forcefully calming his breath, he ended the kiss and lowered his forehead against hers. He imagined the cloud of heat surrounding them was visible even from space. Chelsea’s breath was just as choppy. She was still gripping his shoulders. Slowly, she unclenched her fingers and placed them on his chest as though to capture each beat of his heart. The gesture touched him to the core.
He cupped her chin between his fingers and lifted her face to his. “Should I apologize?”
“Do you want to?”
“Hell no.”
“Then don’t. I loved it.”
Sighing, he drew her in his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. “So did I. I’ve wanted to do this from the moment I first saw you.”
“I’m glad you finally did it.”
He felt her smile against his collarbone. His head hadn’t completely cooled off, not by a long shot, but he started to feel the chill of the night. He stared at the water below them, gilded by shimmering moonlight.
Suddenly, his vision sharpened, and he let go of Chelsea to lean over the bridge railing. As he stared down, his blood chilled. A shape floated face down in the dark, cold waters. The moonlight reflected off a mop of wet, long, tangled hair.
Evan reacted instinctively. Within seconds he kicked off his shoes and discarded his jacket.
“What’s going on?” Chelsea asked, bending over the bridge so she could see what he saw.
“There’s a body in the water. Call for backup.”
With that, he climbed over the bridge’s railing and jumped. As he hit the water, he thought that hell wasn’t hot. In fact, it was freezing cold, liquid, and darker than the deepest nightmares.