Carnal Sin (9 page)

"So what does that mean, Rafe? If someone doesn't fight the urge to act on envy or lust or pride, they kill someone and then die? If they do fight the urge, they still die? Where does that leave us? Tilting at windmills?"

Rafe didn't have the answers. "I don't know."

"Well, Don Quixote, that certainly makes me sleep better at night," Moira said as she walked out of the morgue.

"Moira--wait."

She stopped but didn't turn around. Rafe put his hands on her shoulders. "What had you so freaked when you saw me in there?"

"Freaked? Not me."

"You weren't yourself."

"Okay, fine. The corpses were creeping me out. Satisfied?"

"That just means you're human."

"Oh, joy."

Rafe turned her to face him. "Give yourself a break. You're not superhuman."

She mocked surprise. "What? You mean I have to give back the cape and golden lasso?"

He smiled and touched her chin. "I didn't say you weren't a superhero."

He'd said it to make her feel better, but she turned away. "I'm not."

"Moira--"

"Dammit, Rafe! Look what we're up against. I don't see this ever ending." She shook her head, then looked at the blue sky. "I hate this! If God wanted to help us in this battle, He'd leave clearer instructions."

"We just need to figure them out," Rafe said.

"I'd rather have a rule book, thank you very much." She glanced back at him. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Velocity. It's a club in West L.A., and so far, it's the only connection between all the victims. Maybe we'll get lucky and catch the demon before anyone else dies."

SEVEN

"There's nothing for you here," Detective Grant Nelson told Skye after the autopsy was complete. "If we learn anything more, we'll let you know."

Skye bit back her anger. Antagonizing this homicide cop wasn't going to win her friends. She needed him on her side. Or at a minimum, to not stand in her way. "I'd appreciate it," she said, keeping her voice calm.

"Where's your cult expert?" he asked, shooting his partner a sly grin.

"Getting air," Skye said. "She'll be back shortly."

"I have to get back to work," he said, glancing at his BlackBerry with a frown. "But I'll call."

I get your point
. He wanted Skye out of town. Cops didn't like others invading their territory, and as far as Grant Nelson was concerned, she was a small-town sheriff and he was a big-city detective. He showed her the common courtesy between colleagues, but nothing more.

Jeff Johnston, his rookie partner, gave her a warmer goodbye and said in a low voice out of Grant's earshot, "His bark is worse than his bite. I'll make sure he lets you know what's up with these deaths."

"Thanks."

When she was certain the detectives were gone, Skye went back to where the pathologist Fern Archer was sewing up the body of George Erickson, the swinger.

"Nelson made it clear I couldn't talk to you without him in the room," Fern grumbled.

"That's fine; I don't want to talk to you about his case."

Fern smiled widely. "What can I do for you, then?"

"A favor? If you get another body with a similar mark on it, would you call me?" Skye put her card down on the stainless-steel table behind Fern.

"Sure." Fern bit her lip. "You think this really is a cult?"

"Of a sort. These deaths are somehow connected to the bodies in Santa Louisa."

"My boss is signing the death certificate as a cardiac arrest."

"But you said there were no signs of heart failure."

"I said heart
disease
. But there's no other explanation. His heart just stopped."

"But you don't have the toxicology reports back."

"We have the prelims. We have a lab right here, can run standard screens 24/7. No drugs, low alcohol, no common poisons. And there're no signs of trauma, aneurysms, anything that could be a contributing cause. But then I heard that my boss is talking to your coroner about the dead guy's brain. Want to clue me in?"

Fern had been more than helpful, so Skye told her, "Dr. Fielding found something unusual about the brain stem, and wanted a second opinion. Dr. Takasugi was very kind to help."

"And?"

"And they're not done."

"Don can be tight-lipped sometimes," Fern grumbled.

"I'll let you know if anything interesting pops up."

She grinned. "Thanks."

Skye resisted the urge to smile. She liked the petite black girl--she was spunky and held her own against the arrogant Detective Grant Nelson. "If you ever want to move out of a big city into small-town America, let me know."

Fern beamed.

Skye added, "Seems that the victims have only one thing in common: they were horny men."

"Oh, maybe a scorned woman or stalker?" Fern grinned. "I like that. Female stalkers aren't that common."

Skye raised an eyebrow, and Fern said, "I read crime novels, what can I say?"

"Maybe you should have been a cop," Skye said.

The intercom system beeped. "Fern, you still back there?"

"Yes," she replied.

"You got to come to Receiving. You'll never believe this. Bring your camera."

Skye raised an eyebrow.

Fern said, "Let's see what's going on. Should be fun." For a young woman who worked in the morgue, Fern seemed almost happy-go-lucky.

Skye followed her to the receiving room. A City of Glendale crime-scene van had backed up to the main double-door entrance. One of the investigators was signing paperwork at the desk while five people stood around a white freezer with a police seal on it.

Fern said, "There's a body in there, isn't there?"

"Bingo," the investigator said without looking up from his paperwork.

"Amazing," Fern said. "What's the story?"

"Found by the housekeepers when they were cleaning out Kent Galion's place. We don't know for sure he killed her, but she's been missing more than a week. It's just a matter of putting together the evidence. If she was frozen right after death, the evidence should be well-preserved."

"Wow, I haven't had one of these before." Fern sounded excited. "Let's get the freezer weighed, then take it to the decomp room and let it thaw in a controlled environment. Hopefully we can autopsy in twenty-four."

Skye went over to the investigator and showed her badge. "Would you mind if I take a look at the file?" she asked.

"Help yourself," he said.

She flipped through the crime-scene notes, then turned to Fern. "Did you say earlier that Kent Galion was the name of the other body with the demon's mark?"

"I did; he's long buried."

"He attacked someone?"

"Galion was the owner of Velocity. Think that's the connection? Because the college kid died in the alley?"

"Nelson said Erickson was also at Velocity the night he died."

Skye jotted down the victim's and the suspect's addresses, trying to act nonchalant. She might have to risk ticking off Detective Nelson, because Skye needed Moira to check out the houses. One of them might lead to Fiona's coven.

Her phone vibrated. "Thanks," she said, handing the file back to the crime-scene investigator.

"Find what you were looking for?"

"Just curious," she said. She mouthed
thank you
to Fern, then stepped out of the building and answered her phone.

"McPherson."

"Skye. It's Anthony."

Her heart fluttered just a bit, enough to remind her that she already missed him. "Where are you?"

"New York. I have a few minutes before boarding. I wanted to hear your voice."

"I'm glad."

"What's going on in L.A.?"

"Three men have turned up dead, apparent heart attack, but with demon marks on their backs. Rafe and Moira are checking out the only connection between the three, a nightclub they were at immediately before they died."

"Where are you?"

"At the coroner's, waiting for Rod. I was just about to call Moira and give her some addresses to check out using her--" Skye was at a loss on how to describe Moira's ability to feel the presence of magic.

"Be careful, sweetheart."

"You, too." Quieter, she added, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Skye. And I'm worried. I wish I were there."

"Me, too, but more so we can have our house to ourselves. It's getting crowded."

"I've been trying to find Moira a place to stay, but--"

"Only Moira?"

"Rafe needs time to heal."

"Rafe is fine."

"Skye, the situation is complicated."

"I'm not obtuse, Anthony. I understand the complexities of the situation."

"Skye--"

"We'll talk about it when you come home."

"I'll call as soon as I land in Sicily. I need to board.
Mi amore
, please be careful."

She hung up the phone and rested it against her forehead. She didn't want to snap at him, especially now, but for the last two weeks Anthony had been pulling away from her. He didn't realize it, and she knew it had nothing to do with his love for her. His love was one of the few things in which she had complete confidence. It was more what he didn't say, the pressure St. Michael's had placed on him since Father Philip died. Struggling with Moira O'Donnell's presence. Several times when Anthony and Moira verbally sparred, Skye had the feeling Anthony wanted to slug her, yet Anthony wouldn't hit a woman. He believed in chivalry--in opening doors, in the small, sweet gestures that showed his deep respect for women, coupled with the way he treated her in bed, insisting that her pleasure was more important than his. For a macho guy, Anthony was a true gentleman.
Except
with Moira.

She called Moira. "I'm texting you the address of the first known victim of the demon, and the address of a woman he allegedly killed before he died. Can you check them out and do your thing?"

"You mean check for magic."

"Right." Skye shifted on her feet. She still had a hard time talking about demons and magic as if that were a normal part of her job.

"Will do, as soon as we finish with Velocity."

"Are you there yet?"

"Hardly. There are so many flippin' cars on the road we should have walked."

EIGHT

Almost immediately after Moira hung up the phone with Skye, the text message came in with two addresses. She had no idea where they were, but Skye had a GPS in her truck. But first things first: Velocity.

Moira reluctantly let Rafe drive to the nightclub. She itched to get behind the wheel, but Skye frowned on her driving because she didn't have a legal license. Moira was trying to play by the rules since the sheriff was letting her live in her house--and she liked her--but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She'd been on her own for so long that she was beginning to feel claustrophobic under the watchful eyes of Anthony and Skye.

Not to mention Rafe Cooper. But that was a whole different issue.

"You think the club has something to do with the deaths?" Rafe said after Moira told him what happened to the victims. Something occurred to her and she sent Skye another text.

Did the police talk to the women who were with Monroe and Erickson? Who are they?

"Three men--all involved in sexual acts," Moira said. "You know what we're dealing with here."

"You think it's Lust." Rafe pondered that for a moment as they stalled in highway traffic.

"Envy killed by having people act on their deep-seated envy of others ... Lust must be targeting people predisposed to being unable to control their physical desires. Most of us control lust, even when we're attracted to someone. Even when we know that person is attracted to us."

Rafe glanced at her, and Moira pretended not to notice.

She glanced at her phone. "Skye says the cops don't know who the two men were with the night they died." She stared out the windshield. "What if Lust came to town and the people she touches act out? It would explain the man who attacked the waitress. And why the married guy took a woman home from the same club."

Rafe didn't say anything for several minutes, which was fine with Moira. She didn't want to talk about lust or attraction with Rafe.

Why Los Angeles? Proximity to Santa Louisa? Because this was where Fiona was hiding out? Or something else? She hated that no matter what they did, they'd never know where the Seven Deadly Sins were until someone died. There had to be a better way, but every idea they explored hadn't panned out. She scoured the online paranormal message boards, looking for clues, but so far every possible lead turned out to be a dud. She itched to go on the road, follow up in person, but not until today had there been even a hint of the Seven Deadly Sins in action.

Maybe if she had more control over her visions ... if she could find some way to use them to find the demons
before
someone died. But the only way Moira knew how to do that was through magic, and if she touched magic again, Fiona would be able to track her, whereas for now Moira was invisible to Fiona's psychic eye. Worse, using magic would open Moira up to possession again. She recalled the last desperate moments with Peter, whom she'd loved so passionately. Who would she kill next time?

Rafe?

Her stomach flip-flopped and she involuntarily grabbed the door handle. When she realized she was gripping the vinyl so hard her knuckles were white, she let go. Rico was right. Fear was her worst enemy. It was going to get her killed.

Rafe broke the long silence. "Why did you let Rico take your blood?"

Moira hadn't been expecting that question.

"I didn't have much of a choice."

"He tied you down and took it against your will?"

"Shit, Rafe, you know how it is. Would you refuse an order?"

"He ordered you?"

She frowned, more than a little bit angry with this conversation. "So he wants my blood. It's not like he's going to drink it. Let him play his cloak-and-dagger games. It doesn't hurt me."

"And then you announce it to take a jab at Rico--which I admit was fun to watch--but maybe you should have told me in private so we could do something about it. He's keeping far too many secrets that can get you hurt. Do you know why he took your blood?"

"I have some ideas, but I didn't know I was supposed to give you a blow-by-blow of everything that happens in my life," she snapped, knowing she was overreacting, but her heart was pounding and she didn't know why. "It's not like you've been eager to tell me more about these memories of yours."

"It's not the same thing, and you know it!"

"Yes, it
is
the same thing, because it has to do with trust."

"So that's why you didn't tell me? Because you don't trust me?" Rafe couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice, and that upset Moira, but she still wasn't backing down.

"Rico took my blood because
you
cut my hand and stuffed it in the guts of that damn demon. He wants to know if my blood is 'special.'" She said the word derogatorily. Of course it was
special
. She'd been conceived to serve the underworld. For all she knew, a demon was her father.

She dry-heaved.

"Moira--"

"Stop." She put her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger-side window.

"I don't want to see you hurt."

"Too late."

"That's not what I mean."

"This war is dangerous, Rafe."

"Rico is using you."

"Maybe that's the only way to save my soul."

"Don't talk like that!" This was a futile conversation, but Rafe wouldn't let it go. "Rico doesn't care about anyone, only his cause."

"His cause is
my
cause," Moira said.

"Stopping Fiona is only one part of it, and you know that."

"If you're worried that I'm a pawn in Rico's game, don't be. I know what the stakes are. If I'm a pawn in anyone's master plan, it's the Big Guy upstairs, and you damn well know it. You, me, Anthony, all of us. All I can do is what I can do. Find Fiona. Stop her. Destroy the
Conoscenza
so no other magician can use it to summon the Seven Deadly Sins or whatever other evil purposes the book has."

"And if you die?"

"We are all going to die someday. So what?"

"No!" He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, making Moira jump.

"This shouldn't be a surprise to you, Rafe," she said quietly. "You were raised knowing that you'd die a martyr."

"I'm not going to let you die."

"It's not your call."

"But it's Rico's?"

That Rafe sounded jealous was too simple. His emotions were more complex than simple jealousy, Moira realized, not that he had anyone to be jealous
of
. And Rico? They'd been arguing about something while she was getting ready this morning, but neither of them had raised his voice and she hadn't been able to hear anything they said. Not for lack of trying.

"That's the street," Moira said, gesturing to the right.

He made the turn too fast, earning a foul gesture from an elderly woman walking four tiny dogs.

Rafe passed Velocity, which was two blocks off Wilshire Boulevard and only a couple of miles from the south entrance of UCLA. He then turned around and parked in a garage up the street from the club. All without speaking.

She glanced at him, confused and ticked off at his reaction and a little sheepish. She hadn't wanted to give in to Rico's demands this morning! But what choice did she have? While it was an odd and unnerving request, if there was something in her tainted blood that could help or hinder them in this battle, didn't she owe it to them to give it up? Besides, Rico had trained her. He was essentially her commanding officer. And while she didn't like to take orders from anyone, if she did, it would be from Rico.

"Fifteen dollars
an hour?"
Moira said, changing the subject as Rafe took a ticket from the machine. "It took us nearly forty minutes to get here--I swear, I don't know how the people around here can stand all these other people--and now fifteen bucks to park?"

"This conversation is not over, Moira," Rafe said through clenched teeth as he turned off the engine. He jumped out of the car and slammed his door shut.

Moira got out of her door and said, "That's what you always say, but it's
done
. Can we just do this?"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. "You can't die."

The anger and fear on his face was surpassed only by raw pain. She wanted to pull away, to tell him to stop manhandling her, but she couldn't. Rafe's intensity unnerved her, had her at a loss and bordering panic. She didn't want these feelings for Rafe, but they were growing.

"Rafe--"

He kissed her. This was no tame, sweet embrace; it was fierce. Moira froze, stunned by the depth of his emotion. Then Rafe's hands reached for the back of her neck, holding tight, as if he feared she was going to bolt. And she wanted to; she wanted to run far away from Rafe's feelings. From what he wanted from her. Emotions overwhelmed her, his and hers. Fear. Desire. A deep yearning for something intangible, a freedom neither of them had. Her stomach fluttered and she returned his kiss, mirroring Rafe's passion with her own deep longing.

His body pressed against hers, pushing her against the truck. Her hands were on his shoulders, and her mind told her to push him away, that now was not the time to do this, she couldn't
think
and she had to focus. The club. The demon. The men who'd died.

But she couldn't think, Rafe's need becoming her own, drawing out of her everything she'd been denying him, denying herself. From the minute she first laid eyes on him, unconscious, dressed in stolen medical scrubs, huddled in the corner of an abandoned cabin, she'd been irrevocably part of him as he was of her, far more than two demon hunters trying to undo the damage her witch of a mother had done.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as his mouth dove deeper into hers, his tongue mimicking lovemaking, and every cell in her body warmed to the brink of combustion.

Moira let the heat flow within her, Rafe's hard, athletic body pressed firmly against hers, his leg maneuvering between hers, the friction making her shudder and cling to him. Her mind was mush, her body did all the thinking for her, and its thoughts were focused on one thing: getting naked with Rafe.

His hands were under her shirt, rubbing her bare back, while he kissed her in that one spot behind her ear that he'd discovered earlier, the erotic soft spot that made her melt when his tongue fought it.

The sound of a distant car made her jump and she looked around, disoriented. They were making out in an L.A. parking garage in the middle of the day. Did they lust for each other so much they lost all sense of time and place?

Lust
.

She pushed him away, not meaning to push hard, but he jumped back. His breathing was as uneven as hers.

"We can't do this."

"Moira, you can't deny the way we feel about each other. Don't even try; you'll be lying."

"It's not real."

He froze, energy rippling under his muscles. "What?" His voice was low but the anger rolled off him, so dark it was nearly visible.

"We're near the club. It's the influence of the demon. We both think it's Lust here."

"Bullshit. I can't believe you're using the demon as an excuse for your feelings!"

"I'm not! I just can't think; that's not like me."

"Maybe because you're
overthinking."

"Stop!"

"What are you scared of?"

She turned away and walked briskly down the ramp toward the street. Scared? What
wasn't
she scared of?

"Moira!" Rafe followed her.

"Leave it alone."

"No."

She spun around and pushed him. Though she was strong, he didn't budge. "I can't do this now! I need my senses, all of them, under my control, and when you push me like this, I lose control. I feel raw, open, and exposed. I can't let it overwhelm me. Please. Just leave it."

On the verge of tears, she turned around so he couldn't see her face.

He said nothing for a long minute. Moira worked on controlling her breathing, stuffing her feelings deep inside, focusing on her sixth sense, the sense that felt magical energy. The sense that felt what no one else could see.

He touched her shoulders gently and whispered in her ear, "I understand."

Somehow, that admission unnerved her more than their argument.

"But I want you to know that this isn't simple lust. Together, we have far more than a physical attraction. We'll talk about it more. Sooner rather than later." He kissed the back of her neck, and Moira almost leaned against him. Almost gave in to a moment of bliss that she didn't deserve. Rafe understood her. No one else did. No one else even tried.

But she didn't give in to temptation. How could she when so much was at stake? When at risk was not only her life, but the lives of scores of innocents?

Rafe dropped his hands and led the way out of the parking garage.