Last Grave (9781101593172) (5 page)

“Nothing,” she muttered, mentally upbraiding herself for speaking her thoughts out loud. She was getting sloppy.

“You think the woman in black is going to show?”

“You think the one who tossed Winona's office was the one who killed her?”

“Stands to reason,” Lance said.

It did, but there was something bugging Samantha about the whole thing. She couldn't say what it was, but she wasn't completely convinced that the witch who had killed Winona was the same one who had saved her from being shot by her own partner. She felt like she was missing huge pieces of the puzzle, and without them she couldn't even get a proper idea of what kind of puzzle she was working on.

“Hey, you awake?” Lance asked, elbowing her.

She turned to look where he was pointing. A guy in a dark jacket and pants was walking toward the coffee shop, stopping to look over his shoulder every few feet. “You think that's our guy?” she asked. “I thought your money was on the burglar.”

“It was, but this changes things. Get ready to move.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“Name's Marcos. We had him on a murder charge last year, but the DA couldn't make it stick.”

“So?”

“So, he was into black-market antiquities. Stuff that might get the attention of, say, a cultural historian.”

“Okay, so it's possible Winona had a run-in with this guy.”

“If he takes one more step, I'm moving that from possible to probable,” Lance said.

Samantha watched as Marcos walked into the Starbucks. Lance jumped to his feet, pacing closer, and Samantha followed him.

A moment later, the door burst open and Marcos came sprinting out. Two officers were on his heels.

“Police, freeze!” Lance shouted, pulling his gun.

Marcos pulled one of his own and fired at them before taking off up the street. Bystanders scattered, running in every direction. She saw someone fall and couldn't tell whether they'd been shot or just knocked down. The other officers ran to the victim. Lance took off after Marcos and, after a moment, so did Samantha. They went up two blocks, and then Marcos ran into an alley.

Samantha heard more shots fired as she reached the corner, and she dropped down low as she raced in. Her foot kicked a can, and Lance spun around, aiming his gun at her.

“Whoa, whoa!” she shouted.

He scowled and then swung back toward the alley. Marcos was nowhere to be seen. Samantha moved cautiously, making sure to stay behind Lance. She looked up at the sides of the buildings on either side but didn't see any fire escapes that he might have used.

“He's got to be here somewhere. He probably went inside one of these doors,” Lance said.

That seemed likely, but Samantha didn't relish the thought of poking her head through the doors just to get it shot at again. Plus, she had gotten close enough to Marcos to sense whether he had any power, and he didn't.

“Look, I'm not sure he's our guy. He's not a wi—” She ground to a halt, cursing herself silently.

“Not a what?” Lance asked.

“Maybe not Winona's killer. If he was, based on this display, wouldn't he have just shot her?”

“He didn't shoot his former partner either. We're just special.”

“Not in any way I'd ever want to be special,” she retorted, eyeing the door closest to her.

Lance wasn't going to let it go; she could feel it. She hesitated for a moment, tempted to reach out and persuade him to give up the hunt. Now that they knew Marcos was potentially involved, they could get every cop in the city on the hunt. But something still didn't feel right.

“Let's go in,” Lance said, moving toward a door on his right.

Samantha reached out and touched the door she was standing in front of. If they were going to do this, they might as well do it right. “No, let's try this one,” she said.

Lance turned to look at her. Given his years in the city, she usually let him make those kinds of decisions, so she knew she had his attention now. “Let's just say I got a feeling.”

He nodded and moved over next to her. She grabbed the handle, did a silent count, and yanked it open. Lance stormed inside, and she followed moments later. They were in some sort of warehouse. She swept the place with her eyes. Some light came in from filthy windows up on the second floor. There was a catwalk that went around.

“I'll take high ground; you take low,” she said, as she moved toward a narrow metal staircase. She didn't trust Lance to be above her at this point. He was too keyed up. Lack of sleep was combining with his normal aggression to create poor judgment. It didn't help either that he clearly still had a beef with this guy.

The stairs groaned under her weight, betraying any hope she had of stealth.
You could make yourself silent. You could make yourself invisible. Catch a killer and stay safe.

The voice that was whispering in her mind sounded so logical, so practical. They were both tired. Mistakes could happen; people could get hurt so easily.
Why not use all the tools at your disposal?

She bit her lip, torn. Then she swiftly made a decision. She'd used magic on this case more than once already and probably would have to a dozen times more before it was over. And this really was more defensive magic than anything else.

She pictured Marcos in her mind, running, hiding. For best results, she should have had a candle or some other object she could have used to symbolize him. Without anything she could use, visualization would have to do. She just hoped it would do the job well enough.

I bind you, Marcos, from seeing me or hearing me until such time I release you.

She felt the energy sweep out of her. Her left hand was wrapped around the banister of the stairs and she could feel the energy rushing along the metal, moving to all parts of the warehouse. If he was inside, it should reach him at some point. She'd just have to go slow and careful for a few moments.

When she finally made it to the top of the stairs, she began to breathe easier. She looked down and could see Lance moving toward the back of the warehouse, weapon constantly moving, like the needle of a compass seeking north.

She looked around at where she was. The catwalk rimmed the building and crossed it twice. Toward the front of the building, it was deeper and there appeared to be an office of some sort. She walked that way, holding her gun at the ready. She had a strong urge to put it away, to use only her magic on him. Marcos had a gun of his own, though, and if she had to kill him, death by bullet was going to be a much easier report than death by head implosion.

She blinked at how bizarre that sounded, even to her.
I really do need to get some sleep too.

She continued to walk, bolder now. The binding energy she had sent out should have reached Marcos by now.

Finally, she was at the office. An old sign on the door read
SHIFT SUPERVISOR
. She peered in through the window, which had shards of broken glass still in the sill.

Marcos was crouched down, his hands pressed to his head, rocking back and forth. Guilt, fear? She couldn't quite tell. The signals he was sending out were a mishmash, almost gibberish.

Maybe he's on something.

If he was, she was doubly glad she'd cast the spell. She turned and looked down at the ground floor. Lance was out of sight. Not good. She didn't have time to worry about that, though. Now she just had to time things right.

I'll take his gun away from him before I release him from the spell.
Of course, even that was going to be tricky with the way he had positioned himself. He might not hear the door open because it was being caused by her, but he would most certainly see it open. If he shot wildly at what he thought was air, he still might hit her.

Going through the window was out of the question because of the shards of broken glass. Somewhere in the distance she heard a squeaking sound.

Maybe if I knock the gun out of his hand from here.

That seemed the safest way to do it. She readied herself. A hand descended on her shoulder, and she jerked, startled, and turned with a shout. Thankfully, Marcos didn't hear her.

Lance backpedaled, slamming into the railing of the catwalk. She winced, knowing that Marcos most certainly heard that.

The door flew open and Marcos charged out. Samantha kicked the gun out of his hand, and it went tumbling to the floor below. He turned with a scream, unable to see her.

“Who's there?” he shouted. He tried to run, but he collided with Samantha, and they both toppled to the ground. Her gun went skidding across the catwalk.

“What's happening?” he screamed.

“I release you,” Samantha hissed.

She knew what it had to look like to him. One moment he was staring at air, and the next a woman appeared.

He screamed and threw himself backward. His hand came down on Samantha's gun and two shots rang out.

Samantha froze and watched as blood spread across the front of Marcos's jacket. He too looked down at it and then up at her.

She grabbed her gun and tossed it toward Lance, then eased Marcos back down onto the metal of the catwalk. “Did you kill Winona?”

“Are you an angel?”

“No, but you need to tell me if you killed Winona.”

“No.”

“Then why were you at the coffee shop?” she asked.

“Someone paid me to go get something from a lady. Cops saw me and I ran.”

He started to convulse. He was slipping away, and there was no way for her to save him. “Who? What did they want?”

But it was too late. He was gone.

Lance handed Samantha her gun, and she tucked it back into her waistband. Lance reached down and pulled something turquoise colored out of the pocket of Marcos's pants. A cell.

He looked at it for a moment. “It's got the texts to Jill. This is Winona's phone.”

“But he didn't kill Winona. So how did he get her phone?”

“The killer must have given it to him.”

Her exhausted mind was working overtime to try to catch up and process everything that had just happened. “He said someone wanted him to get something from the lady.”

“It makes sense. If you had killed someone, you'd want to lie low too, hire someone else to get what you needed.”

“Yeah, but if the goal is to get the information and you're afraid it might be a trap, why hire somebody the cops are likely to recognize on sight?” she asked.

The answer hit her and drove her to her feet. She could see the same thought come to Lance.

“It's a diversion,” he said.

“She wanted us to chase him so she'd have Jill to herself.”

She raced toward the stairs. Jill was a sitting duck.

5

Samantha raced down the stairs and outside the building. She headed for the Starbucks, where her roommate was sitting, alone and unprotected.

Idiot! You should have seen this coming.

The two police officers who had been inside the café were dealing with some injured bystanders. Fortunately it didn't look like anything too bad. They all seemed to be in much better shape than Marcos. She kept expecting to feel a surge of energy, proof that another with powers was nearby. There was nothing.

As she ran into the coffee shop, she suddenly saw why. The witch wasn't here because she had called Jill to her instead. Her roommate was gone.

Samantha blinked and then grabbed one of the patrons who was staring through the window at the chaos outside.

“You,” she said, shaking his arm.

He jerked and looked up at her. “What?”

“There was a woman sitting in here, brunette, she was at that table,” she said, pointing. “Where did she go?”

“I don't know. Her friend came in and then they left together.”

“Her friend?”

“Yeah, this smoking-hot chick with blond hair. She was dressed all in black.”

“Did you see which way they went?”

“No.”

Samantha turned and scanned the other people in the coffee shop. They all had their eyes glued on the events outside. None of them were going to be able to tell her what she needed to know. She walked back to the door and reached out and touched it. She could feel a lingering impression of Jill. Her roommate had been the last person to touch the door.

But beyond that Samantha couldn't feel anything, no emotions.
She probably has her under mind control. That's what I'd do.

Samantha jerked, angry at the turn of her own thoughts. She walked outside and looked around. They could have walked by all those people in the street and the police officers and no one would have suspected anything amiss if she had done it right.

But why risk it when there are other ways they could have gone?

Samantha turned and began to walk down the street. She reached out, trying to sense her roommate or the witch. There was the faintest impression of them on the sidewalk, almost like a perfume that lingered long after its wearer left the room.

Confident now that she was going in the right direction, Samantha picked up her pace. She moved from a walk to a jog. The impressions became stronger, and she moved faster.

She slowed as she neared a corner and then made a sharp left. There was a park a few blocks up, and she burst into a run, sure that was where the witch was taking Jill. There would be people there, so they wouldn't seem out of place, and it was a good location for her to recharge her batteries quickly by connecting to the energy of the earth. It was easier to gather energy from dirt and rocks and trees than from cement and asphalt.

Samantha's mind raced ahead of her. She could be wrong. The witch might have taken Jill somewhere else entirely. Part of her urged caution, to slow down and follow the trail. Time was her enemy, though. The longer Jill was with the witch, the greater the likelihood that she would lose them, or that if she did find Jill, she would be dead.

She saw the park and put on a fresh burst of speed. She had no idea how she was going to best the witch, or even how she was going to hide the battle from the bystanders in the park. None of that mattered, though, if she didn't get there in time.

A moment later, she was in the park. She didn't even need to look to see if her quarry was there. She could feel the energy rippling through the air, calling to her like a beacon. She slowed slightly, aware that she was drawing unwanted attention. A moment later, though, the energy started to ebb.

No!

She picked up speed again and ran, cutting across the park. She ran until she lost the feeling altogether and then she came to a stop. The witch was faster than she was. She reached out her senses, trying to feel which direction to go next.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. If something happened before she could reach them she—

“Samantha? Where are we?”

Samantha spun and stared at the woman sitting on the park bench looking bewildered. It was Jill. Samantha threw her arms around her. “You're okay? You're safe?”

Jill hugged her back. “Yeah, but what's happening? I thought I was in the coffee shop.”

Samantha pulled back so she could look Jill in the eyes. She saw no guile there, just honest confusion. Samantha sat down on the bench next to her. “It's a long story.”

“Okay.”

Samantha took a deep breath. What should she tell Jill? Hypnotism? She might believe it, but then she'd tell the other officers that and things could start to get sticky. Samantha wiped a hand across her forehead. She was sweating profusely. She gazed out over the grass, knowing that the witch's trail was growing colder by the second.

“What is it?”

Samantha sighed. She'd have to let the witch go, for now. She just prayed that when they met next, it would be on her terms. “It's a very . . . complicated story. I need you to trust me for a little while though. I swear I'll tell you the truth.”

Maybe. Probably not.

Samantha continued. “But you need to trust me that only you and I can know the truth. When the other police ask why you left the Starbucks, I need you to tell them that you got a call. It was garbled, but it was a woman's voice telling you that because of the shooting you needed to meet me in this park.”

I'll pretend one of the patrons—don't know who he was and he's gone now—overheard her say park and that's how I knew to find her here. It could work.

“And what happened when I got here?” Jill asked.

“You sat down and waited and no one talked to you before I got here.”

“Okay.” Jill looked at her hesitantly, and Samantha could see the uncertainty in her eyes. She knew she was asking the other woman to trust a lot, but there was just enough history between them that she could feel Jill was willing to do it. Jill cleared her throat quietly. “Is that what really happened?”

“Close enough for now. Ready?”

Jill nodded. They stood and headed back to the Starbucks.

When they got there, she noticed that Lance looked more stressed out than she had ever seen him. “Where have you two been?” he exploded.

Jill glanced at Samantha and then parroted what she'd told her to say.

Lance turned to Samantha. “And you didn't see anyone there?”

She shook her head. “I figured once I was there, she probably saw me and there was no use sticking around any longer.”

He nodded and turned back to Jill. “Let me see your phone.”

As she handed it over, Samantha's heart flew into her throat. How could she have been so stupid to have not thought about this part?

Think! How do you fix this?

Lance tapped the phone and a moment later grumbled, “Unknown number. Great.”

Samantha grabbed the phone from him and stared at it. Sure enough, it said Jill had received a call from an unknown number at the right time. She stared at her roommate, struggling to understand. Jill shrugged almost imperceptibly.

Lance looked at the scene on the streets. An ambulance was present now. Two people were being loaded on stretchers. “One grazed by a bullet, one knocked down in the panic and broke an arm,” Lance said before she could ask. “Unfortunately, the other officers here were busy with that and missed what was happening with Jill.”

Lance's phone rang and he answered it. He took a few steps away. Samantha turned and looked at Jill, still wondering how on earth that missed call had shown up. A minute later, Lance hung up and signaled to her. She gripped Jill's shoulder and then moved over to confer with her partner.

“Well, at least we've got something.”

“What?” she asked.

“Robin called. She found one of the letters threatening her mother. I said either you or I would drive down and get it.”

“I'll go get the letter from her,” Samantha volunteered.

“Are you sure? You don't want to take your roommate home?”

Samantha hesitated. She couldn't pass up the chance to talk to Robin alone. “Can you do that for me? I just think I need the drive, clear my head a bit.”

“Understood. I'll take her home now. I'll arrange for a car to be outside the building for the next couple of days. Given what our killer did today to try to talk to Jill, we can't be too careful.”

“Thanks,” she said.

She wished she could tell him that their killer might have already gotten whatever she needed from Jill, and if not, a patrol car wouldn't be able to stop her.

She turned. “Jill.”

“Yes?”

“Lance is going to take you home. I have to go pick up some evidence. I'll be home as soon as I can. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She turned back to Lance. “Now, take her straight home. And don't do anything I wouldn't . . . Just be careful, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, and she glowered at him.

“You've got trust issues,” Lance noted.

“You ever stop to think you might be part of those issues?”

He shrugged. “I just call it like I see it. Not my job to diagnose cause. See the shrink for that.”

She just shook her head and turned away. She didn't have time to bandy words with him. She needed to get down to Santa Cruz. She was glad she had driven her own car over. She wished she could return Robin's shirt, but it was in the laundry at home. If she stopped to get it, Lance would wonder why she hadn't taken Jill home herself.

She wasn't ready to talk to Robin yet. She still wasn't even sure what she was going to say to her. At least she'd have some time in the car to think about it.

And to wonder about the call on Jill's phone.

Nothing about the day had gone well, and she was beyond exhausted. Yet the two different chases she'd been on had her completely keyed up. She could feel the adrenaline still rushing through her body. When it died down, she was going to crash hard. She would have been happy to let Lance deal with the letter if she hadn't needed to talk to Robin alone.

It sucked trying to do a secret investigation inside a public one. She thought of Ed. At least when everything had gone wrong in Boston, she'd been able to tell him what she was doing and why. She didn't picture herself doing that with Lance.

But she was going to have to come up with a better plan about how to handle the witchy aspects of this case. In some ways, she felt like she was in denial about the whole thing.

She fought the urge to check in with Jada. The coroner would call the moment she had anything, even if it was just speculation. There was nothing she could do right now but try to think and focus on getting back home in one piece.
Today needs to end soon,
she thought, even though she knew it wouldn't.

*  *  *

Samantha didn't know what she'd have done without the GPS device she'd bought for her car before moving to San Francisco. The sheer number of one-way streets in the city alone were staggering, and fortunately her GPS hadn't sent her down the wrong way yet.

Now it was guiding her back to Robin Lightfoot's house, which she was fairly certain she would have had problems finding without it. At last she was finally parking in front of the girl's house. She just hoped she was catching her at home alone.

When she stepped out of the car, she could feel the slight hum of energy in the air. She was becoming more attuned to the presence of others like her again. When she knocked, Robin opened the door instantly.

“Hi, Robin. Mind if I come in?”

Robin shook her head and stepped aside.

“Is Mrs. Braxton here?” Samantha asked as Robin closed the door behind her.

“No. She went to pick up my great-aunt at the airport. She just left a few minutes ago.”

Which meant they had some time to talk. Samantha relaxed slightly.

“Did you find out anything?” Robin asked, her voice tentative.

“Not yet, but we'll let you know as soon as we do,” Samantha said.

Robin walked into the family room and sat down on the couch. Samantha took a seat on the chair across from her. Robin pointed to a large envelope on the coffee table. “That's the letter,” she said.

Samantha had brought in a pair of gloves with her, and she carefully slid out the letter and read it. It seemed like a pretty straightforward hate letter, spewing vitriol and bile and claiming that Winona had betrayed her cultural heritage. It was unsigned. Hopefully the lab could get something off of it. When she was finished reading it, Samantha returned the letter to the envelope, which she noted was blank.

“Is this what you found it in?” Samantha asked.

Robin nodded.

“Do you know what your mom was working on the last few weeks?”

Robin shook her head, clearly uncomfortable.

“Did you ever hear anyone accuse her of anything? Say she was a traitor or she was violating cultural heritage?”

“Never. I can't even imagine. She's like a crusader for that kind of stuff.”

“Where did you find this envelope?”

“It had fallen behind the desk in her office and was wedged between it and the wall. I couldn't focus or go to school. Mrs. Braxton helped me clean up. I told her what we were looking for.”

“Well, thank you. This is a great help. I appreciate your doing this.”

“I just want you to find whoever did this. Find them and make them pay.”

Tears streaked down the girl's face. She quickly dashed them away. Samantha bit her lip, not sure what she could say or do to help.

“Well, that's it. I think I'm going to take a nap before my aunt gets here,” Robin said, clearly trying to dismiss her.

It wasn't going to be that easy. There was no telling when they'd have the chance to talk alone again. “I'm sorry. I have to bring your shirt back later. I came here straight from work.”