Lure of Obsession (The Muse Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

He watched them
drive away before stuffing his black leather gloves into the backpack. His hands still trembled with adrenaline.

His first kill.

Murder hadn’t been as difficult as he’d imagined. The Muse of Astronomy had been wearing her iPod, humming on her way out of the bedroom with running shoes in hand. He’d been waiting in the spare room, blade at the ready, but when she’d passed him on her way to the staircase, he’d recognized his chance. One firm shove and gravity had done the dirty work for him.

She’d cried out once before her head struck the stairs, snapping her neck. He wondered if she’d seen his masked face before her world went dark. He hoped so.

Urania—the first muse to cross off the Order’s target list.

Of course, he’d hoped to finish both muses tonight. He’d been waiting in the kitchen, expecting her roommate to rush to the phone. Instead, she had surprised him by running out front and vomiting. She’d made her 911 call from the porch on her cell, and he’d been forced to slip out the back before the police arrived.

No matter. He would find her again soon enough.

Once the golden mask of Kronos was tucked safely inside his pack, he hooked it over his shoulder and walked away from the condominium complex.

The Order of the Titans was a step closer to victory.

And the glory rested squarely on
his
shoulders.

Detective Nate Malone
watched Mel pick at the cardboard sleeve of her latte cup. Under the blue fluorescent lights of the police station, her pale skin revealed a light dusting of tiny freckles along her nose and cheeks. He didn’t mean to notice them, but it was too late now. He also didn’t mean to notice her deep-brown eyes that opened the window to an old soul.

He caught himself wanting to see her smile. What would her laughter sound like?

Shit. What was wrong with him? He’d sat across the table from witnesses hundreds of times and he’d never felt so…drawn in. He shifted in his chair, struggling to stay focused on his purpose in bringing her here.

To protect her.

The thought jarred him further. He popped his ballpoint pen. “I need to ask you a few questions about your roommate.” She nodded but didn’t make any eye contact. “Was she depressed? Any mention of wanting to hurt herself?”

Her eyes met his, a brief flash of anger sparking in them. “This wasn’t a suicide. Nia had big plans.”

“Good to know.” He didn’t miss the fire in her stare. In spite of the evidence pointing to an accident, she was still convinced someone hurt her friend. He jotted a note and set his pen down. “Can you trace your steps for me from this afternoon until you found her?”

She sipped her latte. “I teach poetry and classic literature at Crystal City High. I finished my last class, survived another staff meeting about the importance of standardized test scores, and then I gathered my students’ papers and left.”

“Did you make any stops on your way home?”

She nodded, fiddling with the sleeve on her latte again. “I got gas and stopped at Bartlett’s for a cup of soup. Nia was heading to the theater tonight. I thought I’d be on my own for dinner.”

There was no logical excuse for the surge of desire to comfort her, but recognizing that it was irrational didn’t lessen its power. What the hell was wrong with him?
Keep it professional, Malone.

“What theater is this? Did she work there?” His pen was poised over his notepad, waiting for her to answer.

After a beat, she said, “We own it. When we finish, it’s going to be a recreation of The Theater of the Muses in Paris. My sisters and I bought it last summer. It still looks pretty crappy, but we’re fixing it up.”

He raised a brow. “So you and your roommate were related?”

She sipped her drink and shrugged. He tried not to watch her wet her lips with her tongue. “Not blood related, but we’re all close, like sisters.”

Nate rubbed at the back of his left shoulder, over the birthmark shaped like a half moon. It had never bugged him before, but now it was staring to itch like a son of a bitch, and his skin was hot all of a sudden. Pushing up his shirtsleeves, he continued his interview; taking notes until he felt sure the crime scene techs would be finished at Mel’s place.

“That’s enough for now,” he said after ten more minutes of questions. “Is there a friend or family you can stay with tonight?”

“I’ll call my friend Callie when I get home.” She rubbed her temples. “You still think it was an accident, don’t you?”

He closed his notepad, tucking it into his pants pocket. “There were no signs of a forced entry. I didn’t see any defensive wounds, either. The medical examiner is leaning toward an accident unless we find something to the contrary…”

“But there were no lights on.” Her dark eyes met his, pleading. “Not even the porch light. I know it sounds crazy, but it was
always
on. Nia was all about light. She never turned them off.”

He got up, crossing to her side of the table. “Maybe it burned out. I’ll check it out when we get back to your place.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t look convinced, but what could he do? All the evidence pointed to an accident. No one broke in, and judging by the interview with Mel, her roommate hadn’t been depressed. But none of those facts changed the outcome.

Her friend was still dead.

He led her back to the parking lot and into his unmarked sedan. The dispatch radio provided background noise to cover the heavy silence as he drove. Every time he glanced over at his passenger, her attention was focused out the window. Most likely she was lost in thought and shocked that life could end so suddenly, or maybe she was wondering how she’d make the rent without her roommate.

As a detective, he’d witnessed many stages of grief, but something about this woman got under his skin. Seeing her in pain had him wanting to get involved, to help her. It made the case feel personal. Not good.

He parked at the curb and guided her up the walkway and under the police tape. She unlocked the door, and Nate stepped into the thick darkness first. Running his hand along the wall, his fingers brushed a switch.

An image flashed in his mind—a large gloved hand touching the switch—before the porch light blazed to life, blinding him for a moment. He flinched at the image before he could stop himself. What the hell? He rubbed his eyes, blinking.

Maybe he imagined it. But it sure looked like a man’s hand turning off the porch light.

“It wasn’t burned out,” Mel said softly, taking a step back. “Someone turned it off. I told you. Someone else was here.”

“The accident happened during the day. She may have accidentally bumped the switch and turned it off.”

Mel shook her head, rushing between the light switches, turning them all on until the shadows were banished from the downstairs living area and hallway. She looked up at him, fear lining her eyes.

“She didn’t ‘bump’ them all. Someone did this.”

“I’ll stay with you while you get your things and call your friend.” Nate fought the urge to pull her into his arms. Seeing her frightened agitated him, which made no sense because most people he came in contact with were scared.

“Callie.” She nodded with a dazed look as she stepped over the numbered markers on the floor where her friend’s body had landed. “I’ve got to call Callie. She needs to know what happened to Nia.”

She wandered up the stairs, mumbling and turning on more light switches as she went. Once she disappeared down the hallway, he narrowed his eyes, searching for any piece of evidence they might have missed, any sign that another person had been in the condo.

But nothing looked out of place, no overturned plants, no phone knocked to the floor. Nothing. Mel’s roommate had a tragic, accidental fall. There was nothing pointing to foul play. But maybe he could come back and dust the other light switches for fingerprints.

He blew out his frustrations and leaned against the banister.

Another image appeared in his mind. The victim falling, the terror in her eyes before her head struck a stair and then another. Standing behind her, at the top of the staircase was a man dressed in a black hooded robe, wearing a gold mask.

“What the hell?” Nate jumped away from the railing and rubbed his face, a cold sweat covering his back. He was probably just overtired and concerned about his witness—about Mel.

She appeared at the top of the stairs with a duffel bag. “Are you all right?”

In that moment, staring up at her, he realized something had awakened inside him like a sixth sense. “No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m far from it.”

Frowning, she came down to his side. “What is it?”

“Just a cop’s hunch.” How could he put what had just happened into words without sounding completely insane? Though, maybe he was insane. “Let’s get you to your friend’s place.”

He rushed her out of the condo; adrenaline pumping until he thought his heart might burst. Something was very wrong.

N
ate gripped the
wheel so tight, he feared he might yank it right off the steering column. Mel sat beside him, still in a daze. At least it distracted her from noticing how close he was to losing it.

What the hell had happened back at her place? It had to be an overactive imagination. But he’d never had one before, and why would he have imagined that gold mask? He’d never seen one like it, so why would he dream it up?

He had too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

“Make a right here,” Mel said, pointing down a dimly lit side street.

Crystal City wasn’t huge like Los Angeles, which was a couple of hours south, but with a population nearing 300,000 people, there were still streets he’d never explored. Callie’s was one of them.

“Lothlórien Lane?” He could almost hear the mental file cabinet rolling open in his mind, while he searched for why he recognized the name.

“Cal is a huge Tolkien fan.”

“Ah, right. The Lord of the Rings.” He nodded. “That’s where I heard it before.”

“Yeah, the elves lived there or something. When she found this street, she moved here as soon as a house came on the market.”

Unusual house-hunting technique, but he wasn’t one to judge. He still didn’t own a home—not that he couldn’t afford it, but the commitment… Well, commitment was…not his scene. Not anymore. It was too final.

The road ended in a cul-de-sac. He rounded it slowly when the floodlights came on in front of a modest single-level home with stone trim. A woman in sweats came out as he pulled to the curb and parked.

“Is that Callie?” he asked.

Opening her door, Mel nodded. “Yeah.” She hurried out of the car and over to embrace her friend.

He tried to give them some privacy while Mel broke the bad news. He moved slowly as he unloaded her bag from the trunk. He had just turned toward the house when Callie stepped into his path. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she held out her hand.

“I’m Callie O’Connor. And you are?”

He set the bag down and shook her hand. “Detective Malone.”

She had short, black hair, dark-brown eyes, and a pert nose that reminded him of a pixie. Maybe Mel’s mention of elves was influencing his perspective.

Callie stepped back and wiped her cheeks. “Thanks for being Mel’s hero tonight.”

“I wouldn’t call giving her a ride over here
heroic
. I just wanted to be sure she’s safe.”

Mel walked over and picked up her bag. The breeze blew through her auburn hair and teased the bare skin of his forearm. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “Thanks for the lift.”

He nodded, confused by the yearning to pull her into his arms. Nurturing and comforting weren’t usually part of his repertoire. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“You’ll catch whoever did this, right?” Callie asked.

His gaze shifted to the five-foot-nothing young woman. “We’re working on figuring out exactly what happened.”

Mel cleared her throat. “They think the lights were off and she fell.”

She paused and Callie crossed her arms. Mel looked statuesque beside her petite friend. He estimated she might be five foot ten, but he was over six feet tall. She’d fit just right in his arms, he realized. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could massage his brain back toward sanity.