The Collector (25 page)

Sam stood. He swept the dishes off the table, sending everything crashing to the floor. He raised his face to the ceiling and howled.

Trudy stood as well. She wasn’t scared. But she was embarrassed, looking around at the other diners.

The restaurant was family-run. Immediately, one of the owners, a woman, came over, completely solicitous. A busboy was cleaning up the mess on the floor. But the muscle didn’t let anyone near Sam as he dropped back into his chair, the cell phone still in his hand.

“Go,” Sam said to Trudy.

He didn’t have to tell her twice.

What Trudy didn’t know was how long he’d waited to say those words. Too long. Because her dismissal wasn’t just for tonight.

Dong-bao
. Born of the same womb. That was Vee.

Sam Vi. Velvet—Vee.

He could feel the tears roll down his cheeks. In that moment, watching Trudy H. tottering out of the restaurant on her heels, drunk and uncaring, dragging on the floor a mink that she didn’t need, Sam Vi felt his life come into vivid focus. The one person who really mattered had been taken from him.

From now on, Sam would focus only on his lost sister, Vee. He needed to find the dumb fuck who’d killed her. He needed to make sure he paid.

Y
ou dream of Corinth.

In Corinth, there is a fountain named the Well of Glauce. It is a monument to the beautiful daughter of King Creon, Princess Glauce, who so famously donned the poisonous wedding dress given to her by husband-to-be Jason of the Argonauts, after he returned triumphant from his quest for the Golden Fleece. The gown was a gift from her rival in love, Medea, the mother of Jason’s children, his barbarian bride.

It is said that Glauce threw herself in the well, believing that the waters there might cure her of the poison from the wedding gown.

There are holes in the porous rock of the fountain. The people of Corinth make offerings to Glauce, deified in death, stuffing them into the crevices of the rock.

Glauce, it is said, was named for her blue eyes,
glaukos
being the ancient Greek word for blue.
Glaukos
refers to man’s fear of blindness—glaucoma and cataracts often giving that pale hue to the eye of the infirmed.

In a healthy eye, the color is seen as unnatural…something to be feared. Foreigners from the north often have blue eyes. It is something strange and maligned in the ancient world. Only Athena, the great protector, can possess such a color. And thus her eyes are the amulet against the Evil Eye. The blue eye of Athena.

Whenever you dream of Corinth, you remember the Eye. How you cradle it in your hands. The heat of it against your skin, branding you. You’re reluctant to give it back.
She
believes it belongs to
the people
and is unwilling to listen to your plans.

So you make your own plans.

The anticipation is nice. Working alongside her, sharing her smiles—but knowing, just knowing.

Next week. Tomorrow. Tonight!

She tries to fight. That excites you. You’re like Apollo fighting the Python, earning your treasure. When you loop the garrote around her neck, she falls to her knees. Her arms and legs flail like a trout on a rock. You hold on, pulling tighter.

That’s right
, you whisper to her.
You’ve seen this all before
.

Go easy. Die.

You kill her. You take the Eye, her eyes.

At long last, you begin your collection.

Gia sat straight up in bed. She clawed at her neck. She could
feel
the garrote around her throat, a man’s body straddling her.

Beside her, Seven immediately woke up, the hair-trigger instincts of a cop kicking in.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It was just like the time before, in the studio. Just like every time this demon brought her into his vision. Only it was getting worse.

I…can’t…breathe!

Seven grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her to face him in the bed. “Gia?”

With the moonlight coming through the window behind her, she could see him perfectly. She remembered what it was like to make love to him, how soft his lips felt against hers. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him. She hadn’t made love to a man since she’d conceived her daughter. All these years of loneliness seemed to catch up with her in that moment of release, the surprise of that desire sweeping over her.

But now, she couldn’t even move. Every muscle in her body remained caught in a vise.

“Oh, Jesus. Gia!”

He laid her out on the bed. Tilting back her head, he began to give her mouth-to-mouth.

She felt the air in his mouth fill her lungs. The action struck her so much like the act of making love that the same wave of desire swept over her.

Suddenly, every muscle in her body came to life. She sat up, pushing him away. She sucked in a lungful of air then collapsed back against the headboard.

She rested her cheek against the cool wood, waiting for the motion of breathing to come more naturally.

“What the hell just happened?”

Seven was naked, kneeling on the sheets crumpled beneath him. She could see she’d frightened him, his breath coming deep from his abdomen. A man who dealt with death probably knew what she’d just experienced.

She pushed the hair from her face and sat up straighter, taking comfort in that normal rhythm: breath in, breath out.

“Gia, what…the
fuck
…just happened?”

She shook her head, biding her time. When she was ready, when she could speak without struggling for oxygen, she told him, “I had a vision.”

Only this time, what she’d lived through had been all too personal. Her spirit guides had taken her to the brink of death—her mother’s death.

The vision had been so powerful. She felt as if she’d grabbed hold of a live wire.

Gia let out a long sigh. Seven was kneeling at the foot of the bed. She leaned forward, reaching for him. She placed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat against her fingertips.

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Jesus, you scared me.”

She closed her eyes, ashamed. He couldn’t see the future. He wouldn’t know what lay ahead. But she did.

He was still holding her hand when she said, “I think you should go.”

He cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her right. “You almost died just now. You
stopped
breathing.”

She held up her hand, cutting him off. “It’s happened before. It’s part of the process. I know you think I’m crazy, but I would have been fine.”

“Bullshit,” he said.

She smiled, giving him a mental thumbs-up for his instincts.

“Stella, my daughter.” She knew enough about him to understand that only her daughter would be reason enough. “I don’t want you to be here when she wakes up for school.” Gia bit her lip, hating the lie. “Okay?”

She stood and took his hand. She picked up his shirt off the floor and slipped his arms into the sleeves. As she buttoned the front, she felt a warmth in her chest. She wondered what it would be like to have a normal life, one that allowed a man like Seven.

When he tried to speak, to tell her what he was feeling, she placed her finger across his lips. She shook her head.

Once they were both dressed, she again took his hand and led him to the front door. She rested her head against his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

It was the only explanation she could give him.

“Gia?” His voice sounded soft and vulnerable. “If you know who killed these women…If you’re somehow involved—”

“No.”

She looked up at him, trying to leave it as ambiguous as possible.
No, I don’t know anything. No, don’t ask me.

She kissed him, pretending for both of them that they could live in this moment and forget what lay ahead.

“Call me later,” she said, hugging him.

Later,
she told herself.
I can be honest later
.

Almost on cue, Stella coughed. Gia turned to find her daughter standing in the hall, watching them.

“You have to go,” Gia whispered.

He stepped outside, the motion almost involuntary. He had this comical expression on his face, as if he didn’t know what else to do.

Gia shut the door. Leaning back against it, she faced her daughter.

“Mom?”

“Hush, darling,” she said, walking back to the kitchen. “We’ll be fine.”

E
rika walked into the precinct, balancing her purse and a tray of coffee from Starbucks. She’d stopped on her way into the office for the peace offering, needing something to break the iceberg she was about to crash into,
Titanic
style.

Seven sat at his desk, hunched over his laptop, studiously avoiding her gaze. Erika sighed. Okay, he
was
going to be a dick about last night.

Theirs was a complicated relationship. That’s why Erika had decided to be dead honest with her partner from now on, the operative words being
from now on
. No need for some futile confession about Mr. Greg—Frank—Smith, the reporter from the
Register,
she figured. Not if she wanted a career….

She sat down across from Seven and pulled out one of the Starbucks cups. She held it out for him. “Café Americano. Black.”

He pushed away from the laptop and gave her a look. He shook his head. “A cup of coffee, Erika? Just that?”

“Best I could do on such short notice.” She leaned forward. “Hey, I know. What if I let you call me the Amazing Supernatural Sleuth, like you’ve been dying to do? You know, ASS? Because I’ve been a bit of one lately?”

He remained silent.

“Wow,” she said. “Look who suddenly lost his sense of humor.”

She put down the cup and reached inside her purse. She pulled out the file on Gia Moon, the one put together by the private investigator.

She placed it on the desk in front of Seven. “That’s everything I have so far from Cedric. And, you’ll be happy to know, I called him off the case. You’re right. I am jeopardizing the investigation.”

The reason being that anyone connected to the police, or working under their directive, had to follow all the rules and regulations as a cop—fourth amendment rights and such—which wasn’t likely to happen with Cedric Patterson, private dick extraordinaire. He was damn good at digging up the dirt, not so good about how he went about getting the job done. If they ever did have to take Gia Moon to trial, Cedric Patterson’s involvement could taint the evidence, making some defense attorney’s day.

She watched her partner stare at the folder, frozen to his seat. She realized that he didn’t want to know what was inside.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

“Okay.” She reached across and turned the file to face her. She opened to the first page. “So I screwed up. But since we already have the information, let’s take a look, shall we? Gia Moon turns out to be this
really
interesting person,” she began. “But not for the reasons you’d think. Not because she’s some famous psychic or this great artist. Gia Moon, it turns out, doesn’t exist.”

That got his attention.

Seven glanced at the file. Erika, being the patient sort, waited him out.

Eventually, he motioned for her to slide the file back.

“No social security number, no bank account,” she said, recounting out loud what the file would reveal. “No mortgage. She paid cash for that house. I didn’t even know you could do that in California.”

Erika could see his body language change, the muscles across his back tightening. But still he kept quiet, just flipping through the pages of the report.

“I checked with witness protection—just in case,” she continued. “Nada. Do you know how hard it is to hide from the government like this?” she asked, tapping the file. “To put it delicately, it’s freaking impossible. But here it is. The invisible woman. My question is, why?”

She was thinking of her own foray into Google. How easily she’d discovered that she, Erika Cabral, was the lead detective on the Tran case. Even her phone number and address had been listed, for God’s sake. All of it there for the pillaging by little scavengers like Greg Smith.

“So here’s this single mom—an artist—who is managing to do the impossible. According to all government sources—federal, state and local—she is completely invisible.”

He slapped the file folder shut. “Last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”

“Not to mention, not the least bit suspicious.” Erika leaned over the table, getting into her partner’s face. “You want to hear my theory? She’s hiding, Seven. From someone—someone powerful. Someone dangerous. Maybe even someone who could be killing psychics.” When he looked up and met her gaze, Erika smiled. “And now she has a cop guarding her. She’s using you. And you’re falling for it.”

“You know what, ASS?” he said, his voice on edge. “I’m a little confused. I thought I had a thing for my sister-in-law. Now I want a key witness in a case?” he said, sounding defensive. “Or do I want them both? Maybe I’ll just take anyone, even someone I can pick up at a bar?”

She felt her face get red, and pushed back in her seat. She wasn’t about to ask how he’d found out about her nightly habits. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s none of my business. So how about you explain why you showed up at my place in the middle of the night?”

She could see him putting it together. They were partners; they relied on each other. This wall between them, it wasn’t right.

She smiled. She lifted her latte in a toast. After a few seconds, he picked up the café Americano and tapped it against her cup.

“There’s more to my theory on your psychic,” she said. “Do you want to hear it?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, already feeling as if she were walking on eggshells. “That first day she came to the station, she wasn’t lying when she told us she thought she was next. But not because of the reasons she gave. She knows who the killer is. She needs him stopped—and she’s willing to risk exposing her own involvement to get the job done.”

Erika gave him a minute. But she could see he needed a nudge.

“So.” She took another sip. “What were you doing at her house yesterday?”

He looked up and gave her the biggest smile. “Fucking her, of course.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing that Seven would
never
do any such thing. That kind of screwup was completely within her province.

“I kept waiting for you to bring it up,” she continued. “Say something like, ‘By the way, Erika, here’s the reason I raced out of a double homicide.’ Come on.” She stared at him. “Give.”

The hard stare he gave her let Erika know he was through with the runaround.

“She called me,” he said, “just a few hours before Gospel reported the killings. She said someone named Kieu, or who had a
Q
in her name, was going to die if I didn’t find her first.”

“Jesus.” Never mind that he hadn’t made an official report. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Seven put down his Starbucks cup and shouldered on his coat. “It’s premature…and I have my own theories. I’m looking into something. Which reminds me, I need to be somewhere.”

As he passed her, she grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Seven,” she said, now truly concerned, “what the hell are you doing?”

Right then, his phone went off with that special ring. Beth always did have good timing.

Without thinking, he turned it off.

Erika stared at the phone in his hand in shock. He followed her gaze, suddenly realizing what he’d just done.

It was the first time he’d ever cut Beth off.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.

Erika let him go, knowing to the depth of her soul it was the wrong thing to do. She should stop him, perform some sort of intervention.

Fucking her, of course.

“Miercoles,”
she said under her breath, repeating her mother’s favorite curse. The word actually meant Wednesday, but it was close enough to the real curse to be satisfying.

Erika closed her eyes, weighing her options. When she opened her eyes again, she was staring directly at Seven’s laptop. He’d left it open on his desk.

Just looking at it had her Catholic guilt working on overdrive. But there it was, within easy reach…with no one in the room to see her.

She let out a deep sigh and put down her coffee. She stood and sat in Seven’s chair. She pulled his laptop toward her.

“Dios, ayudame,”
she whispered. God help me.

She’d memorized his password about a month after they’d become partners. She’d watched him punch it in several times. It was LAURIN. His ex-wife’s name. He’d never changed it.

“Such a romantic,” she said to herself.

She clicked on the down arrow of the address line. Instantly, a list of the last Web sites he’d visited appeared. Erika scrolled down, seeing that the addresses were all associated with paranormal phenomena, including a few on psychic painters. He was conducting his own investigation, completely independent of Erika, his partner.

Maybe this was how it had all started with her mother, Erika thought. How she’d been taken in by people just like Gia Moon. That first time with the
espiritista
“saving” her little girl’s life, making that personal connection.

Half an hour later, she was sitting at her own desk. In her hand, she held a business card. She’d been staring at the same damn number since she’d sat down. By now she had it memorized.

What were you doing at her house yesterday?

Fucking her, of course.

That big smile he’d delivered right as he’d said it, daring Erika to believe him.

She put the business card in her jacket pocket and stood. Grabbing her purse, she headed out.

She was thinking about her own nightly transgressions. About a certain reporter at the
Register.

The tabloids do it all the time…print an accusation and see what dross rises to the surface.

That’s what Greg—Frank—Smith had told her. It reminded Erika of something her grandmother always used to say when she thought Erika and her brother were up to no good. Loosely translated, it went like this:
When you turn on the lights, you can see the cockroaches scurry for cover.

Erika was thinking that’s what this case needed, for someone to shed a little light.

She drove herself out to Fountain Valley. It was a little paranoid for her tastes, but she needed to be careful. Whatever happened, she didn’t want this call traced back to the department.

She popped the right amount of coins into the gas station pay phone. In just a few years, these antiques would become obsolete, what with all the cell phones glued to everyone’s ears. But today, this pay phone was coming in handy.

“Get in contact with me,” she said, not bothering to leave her name or number. If the guy was worth his mettle, Smith would know who was calling. “And this isn’t about sex, you asshole.” She took a deep breath, hoping she was doing the right thing. “I have your story.”

Carin Barnes rang the doorbell and waited for the front door to open. Gina Tyrell wouldn’t be happy to see her, but Carin couldn’t help that. Coming here was the next logical step. Really, she hadn’t hoped to get this far so fast. Apparently, fortune
did
favor the brave.

When the door opened, Carin said, “Hello, Gina.”

Gina leaned against the doorjamb. She crossed her arms protectively in front of her.

“Excuse me. I forgot. I mean Gia,” Carin said in an ultra polite voice. “Gia Moon.”

“Hello, Carin.” Gina opened the door. “Why don’t you come inside? Although, if I remember correctly, you were never one to wait for an invitation. By the way, I expected you weeks ago.”

Carin couldn’t help just a small smile as she followed Gina out to what looked like some sort of garage studio. Once in the room, Carin felt her breath catch in her throat as she admired the painting leaning up against the wall.

She walked to stand in front of the black-and-red depiction of the most recent killings.

“Painting helps with the visions,” Gina said.

Carin nodded. “Do you know where it is?”

“It? You mean the Eye?” Gina shook her head. “Can’t help you. I hope the damn thing never surfaces again.”

Carin could understand her anger. Gina had always hated her mother’s dedication to finding the Eye. Carin couldn’t imagine that after Estelle Fegaris died, Gina’s feelings for the artifact had changed for the better. She’d no doubt come to blame her mother’s death on her quest.

“But you know who has it?” Carin asked.

Nothing.

“Ah,” Carin said. “Silence is golden.” She pointed to that half moon on the tongue of the victim in the painting. “It was a moon cake. Whoever killed Velvet Tien stuffed it in her mouth. You did well.”

“Encouragement from you, Carin? What is the world coming to?”

Carin ignored the sarcasm. The Lunites, those who kept Estelle’s dreams alive, would always be a source of pain for Gina. But before she could ask her next question, Carin found the answer herself, in Gina’s painting.

She looked closer, seeing that, indeed, Gina had placed the primitive image of an eye inside the victim’s stomach.

Carin turned to look at her and raised her brows in question. “You don’t know where the Eye is?”