The District (5 page)

“I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Christina made a face. “I’m driving, so I’ll abstain. Did you hear about Zollars?”

“DUI?”

“In a company car, on company business.”

“Did he get his hand slapped?”

The waiter approached and Eric ordered a scotch, neat while Christina asked for ice water.

When the waiter left, Christina shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap. “He got reprimanded and suspended for six weeks.”

“Idiot.”

“How was South America?”

“Hot and humid.”

“I heard your team brought down a pretty high roller down there.”

“We did all right. I heard you’re making your mark on the serial killer unit. Dream come true, huh?”

She stopped fussing with her napkin and planted her elbows on the white tablecloth. “Can we just get this out of the way so you’ll stop taking jabs at me?”

“Am I jabbing?” He knew damn well he was. It was the only thing keeping him from pulling her into his arms and kissing the smart aleck from her.

“You’re too manly to play coy, Eric. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I did not get into a relationship with you to get your father’s story.”

“But you wanted the Brody story.”

“Joseph Brody’s story has always fascinated me. I’m not gonna lie. But I had no intention of writing a book about your father.”

“The notes?”

“Were notes. Something about your father’s case always bothered me. I don’t believe for one minute that he was the Phone Book Killer.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and when the waiter returned with his drink, he tossed back half of it. The smooth heat rolled down his throat and radiated throughout his chest.

“I’ve heard this before, Christina, but Ray Lopez told a different story.”

She snorted. “If you had been in your right mind back then, you wouldn’t have given Ray’s story—any of Ray’s story—a second thought.”

She grabbed his hand, upsetting her waterglass. “I was your woman, Brody. I never would’ve betrayed you like that. The only reason you believed Ray over me was because of Noah Beckett. You were wrong about Noah, too.”

The pain that sliced through his temples had him reaching for his glass. This time he downed the rest of the scotch and his eyes watered.

“I should’ve saved Noah.”

“You followed the protocol for kidnappings. Noah would’ve met the same fate with anyone else at the helm.”

“I was at the helm.” He jabbed his chest with his thumb. “I should’ve known better. I was a kidnap victim myself. I should’ve done better by Noah. I should’ve done better by his parents.”

“Just because you were a kidnap victim, didn’t mean you had some magical power to save all other kidnap victims.” Her nails dug into his forearm. “You did your job to the best of your ability, and the Becketts knew that.”

“It wasn’t good enough.” He waved the waiter over. “Another scotch, please, and another napkin for the spilled water.”

“Would you like to order now?” The waiter’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Christina.

“I’ll have a Caesar salad and the steak, medium rare.”

Christina ordered the salmon, and the waiter backed away from the table as if afraid to turn his back on them.

She pleated the napkin on the table. “If Noah’s case hadn’t come to its tragic end at the same time you found my notes, I know you would’ve given me a chance to explain, Eric.”

He slumped against the banquette and rolled his glass between his palms. “Maybe you’re right. The book never did come out, and you never married Lopez.”

Her eyes popped open. “Marry Lopez? What gave you that crazy idea?”

“Lopez.”

“And you believed him?” She grabbed the glass from his hand and took a gulp. Coughing, she slammed the glass back down on the table.

“It made sense at the time.”

“At the time, you were in crazy town.” She sniffed and dabbed a corner of the napkin under her bottom lashes.

She was right. He’d been out of his mind with grief and anger after losing Noah. When he’d turned to his fiancée for comfort and support, he’d found her notes about his father and his family and a nosy reporter feeding him lies.

Over the past few years, he’d had time to think about it all. It did seem pretty far-fetched that Christina would get into a relationship with him, agree to marry him, sleep with him—all to get the goods on his family tragedy to write a killer book.

She stuck out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Can we call a truce while we’re working on this case together?”

“Sure.” He clasped her fingers, still chilly from mopping up the ice water. “I think I can even manage an apology. I overreacted to seeing those notes—bad timing all around.”

She squeezed his hand. “Me, too. I should’ve never kept...that from you. I figured if I told you I had been researching your father’s case, you’d think I was a creepy stalker.”

“Truce.” He dropped her hand and held up his own.

“So you’re done with the well-aimed barbs?”

Truth was, he’d forgiven her a while back when he’d been on his leave of absence and was able to think clearly about the situation. It helped that no book had come out, and he hadn’t heard anything linking her to Lopez.

And the barbs? Self-preservation against her charms. Just because he’d forgiven her didn’t mean they should resume their engagement. She’d kept things from him, and he didn’t like secrets—had grown up with too many of them.

“No barbs, well-aimed or otherwise.” He pushed the rest of his drink aside and tore into a roll. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders all day had slipped away. She’d been right about that, too—get everything out in the open.

They had a job to do.

Their food arrived and between bites, they discussed her cases and his task force in South America.

If someone had told him two years ago that he’d be sitting across the table from Christina laughing and sharing stories, he never would’ve believed it. The time off had done him good. Talking with his brothers had done him good.

As he signed the credit card receipt, Christina pinged his glass of scotch, sending ripples through the amber liquid. “Are you leaving this? By my calculations, that’s about eight bucks sitting in that glass, eight bucks the Bureau isn’t paying for.”

“I’m good. Do you want the rest?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Only if you toss it in with some sweet liqueurs and mixers and stick a colorful umbrella in it.”

“Uh, no.” He folded the receipt and stuck it in his pocket. “Are you ready?”

“Kindred Spirits is around the corner.” She picked up her phone and tipped it back and forth. “Open until midnight on Friday night.”

“Let’s go inhale some incense.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her out of the crowded restaurant.

As they passed their car on the street, Eric fed a few more quarters into the meter. “You don’t want to stick the Bureau with a parking ticket.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think they’d pay for my parking ticket?”

“Even more reason not to get one.” He slipped another quarter into the slot.

They turned the corner and he dipped his head against the sharp wind that whipped around the building. Even during the summer, the San Francisco Bay kept the city cool. “Is it on this block or the next one?”

Holding up her phone, she answered, “It’s actually in an alley off this street.”

They walked about halfway down the sidewalk, and Christina jerked her thumb to the right. “Down here.”

The alley dropped two steps and the ground beneath their feet changed to cobblestones. Music wafted or blared from the storefronts, depending on the wares inside. A wooden sign with
Kindred Spirits
printed in red along with a bubbling cauldron creaked in front of one of the stores.

He tugged on a wayward lock of Christina’s long hair. “That’s our store.”

“Cute logo.” She tapped the edge of the sign as they ducked into the store.

The top of his head brushed a tassel of bells hanging from the doorway and their light tinkle announced their arrival.

Soft New Age music played in the background and Eric’s nose twitched at the smell of sandalwood incense. He sniffed. “Told you so.”

“Smells nice.”

A woman emerged from the back of the store, throwing one impossibly long gray braid over her shoulder. “Welcome, kindred spirits. Can I help you with something, or are you here to browse?”

Eric pressed his twitching lips into a hard line. “We’re actually here to ask you a couple of questions about a former employee, Nora Sterling. We’re with the FBI. I’m Agent Brody, and this is Agent Sandoval.”

Shaking her head, the woman placed her hands together as if in prayer. She mumbled a few words between barely moving lips.

He took a quick glance at Christina, but she refused to meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“A very sad situation.” The woman lowered her hands. “But the police already came in here asking questions.”

“We’re not the police.” Christina took a few steps through the crowded store toward the woman and thrust out her hand. “And you are?”

“Libby Rivers. I’m the owner of the...” She had taken Christina’s hand and then jerked, almost flinging Christina’s hand away.

Christina took a step back. “A-are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. A little static electricity.” She smoothed her hand along the length of her braid. “As I was saying, I’m the owner of the store and Nora worked for me.”

Eric drew his brows together. Christina was staring at the woman, rubbing her palm against the thigh of her jeans.

“I’d shake your hand, too, but I don’t want to shock you.” He plucked a green marble from a glass bowl and rolled it in his palm. “Can you tell us anything about Nora? Did she have visitors to the store? Complain about anyone stalking her? Have any unusual interactions with a customer?”

Libby flicked her fingers. “The police already asked me all of that.”

“It’s different talking to someone in person and reading someone else’s notes.”

“What do you really want, Agent Brody?”

He blinked. Were his questioning skills that bad? He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the piece of notepaper with the symbol. He snapped it open and turned it toward Libby. “What does this mean?”

Libby’s faded blue eyes flickered. “Where did you see that?”

“Can’t tell you that, Libby.” He waved the paper under her nose. “What does it mean?”

She snatched it from his hand and pressed it against her chest, right above her heart. “It’s the symbol of a coven, Agent Brody.”

He folded his arms. “A coven? You mean like a coven of witches?”

“There’s a war going on, Agent Brody, a war against this coven.”

Then she dropped the paper and her hand shot out, and she grabbed Christina’s wrist, pulling her closer. “And that includes you, Agent Sandoval.”

Chapter Five

Libby’s cool blue eyes burned into Christina’s face. The clawlike fingers dug into her flesh.

Eric shifted beside her, sucking in his breath, automatically reaching for his weapon.

Christina stumbled back a step and wrenched her arm away from Libby’s grip. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry.” Libby coiled her braid around one hand. “Did I frighten you? That’s good. You should be frightened.”

Eric squared his shoulders and stepped between them. “Are you threatening her?”

“Me?” Libby backed up and bent over, sweeping the paper with the symbol from the floor as her long braid fell over one shoulder. “I’m not the one your partner has to look out for, Agent Brody.”

“Who, then? Why should I be afraid of a war on this coven, and what exactly do you mean by a war?”

Libby clicked her tongue. “You’re one of those who denies her powers. Stuffs them away. Ignores them. But you’re one of us, Agent Sandoval.”

“Did you just call me a witch?” Christina tried for a light tone, but Libby didn’t crack a smile. How did the woman know about her special powers? That handshake—something had passed between them.

“Whether you belong to this coven,” she said, tapping the symbol, “or another, you’re still a witch.”

“Okay, maybe there’s a little ESP going on here, someone with special gifts sensing it in someone else, but I’m no witch and I certainly didn’t join any coven.” She pointed to the piece of paper Libby had placed on the counter. “This one or any other.”

“You don’t join a coven, my dear. You belong.” Libby turned to Eric. “Nora did. She belonged to this coven.”

Eric whistled. “Did she, umm, practice witchcraft?”

“She did.” Libby’s gaze trailed to Christina. “There are some who embrace their powers.”

Christina dug her high heels into the floor. “Do you have any proof that Nora was murdered because she belonged to this coven?”

“Tell me. Did you find the sign of this coven on Nora?” Libby reached into a drawer and pulled out three incense sticks. “Or someone else?”

Eric shot her a look and cleared his throat. “We can’t tell you that, Libby.”

She nodded. “Someone else. So now you have two victims who are tied to this coven. Are you going to tell me that the coven isn’t the common denominator here?”

The bells over the door shivered and they all jerked their heads up. A tall man, dressed all in black with a black fedora, filled the doorway and for a second Christina had an urge to flee.

Libby folded the sheet of paper with the symbol and slid it toward Eric. “Hello, Nigel. More patchouli oil?”

“It’s a little more serious than that, Libby. I need a new deck of cards.”

Christina weaved her fingers through Eric’s and tightened her hold.

“I knew that was coming.” She waved her hand over Christina and Eric as if sprinkling fairy dust...or casting a spell. “This is Agent Brody and Agent Sandoval with the FBI. They’re looking into Nora’s murder.”

Nigel tipped back his hat. “Sick bastard. Nora was a sweet girl.”

Eric’s frame tensed. “You knew her?”

“From the store.” He held up a crooked finger. “Brody. Are you related to the SFPD homicide detective?”

Eric clenched his jaw so tightly Christina was afraid it would snap.

“He’s my brother.”

“Which one of you was kidnapped?”

Libby expelled a breath and it turned into a hiss.

“What do you know about that?” Eric shook off her hand and clenched his into a fist.

“Easy, boy. I’m a native. I know the city’s history, lore and legends better than most. Who could forget Joseph Brody’s story? Son kidnapped in the middle of a serial killer investigation? It was all a sensation.” He tapped his head. “I don’t forget anything that happened in this city.”

Libby rapped a deck of cards on the counter. “Your tarot cards, Nigel.”

“Tarot cards?” Christina held out her hand. “Can I see them?”

“You don’t need them. They’re more for the wannabes.” Libby fluttered her gray lashes in what could be a wink but dropped the cards in Christina’s hand. “Sorry, Nigel.”

Christina spread out the cards on the table, studying each one for similarities with the power and death cards found at the crime scenes. She located the two cards, but they were from a different tarot deck than these. “Do you sell a lot of tarot decks?”

The blue eyes turned to slits. “I sell my fair share, but people can order them online. Why?”

“Just curious.” Christina scooped up the cards and handed them to Nigel, avoiding his touch. She didn’t need another secret witch handshake right now.

His dark eyes bore into her anyway. “Are you close to finding Nora’s killer?”

Eric poked her in the back and she shrugged away from him. Did he take her for a rookie?

“We’ll get him.” She formed her fingers into a gun and pulled the trigger.

Nigel slipped the cards into his pocket and pulled out a silver money clip. “How much do I owe you, Libby?”

She tapped a few keys on her register. “Thirty-seven dollars and forty-two cents.”

He pulled two twenties from the clip, took his change and limped toward the door, his gray hair sticking out from the brim of his fedora.

He paused and raised one hand. “Find the people who are doing this.”

Christina blew out a breath when he disappeared. “Is he a witch, too?”

“No, but he’s good with the cards.” Libby patted Eric’s arm. “Sorry if Nigel made you uncomfortable, Agent Brody. Your father’s case riveted the city back in the day, and it all came back when the Alphabet Killer started leaving messages for your brother a few months ago.”

“Jesus.” Eric raked a hand through his hair. “You know all about my family, too?”

She shrugged. “Like Nigel said, it was a sensational case.”

“Do you remember my kidnapping?”

“Of course, but when you walked in here and introduced yourself, I didn’t realize you were the brother who had been kidnapped.”

“I don’t see how my brother can put up with this, living here.”

“People forget, move on to the next tragedy. It’s just fresh in our minds because of the recent case. Nobody really believed your father killed those women.”

Eric’s chest rose and fell. “He jumped from the bridge.”

Libby twirled her braid. “Lots of people jump from the bridge.”

Christina raised her voice and tilted her chin toward the door. “Any reason to suspect Nigel?”

Libby chuckled. “Nigel can barely turn those tarot cards his arthritis is so bad. He’s not capable of wrapping his hands around a knife and slitting someone’s throat.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us, Libby?”

She raised her delicate brows. “Haven’t I told you enough? I gave you the motive.”

Eric snorted. “A war on witches? What for?”

“Dominance, power.”

Christina’s ears perked up. Had Libby noticed her special attention to the power card in the tarot deck, or did she really know something?

“Did you think I meant a bunch of God-fearing Christians were waging this war against the coven?” Libby tsked. “It’s not outsiders, Agent Brody. It’s another coven of witches. Mark my word.”

When they hit the sidewalk, Christina gulped in the fresh air. “Did we just enter an alternate universe, or what?”

“I felt like we were the ones being interrogated in there. Libby knew all about your witchiness and old Nigel knew all about my family history.”

“Watch it.” She punched him in the shoulder.

“What happened when she shook your hand? Some kind of witch-to-witch communication?”

“Would you stop calling me a witch?”

“Tea?” He nodded toward a coffeehouse at the end of the alley. “I need to process this.”

“Sure.” Her arm swept along the street and the people strolling from shop to shop. “Apparently the night’s still young here in The Haight.”

“You haven’t been away from city life that long, have you?” He opened the door for her.

“They do roll up the sidewalks in San Miguel at ten o’clock on Friday nights, eight on weeknights.”

“You loved the city. Why’d you move out?”

“Ah, I thought I told you. My mom needed some help.” She folded her arms and peered at the drink menu on the wall.

“You told me your mom had retired from nursing. You’re
living
with her?”

“Mom and I always got along, sort of.”

“Is she really ill?”

“Small chai latte, please.” She shook her head. “Just slowing down a bit, and she likes the company.”

“That’s why I’m surprised she retired.” He ordered a decaf coffee, and they took a table in the corner.

He shifted in the wood chair and stretched his legs in front of him. “Did you know anything about witches’ covens before Libby gave us the 411?”

“You mean anything other than what I’ve seen in the movies?” She popped the lid from her cup and blew on the surface. “My half sister’s a witch.”

Eric sputtered and wiped the coffee from his chin. “Vivi’s a witch?”

“I thought I told you that before, too.”

“You must be having imaginary conversations in your head with me because you never put it that way before. I thought she just dabbled in the occult.” He blotted beads of coffee off the table with a napkin. “What does that mean exactly, that she’s a witch? Does she cast spells and mix potions?”

“I’ve never gotten into it that much with her. She tried to drag me into the occult when she found out I had certain...sensitivities, but I shut her down.”

“Must be a genetic thing from your—dad?”

“Yes, dear old dad is a powerful brujo.”

“Okay, wait a minute.” He splayed his hands on the table and hunched forward. “I
know
you never told me that. I thought your dad was a musician who told fortunes.”

“He’s a musician
and
a brujo.”

“Is that why he and your mom divorced?”

“Oh, it was one of many issues.” She sipped her tea and then wrapped her hands around the warm cup. “He was all in favor of developing my psychic talents, but Mom put the brakes on that.”

“Wow.” Eric tapped his chin with his fingertips. “It’s weird that you got this case.”

She snapped her brows together. “Why is it weird? I’m working serial killers in the West. We’ve got a serial killer in the West.”

He smoothed his thumb across the back of her hand. “I’m just saying. It’s a coincidence.”

“Like it’s a coincidence that Liz Fielding was wearing the same necklace and may be a member of the same coven as the woman who was involved in your kidnapping?”

His thumb stopped its circular motion on her hand. “What are you saying? Like you mentioned before, I’m working serial killers in the Western Division, and here we are.”

“Maybe it’s some force at work.” Her hands encompassed a ball in the air. “Maybe we’re meant to work this case—together.”

“Then let’s do it.” He encircled her wrists with his fingers. “Tell me what you know about witches and covens.”

“I wish I knew more. My mother told me that people used to come and see Dad for help, mostly communicating with dead relatives. He acted as a medium.”

“You were too young to see any of this, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Dad left before I was five.”

“He remarried?”

“No.”

“Your half sister?”

“My father’s a musician and a brujo. He didn’t need marriage to procreate.”

“So he handed down his gifts to another daughter? One whose mother didn’t mind the development of the talent?”

“Mind? She may have encouraged it. There are a few women who would seek out a brujo just for that purpose.”

“To have a baby with him?”

She nodded over the steam rising from her cup.

“What kind of woman would use a baby as a pawn?”

Christina coughed. “You can never understand other people’s motives.”

“Seems pretty low to me.”

“Anyway,” she continued, tapping the table as if to bring his focus back, “that’s about all I know. I’m not sure what kind of witchcraft Vivi practices.”

Eric sketched out the symbol on a napkin. “Do you think she’s in the same coven as Nora and Liz?”

“I don’t know, but what about your guy in San Diego and the other woman in Portland?”

“We’re going to have to comb through the files and look for the link. We weren’t looking at witchcraft, were we?”

“Nope. We got our break tonight.”

He drained his cup. “Let’s call it a night and see if we can link the other two murders to this coven. Where is your father, anyway?”

“Mexico. Why? Did you think you could use him for research?”

“Where’s Vivi?”

“Great. You’re going to try to question her? I think she’s in Big Sur.”

“We can always make a return trip to Kindred Spirits.”

“One thing at a time. We need to make sure this theory applies to the other two victims, or we’re dead in the water.”

“I have a feeling about this one.”

“Now that makes two of us with feelings. We should open our own detective agency.”

“And compete with my little brother, Judd?”

“Ah, but does Judd have
feelings?
”

He snorted. “He actually has very few of those.”

“Let’s head back. I’m really curious to look at those case files now.”

Tossing his half-full coffee cup into the trash, he asked, “We are going to bed first, right?”

Her eyes flew to his face, but shadows obscured his expression, so she shrugged off the double entendre. “I plan to get a good night’s sleep. I know I have to look at those files with fresh eyes.”

“Now we have something specific to look for.”

They stepped off the curb and a car engine revved. Her step faltered, and Eric jerked his head to the side. He held up his hand in case the guy behind the headlights wasn’t paying attention.

As they entered the crosswalk, tires squealed and the car hurtled toward them.

Christina screamed and flew through the air.