The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles) (19 page)

Alexi indicated that Gladys should start the tape again. “Next time he turns around, try to get a headshot.”

The clerk filled the bag and the thief grabbed it and presented a full frontal shot to the security camera. Gladys stopped the action and focused in on the man’s head, enlarging it until the face filled the screen.

“It’s not Pawling,” Alexi said.

“What makes you so sure, Lexi?”

She tapped the screen. “His eyes. Pawling’s eyes are brown. This man’s eyes are much lighter. Probably blue
.” A bright blue. Just like the man I followed after the first robbery. Just like the guy in the bank. And, unless I miss my guess, just like the man who killed Baron.

“He could have worn contacts to disguise his eye color,” the captain suggested.

“Contacts don’t explain how he could be in two places at once.” Alexi shook her head. “It’s not Pawling. I’d bet my badge on it.”

“The clerk said he disappeared down the alley after he left the store.” Rhys leaned over Gladys’ shoulder. “Can you check for a street cam at the other end of that alley?”

Gladys smiled sweetly at Rhys. “Sure, sugar. Anything for you.” She swiveled her chair around to a computer and, within a few minutes, had the city street cam on the screen. “What date and time?”

“October 25
th
, about nine a.m. forward,” Rhys said.

A couple of keystrokes and Gladys had the street cam video online. “Fast forward until someone comes out of the alley,” Rhys told her. “There. Can you rewind it some and enlarge the figure?”

Gladys punched a few keys. “Oh,” she said breathlessly, “It’s Fabio.”

“Who the heck is Fabio?” the captain asked.

“He’s a romance book cover model. He used to be all the rage.” Gladys pursed her lips, drawing her eyebrows together in a frown. “But he doesn’t look quite like this anymore.”

“You’ve got a picture of him?” the captain asked incredulously.

Gladys dug into the desk drawer and removed a romance book and a magazine with
Romantic Times
across the top. She laid the book on the desk and tapped the cover. “This is Fabio then.” She flipped open the magazine. “And this is Fabio now. He’s aged a bit, but he’s such a hunk.” She sighed adoringly. “I’m a big fan.”

Alexi covered her mouth to hide her smile, biting her lip to keep from laughing. She’d never suspected the crusty, middle-aged woman had such a soft side. Swooning over a male model like a teenager at a Jonas Brothers’ concert.

The captain peered over Gladys’ shoulder at the pictures then massaged his temples with his middle fingers. “This case is giving me a headache. First, it’s an open and shut case, then we’ve got airtight alibis, and now we’ve got an imposter and a romance book model as suspects. This is becoming very convoluted. Martin,” he yelled.

Martin stuck his head into the room. “Yeah, Cap’n?”

“Get me an APB out on Fabio.”

“Last name?” Martin asked.

The captain spoke to Gladys. “Does this character have a last name?”

“I’d bet my Fabio fan club tee shirt he didn’t do it.”

“Really?” Captain Williams stopped massaging his temples and pinned Gladys with a sarcastic stare. “So you’re a detective now, too?”

Gladys poked her finger on the magazine page. “Fabio’s in Europe now. Says so right here.”

“Martin—”

“I know, Cap’n. One APB on Fabio coming up.”

“Anybody else got any other ideas?” the captain asked.

Alexi tapped on the screen. “What’s in his left hand?”

Gladys enlarged the area. “He’s got the bag from the jewelry heist.”

And the Turning Stone ring. Not good.

“Oh, Fabio,” Gladys moaned. “What are you doing?”

Good question. What was this shifter doing? And how did he learn to mimic pictures and shift so fast?

Chapter 33

“I think I found Baron’s killer.”

Sylvia’s announcement nearly made Alexi’s knees buckle. She stepped out of the house onto the patio, clutching the cell phone. Rhys was due back any minute and she didn’t want him accidentally hearing anything. “What makes you think so?”

“A source told me about some guy who’s been mimic shifting and got himself into a fix.”

Alexi scooped a handful of orange-colored leaves out of the Adirondack chair, releasing a crisp autumn scent as they crumbled in her hand. She sat down facing the patio doors, on the alert for Rhys. A “fix” wasn’t a firm enough reason to get excited about.

“What kind of fix?” she asked when her heart stopped pounding.

“He’s retaining mimic characteristics.”

“That could just mean he’s a shifter who’s been doing the wrong things. We can’t take that as reason enough to think he might be Baron’s killer. Any description of the mimic characteristics?”

“My source says he keeps growing a salt-and-pepper beard and has developed a limp. Any of those sound like Baron?”

Alexi’s heart jumped so hard her shirt moved. Baron’s beard had been salt-and-pepper, and the man who killed the store clerk had a limp. Could Sylvia have found the real murderer? It was too much to hope for.

“And he has bright blue eyes,” Sylvia said.

It’s him!
No way would she admit that to Sylvia. Alexi took a deep, calming breath and then spoke in an even, unemotional voice. “Baron’s eyes were more of a steel blue, tending toward gray in some lights. This probably isn’t the guy.”

“I think we should check him out anyway.”

“And just how are we going to find him?”

“My contact arranged a meeting with him. The guy has some stuff he wants to fence. Jewels, I think. Meet me at the deserted loading docks west of the Dew Drop Inn in half an hour. They’ll be there.”

“I don’t—” Sylvia hung up, leaving Alexi hanging mid-sentence.

She shoved the phone into her pocket and relaxed against the wooden chair slats, watching the sun streak pink and orange across the sky as it dipped toward the horizon. Finding the killer like this seemed too easy and too convenient for comfort. It could be a trap. But then wouldn’t everything Sylvia had a part in be a potential trap if Eli was correct about her motives?

Alexi rose from the chair and dug out her cell phone. Trap or not, she couldn’t risk losing any chance at catching Baron’s killer. She dialed Eli’s number, leaving a message for him to meet her as backup at the appointed place. With any luck, he’d get the message in time. Then she holstered her gun and got into the car.

Rhys noticed Alexi’s car as his truck approached the corner of her street. He honked the horn, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

Where was she going? They planned to have dinner together. He glanced at the grocery bag filled with T-bone steaks, Idaho potatoes, and chocolate swirl cheesecake. She wouldn’t stand him up, not when T-bone steaks and cheesecake were involved.

He punched her speed dial number on his phone. No answer
.
Wheeling the truck into a U-turn, he followed her. Something
must be happening.
If she needed backup, he would be there for her.

Alexi’s car backed into a parking spot along the street. Rhys parked his truck in a spot a few cars behind her.

What the heck was she doing in this part of town only a few blocks from where Baron died?
Is she doing her own investigation? Without me?
Angered, Rhys yanked the keys from the ignition.
How am I supposed to keep you safe when you keep pulling stunts like this?
His hand froze on the door handle as a man emerged from the driver’s side of Alexi’s car. Panic gripped him. Where was Alexi? Who was this guy? And how the heck had he managed to get into the house and steal Alexi’s car?

He punched Alexi’s speed dial number again. After a couple of seconds, Rhys heard it ring on the other end. He watched as the man took a cell phone from his pocket, looked at it, and then shoved it back in.

He had Alexi’s phone, too? That made no sense.

He jumped out of the truck and sprinted toward Alexi’s car. As the man walked into the circle of yellow light cast by the streetlamp, Rhys paused, recognition gnawing at his brain. This was the guy who had come out of the Briarwood hotel room. The one Alexi said was her informant.

Rhys slowed and moved onto the sidewalk, shadowing him. The man rounded the corner into an alley between the buildings. Rhys did a quick check on Alexi’s car to make sure she wasn’t inside then kicked out the taillight and shined his keychain flashlight through the opening. The trunk was empty. At least she wasn’t lying dead in the car.
But that didn’t explain why she’d given her car and phone to this jerk.

Rhys neared the corner and carefully scanned the alley. Dark shadows filled the entry. At the far end, the alley opened into a parking lot. A couple of building lights spilled dim yellow squares onto the blacktop. Two men stood just outside one of the lighted squares, their faces hidden in shadows, watching Alexi’s informant approach. He crept along the alley to the edge of the buildings, near enough to see and hear, but not close enough to be detected.

“I’m surprised you came as Garrett,” one of the men said to Alexi’s informant.

“Easier to figure out who’s who this way,” the informant said.

Garrett. So that was his name.
He’d do a search on him and find out who he was.

“What should I call you?” Garrett asked the man who had addressed him. “Sylvia doesn’t quite suit you.”

“Sylvia couldn’t make it. She sent me instead. You can call me Sly.”

Something about the smarmy way the fellow spoke made Rhys think the name fit him quite well.

Garrett nodded toward the other fellow. “And who is this?”

“I call him Crusher,” Sly said.

“Is he the fence Baron’s killer is meeting?”

Baron? What did Alexi’s informant know about Baron? Rhys edged closer. He didn’t want to miss a word.

“Nah,” Sly said. “He’s yours.”

“My what?”

“Your killer.”

Crusher leapt, knocking Garrett to the ground in a fluid motion Rhys wouldn’t have thought possible from someone of his size. The two men rolled across the lot swapping punches. Sly slouched against the corner of the building watching with mild interest, as if he already knew the outcome.

Rhys sized up the two struggling men as Crusher pummeled Garrett with meaty fists. He outweighed Garrett by at least seventy pounds. On a pure weight level the outcome was obvious, but Garrett kept flipping the bigger man with martial art moves—moves that seemed very familiar. Alexi had made some of those same moves on him during their workouts. The agility of the smaller man evened the score a bit.

Reaching inside his leather vest, Rhys undid the snap on the interior concealment pocket, freeing his gun for quick retrieval. If Alexi’s informant got in too deep, he’d step in. No need to let the man get beaten to death before he disclosed what he knew about Baron’s murder.

Crusher pinned Garrett on his back, pounding his fist into Garrett’s face. Suddenly, Garrett flipped Crusher, using his feet to propel the larger man over his head. Crusher rolled to his feet and stomped toward Garrett, who still lay on the ground. He back flipped to a standing position with the ease of Chinese acrobat and crouched into a protective stance.

Roaring like an injured lion, Crusher rammed Garrett, throwing them both to the ground, pinning Garrett’s right hand behind him. He pummeled Garrett’s head against the pavement until his opponent stopped struggling.

Leering gleefully, Crusher lumbered off Garrett and slid a knife from his boot. “Open your eyes,” he commanded as he poised the knife over Garrett. “I want you to watch death coming.”

Rhys drew his gun and moved toward the two men.

Garrett’s head rolled slowly toward Crusher. “I’m not dead yet,” he said, the words thick and gravelly. “But you are.”

With lightning speed, Garrett shifted sideways and drew his hand from behind his back. A shot rang out. Crusher clutched his chest. Blood spurted through his big fingers. He lifted his hand away from his chest, eyes wide with shock, and, in slow motion, fell to his knees then onto his face.

Garrett collapsed against the pavement, his gun clattering out of his hand.

“Shit,” Sly hissed. “Send a boy to do a man’s job and he screws it up.” He approached, his own gun drawn. “You’re a helluva lot of trouble,” he said to Garrett.

“Police!” Rhys jumped out of the shadows. “Drop the gun. Now.” He advanced toward Sly who bolted across the lot, disappearing into the darkness. Rhys holstered his gun and crouched down next to Garrett, listening. He wasn’t breathing.

“Don’t die on me!” He pinched Garrett’s nostrils together and started CPR. “Breathe, man! Breathe!”

As he braced his hands on Garrett’s chest, Rhys suddenly found his hands cupping a woman’s breast. Startled, he fell back on his heels. Bit-by-bit, Garrett’s form altered, the solid muscles shifting into soft curves. Rhys blinked to clear his vision.

“Alexi?” he whispered.
No, it couldn’t be her. I’m hallucinating. Worrying about her has finally taken its toll, and I’m going nuts.
The figure in front of him lay stone still.

Rhys checked for a pulse. Nothing.
Even if I am hallucinating, whoever this is still isn’t breathing.
Rhys started CPR again. After a few more seconds, the body started breathing on its own. He squatted back on his heels and stared as two hazel eyes opened.

Alexi’s eyes.

“Rhys? What are you doing here?” she said between ragged gasps.

His legs shook beneath him and he dropped onto the pavement, his quivering limbs unable to support him. An eternity seemed to pass before he found his voice. “Alexi? Is that really you?”

“What happened?”

“I might ask you the same thing.” He touched her face. She felt real enough. “What—”

“Alexi!” Eli appeared out of the shadowy alley, brandishing a sword. The metal caught the rays of the streetlight, flashing silver along the length of the threatening weapon. Eli swept a ferocious glare around the lot and, recognizing no immediate threat, shoved the sword into the flowing length of his greatcoat.

For a moment, Rhys thought he’d experienced some kind of surreal daydream. Alexi, first as a man and now herself, bleeding on the ground in front of him. Eli acting like Duncan McCloud, the Immortal Highlander who slayed other Immortals and took their power. For an old man, Eli charged in with the strength of an entire clan. Who the hell ran around with a sword in his coat? Eli McCraigen was one odd duck. Eli, jostling for a spot next to Alexi, jarred Rhys out of his outrageous thoughts.

“Lassie, ye dinna wait for me. Don’t ye ken that daring often leads tae death?” Eli knelt down beside the pair, peering anxiously at Alexi. “She’s bleeding.” He eyed Rhys suspiciously. “By the Druid’s beard, what happened here?

“She’s lucky she’s alive.” Rhys stood and took a couple of steps away then whirled back and faced Alexi and Eli. “What the hell is going on?” He pointed an accusing finger at Alexi. “You were a man a minute ago. You changed—right under my hands.” He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets.

Defeat and agony etched on her pale face, Alexi struggled to sit then collapsed.

“Who the hell— No. What the hell are you, anyway?”

The rest of the color drained out of her face, leaving her ashen countenance staring at him in the dim light.

Eli stood and laid his big hand on Rhys’ shoulder. He shrugged it off. “There’s plenty o’ time for the telling, lad. We need tae get her home and get her mended. This isnae the place tae be discussing things. ‘Tis not safe here.” He stooped and slipped his arm under Alexi’s shoulder. Rhys didn’t move. “Come on, lad. I canna do this alone.”

Rhys helped Eli move Alexi, handling her as if she had the swine flu. He stared into Alexi’s hazel eyes, hooded and full of secrets. He didn’t know
this
person, this man-woman. After what he’d just experienced, he wasn’t certain he wanted to.

Rhys helped Alexi into Eli’s car and shut the door. “Once we’ve got her wounds bandaged, I’ll bring you back and you can take her car home,” he told Eli.

The Scotsman nodded across the top of the car. “We canna tell anyone aboot this, laddie,” he said as he settled his bulk into the driver’s seat.

Rhys huffed. “I wouldn’t know what to tell.”

Alexi lowered the passenger window. “I can explain everything. Just give me a chance to explain.” Her voice broke and she choked back a sob.
Don’t cry. Crying won’t do any good.
But what would? He’d been shocked by what had happened, and she couldn’t blame him. Watching someone shift for the first time was scary as hell.

“I doubt you can explain this away.”

Eli started the car, and as he drove away, she sobbed. “What am I going to do? This wasn’t the way I intended to break the news to him.”

“How had ye planned it, lassie?”

“I don’t know. As much as I’ve thought about it, I haven’t been able to figure out a satisfactory solution. Every scenario ends in tragedy. Just like this one will. I know it.”

He patted her on the arm. “There canna be a good way tae tell someone that yer a shifter, especially if it ‘tis someone ye love.” She tipped her head onto Eli’s shoulder. “Dinna be afraid, lassie. He loves ye, warts and all, and love will find its way oot o’ this.”

“Warts would be a whole lot easier to explain.”

Eli laughed. “But they wouldnae make you as pretty.”

The Scotsman’s attempt at humor caused a tiny smile to curl her lips, but it didn’t stay. “What am I going to tell him, Eli?”

“The truth. ‘Tis always the best thing tae do.”