The District Read online

  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.

  Chapter Six

  Eric still had her by the waist where he’d grabbed her just as the car whooshed past them, spewing exhaust and burning rubber into the air.

  Several pedestrians shook their heads and one man yelled an obscenity after the speeding car.

  Christina had stumbled back against Eric’s chest, and he pulled her tightly against his body. “Are you okay?”

  “That was close.” Her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “What’s the matter with that guy? Didn’t he see us?”

  “He saw us, Christina.”

  She spun around, her nose almost touching his. “Are you sure?”

  “I waved at him. Didn’t you hear the car take off? Zero to fifty.”

  “Okay, what are you saying, Eric?” She placed her hands on his solid chest and leaned away from him. “Do you think he was aiming for us?”

  “Sure seems that way.”

  Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. “Then it’s no coincidence. I know there are some bad drivers in this city, but they usually don’t aim for pedestrians.”

  “Unless those pedestrians are investigating a series of murders and are getting too close for comfort.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath came out in short spurts. “That’s crazy. We’re the FBI for God’s sake.”

  “Do you think that exempts us from people taking potshots at us? We just lost an agent in South America. Someone blew his cover and the cartel executed him, beheaded him.”

  She shivered and hugged her waist. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

  “Me either.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s get back to the car. We don’t want to give him a second chance.”

  “Do you think it’s our killer? Do you think he plans to strike again in San Francisco?”

  “I hope he tries and we’re there to stop him this time.”

  “We need to report this to Rich.”

  “We have no proof that the guy driving that car has anything to do with this case.”

  “There’s the symbol on my rental car. Someone’s following us, someone who’s aware we’re here to investigate these murders.”

  “I’ll put it in my report to Rich and the P.D.” He held out his hand. “Do you want me to drive? Your hands are trembling.”

  She dropped the keys into his palm without a word. If he wanted to play the big strong protector, who was she to argue?

  When she slid into the passenger seat, she leaned back to get a view of the side mirror. “I’m going to make sure we’re not being followed.”

  “Why? That would be great. Let him come to us.”

  “Easy for you to say. Those weren’t your toes he almost ran over with a two-ton car.”

  Drawing his brows together, he adjusted the rearview mirror. “Did you feel like he was aiming the car toward you? We were both in that crosswalk.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe just because I was in front of you. Scary stuff.” She wriggled deeper into her seat and stuffed her hands beneath her thighs. Tonight had been a roller coaster ride. Maybe she should try to call Vivi and see what she had to say about the matter. Of course, every time she talked to her sister, Vivi tried to recruit her to the dark side.

  “Are you okay?” Eric reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

  “I’d be better if I thought the hot tub at the hotel would be open when we got back.” He removed his hand too soon and steered into the hotel parking lot.

  Despite being outed as a witch and almost getting run over, this night had exceeded all her expectations. Eric had forgiven her for taking secret notes on his family tragedy and didn’t believe she’d been in league with Ray Lopez to write a book. He’d softened toward her, and it felt so good she’d almost forgotten that she had a bigger secret—one that would torpedo their tentative truce.

  But she had to tell him.

  He parked the car, and she scrambled out before she could blurt out the truth. This needed careful planning. He was already suspicious about her move to San Miguel with her mother. Mom was hardly old or sickly.

  She blinked as they walked into the glare of the lobby.

  Eric called across the room to the hotel clerk. “Is the hot tub still open?”

  She responded. “Midnight.”

  “Perfect.” Eric took her arm. “The witching hour.”

  “Would you stop with that?” She shook off his hand. “I already told you. Midnight is not the witching hour.”

  “Like I said, you should know.” He punched the elevator button. “Are you really going to the hot tub? Did you even bring a suit?”

  “I always do.”

  They reached their adjoining rooms, and she slid her card in the slot and turned, but he already had his own door open.

  “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow morning at eight?”

  “Sure.”

  The stab of disappointment almost took her breath away. Not that she was expecting a good-night kiss or anything, but something more than a door in the face would’ve been nice after their breakthrough tonight.

  She let her own door slam behind her. Maybe Eric didn’t consider what had happened tonight a breakthrough.

  And it wasn’t. The breakthrough would come when she told him about Kendall. Or not.

  After she tugged on her one-piece suit, she crouched in front of the minibar and grabbed a mini bottle of chilled white wine. She didn’t have to drive anywhere now.

  She slipped the white terry cloth robe from the hanger in the closet and wrapped it around her body. She dropped the wine in her pocket, followed by a plastic cup. She padded barefoot down the carpeted hallway to the elevator. She stabbed the button for the basement floor a couple of times
.

  She slid her key card into the slot next to the glass door leading to the pool. She nodded at the couple dog-paddling around the shallow end. Probably thrilled to see her.

  Steam rose from the hot tub, which was tucked in the corner of the room and she cruised toward it, shedding her robe along the way.

  A head stuck up above the edge, and she tripped to a stop. Awkward. She was hoping to have it to herself. Maybe he’d leave.

  As she approached the enclosure, the person in the hot tub turned his head and she almost tripped again.

  “Took you long enough.” Eric sat up straight and the hot water sluiced from his broad shoulders and steam rose from his back.

  She had to snap her mouth shut and just hope no drool had made it to her chin. “You.”

  He ran a hand across his hair, and his biceps bunched. “Sounded like a good idea. Hop in. It’s nice and hot.”

  She had to peel her tongue from the roof of her mouth to speak and she still managed only a gurgle.

  She entered the enclosure and dipped a toe into the bubbling water. “Yep, it’s hot.”

  Eric lifted one corner of his mouth, and the heat spread to her cheeks. Idiot.

  She stepped into the tub and sank onto the tile seat across from him. Her foot touched his and she jerked it back. His presence here did not bode well for a relaxing soak.

  Sighing, she scooted farther into the water and rested the back of her head on the edge of the pool. She shifted so that the jets pounded between her shoulder blades. “Ahh.”

  He lowered his body back beneath the surface of the frothing water. “Feels good. Thanks for the suggestion. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. It’s a good way to unwind after work. Beats booze.”

  “Apparently not.” He pointed to the little bottle of wine perched on the deck with the plastic cup snug over the top.

  “I—I...just a little nightcap.”

  “Christina,” he said as he cupped some water in his hand and tipped it over, “you don’t have to pretend to be a teetotaler for me. I ordered two drinks at dinner, remember?”

  “I know. It’s just that your mom...”

  “Was an alcoholic and a prescription drug addict. That was my mom. I don’t put a black check mark next to someone’s name just because they like a social drink now and then.”