and date trees dotted the ground below. Lightning cracked through the dark rolling clouds above.
He started to turn away when the glow of a cigarette caught his eye. He pressed closer to the glass. The cigarette was tossed to the ground. Was someone watching their room?
He glanced at the bathroom door. Water in the shower was still running. He could run downstairs and check the courtyard before Lisa was out of the bathroom. Grabbing his room key, he slipped down the stairs.
Brett unlocked the French doors that led to the courtyard and crept into the night. The murmurs of other guests filtered through open windows. He edged along the outside wall, ignoring the pounding of his heart.
The sudden slamming of exterior door to the courtyard made Brett jerk, and he took off running to the exit. He flung open the wood and metal door, looking left and then right. Nothing. Whoever had been there had disappeared.
They must have seen him coming and ran away. Shit! He couldn’t go running around the city at this time of night. Slamming the door, he hurried back to the room.
He quietly opened the door to their room and jumped as Lisa’s voice broke the silence.
“Where did you go?” Her blue eyes crackled with fire.
Brett wiped the sweat from his brow. “I just took a walk outside in the courtyard.”
With folded arms, she glared at him. “I know you, Brett O’Shea. What were you doing?”
He took a deep breath. “I thought I saw someone looking up at our room.”
“Brett,” she muttered, “there’s not a bad guy behind every corner. You need to chill. We’re up in six hours to catch our flight home.”
By the time he was ready for bed, Lisa was sound asleep. He walked to the window and took one more glance. The courtyard was empty. Regardless of what Lisa said, he knew bad guys could indeed hide behind every corner, every tree, and even under the bed. Maybe he was a little paranoid but then figured it was better to be safe than sorry.
After rechecking the locks on the door, he climbed into bed. The sooner he was back home, the better he’d feel. His vacation had been great until today. He wished there was time to go back to Hassan and get a refund. Not that he could even find the place again. He didn’t want the damn rug. Call him superstitious, but there was something odd about Hassan. If he was lucky, he could talk Lisa into giving it away or donating it to some charity. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to make the rug disappear.
Chapter 3
Brett walked into the Des Moines police station. He nodded to several officers as he made his way upstairs to the Detective Bureau. It was hard to believe he’d been on vacation for three weeks.
He and Lisa had flown in late last night. They’d barely gotten to sleep when the alarm had gone off. Before going to bed, he checked the kitchen table for a note. He’d left his deceased great-grandfather, Detective Michael O’Shea, a note indicating when he planned to return. Even if Michael was a ghost, he had been crucial in solving two previous supernatural cases. Only a few people could see Michael. Michael’s picture hung on the wall in the police museum as one of the murdered officers—from 1933 to be exact.
After their last case, Michael was “recalled” by his boss or the “Big Guy in the sky,” as Michael called him. In other words, he needed an attitude adjustment. One of these days, Michael would pop back into Brett’s life.
As Brett entered the office, Marge Amos, the bureau secretary, glanced up from her desk. Her silver hair sparkled beneath the fluorescent lighting. Her pink cheeks wrinkled as she grinned up at him.
“Well, look who returned. How was your trip?”
Brett sat on the corner of Marge’s immaculate desk. “Great. We saw mountains, spent the night in the desert, and even rode a camel.”
“A camel! I’d like to have seen that.”
He leaned down and muttered, “No, you wouldn’t. I almost fell off. So any big cases while I was gone?”
Marge glanced toward Assistant Chief Foster’s door. “No, just the normal. A few robberies and break-ins. No homicides, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Brett grinned. “That’s a good thing.”
Marge reached over and patted his hand. “Glad you’re back, O’Shea. It’s been quiet around here. Tomorrow, I’ll bring in some of those homemade cinnamon rolls you like so much.”
“I can’t tell you how much I missed good American comfort food. Thanks.”
An opening door drew his attention. He glanced up and saw his boss, Chief of Detectives, Jake Foster, approach them.
“About time you got back.”
Brett slid off the desk and stood in front of Foster. “Marge was filling me in on what’s been going on here.”
Foster grunted, “Nothing. Just the way I like it. By the way, Tim Randall is back.”
Brett froze. Randall! He and Detective Randall worked together briefly last year, but when Randall roughed up a prostitute, Chief Anders transferred him to Traffic. Then Randall had come to their aid on the vampire case and had redeemed himself. Brett shook his head. He didn’t know if he could trust the guy.
Brett was opening his mouth to reply when Foster cut him off. “Deal with it. Time to head down to roll call.”
Foster flashed Brett a smile before he left. Brett’s mood soured.
“Where’s Randall’s office?” he asked Marge.
Her devilish smile widened. “Next to yours.”
His mouth opened and closed. No way! He glared at Randall’s office door. As if on cue, Randall exited his office. His blue eyes twinkled. “Hey, O’Shea. Glad you’re back.”
“Thanks.” Brett heard Marge chuckle before she answered the phone.
“I’ll walk down to roll call with you. Can’t wait to hear about your trip.”
Brett followed Randall down the stairs. The younger detective had slimmed down; his former paunchy stomach was nearly nonexistent. Even his buzzed blond hair was longer. Brett wondered if Randall had a girlfriend.
Entering roll call, Brett spotted his friend and fellow detective, Kevin Donnellson, in the back corner. Donnellson was the modern version of a Viking warrior. With blond hair, blue eyes, and a hulking body that could overpower almost anyone, Donnellson didn’t have many people challenging him. Brett enjoyed Donnellson’s wit and positive attitude.
Donnellson had a big grin plastered on his face. “O’Shea! Glad to see you. How was it?”
“Fantastic.” Brett glanced over at Randall, who joked with other officers.
“I suppose you heard about Randall being back?”
With arms folded across his chest, Brett nodded. “Yeah. First thing Foster told me.”
