eyes widened. “Ya attacked a human peeler?” he asked incredulously. “What did he do?”
Scarlett nibbled her lip and tried not to smile. “He defended himself. Quite vigorously.”
Quin roared with laughter, startling a nearby class of trainees and earning a stern look from old Fianna, who was leading them in a meditation exercise. Quin mouthed an apology and placed a hand on Scarlett’s back to lead her to a more secluded corner.
“Bad craic, Letty! Was he very angry? He didn’t try to arrest ya did he?” He snorted with mirth, as if the thought amused more than concerned him.
Scarlett chuckled. “No. We had a bit of a tussle. Then he backed off and tried to reassure me that he was no threat.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Quin grunted, pride and affection shining in his eyes. “Mustn’t have taken him long to realize he wouldn’t best ya in a fight. But why was he lurkin’ in the bushes in the first place?”
Scarlett shifted uncomfortably. “He said he was investigating a murder. But the strange thing is, Quin, I smelled a Morpheus potion on him. I use it for insomnia sometimes and it’s very…distinctive. That’s why I was so quick to attack him. I thought he meant to use it on me.”
A deep crease appeared between Quin’s bushy brows. “What the bollox would a human policeman be doin’ with a Morpheus potion?”
“I don’t think he had one,” she replied quietly. “I think he picked up the scent from his crime scene.”
Quin’s eyes widened in understanding. “Shite, did ya tell Pat?”
Scarlett shook her head. “Not yet,” she admitted. “We got into a bit of a tiff at the wedding and I haven’t spoken to him since.”
“Ah, Letty,” he said softly, “I know ya don’t want to admit how hard it was for ya to see Pat with his new lady friend at yer brother’s weddin’. But if ya think someone from our realm murdered a human, ya’ve got to tell him.”
Scarlett blinked at him with the dawning comprehension that he thought the cause of her ‘narkiness’ in the sparring ring was her supposed unrequited love for Pat. The realization both relieved and annoyed her.
She’d never seen fit to correct the assumptions that she was holding a torch for Pat. Letting her kin believe that was easier than explaining why she’d never been interested in dating someone else.
But for Quin to believe that she’d withhold information from Pat about such a horrible crime because of it...well, that was just insulting.
“I’m not bajanxed, Quin,” she snapped. “I have every intention of telling him.”
“Of course ya do,” he agreed quickly. “I didn’t mean to suggest...” he faltered, his massive, heavily inked shoulders drooping in resignation. “I’m sorry, Letty. I’ve upset ya again, and I didn’t mean to.”
Her scowl melted away and she sighed. “I know you didn’t, Quin. And I’m on my way to tell Pat today.”
He smiled in relief and pulled her into a bear hug. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he rumbled.
“Me too,” she murmured, her remaining annoyance dissolving as she hugged him back.
It was impossible to stay mad at her cousin. Even if he was a giant idiot sometimes.
Chapter 3
Grey stood at the window, looking out at a tall sugar maple that shaded the west side of the house from the afternoon sun. The local police had gone, and the interior was dim and silent.
It was strange how the place already felt stale and uninhabited, as if the house’s life-force had been snuffed out with its owner’s.
He sighed and walked over to the fish tank. It rested on a long table behind the couch, level with the top of the cushions. He imagined the latest vic, Heather Peters, stretching out and relaxing as she watched its colorful denizens go about their lives behind the glass.
Purple anemones, red sea stars and tiny stalk-eyed crabs littered the sandy floor, while tropical fish of all sizes and hues darted through the rocky coral labyrinth above. A small blue eel and a frilly lionfish were two of the more impressive specimens inhabiting the little underwater universe.
The fish whizzed around erratically when they saw him and he wondered when they’d last been fed. He found containers of flakes and dried shrimp on the shelf below, and sprinkled some of each into the water. He watched as the food was quickly devoured and added some more.
Ms. Peters had obviously taken pride in the saltwater tank. It was well maintained, and probably worth thousands of dollars. It saddened him to think what would happen to all of the beautiful fish now that she was gone.
Hopefully her family would make sure it was taken care of. But in cases like these, maintaining a home where a loved one was murdered was often the last thing on a family member’s mind.
Grey had arrived on the scene in time to snap some shots of the body before it was taken to the morgue. He’d also arrived in time to witness the heart wrenching spectacle of Heather Peters’ mother driving to her daughter’s house in a state of panic and denial.
The local uniforms had tried to keep her away, but they hadn’t been able to prevent her from seeing the black body bag rolled out on a stretcher by the coroner. Grey clenched his jaw and rubbed his forehead at the memory.
He knew it wasn’t the sheriffs’ fault. It wasn’t as if they could restrain a terrified mother from driving to her own child’s home. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the piece of shit psycho who was doing this.
And his.
He’d been chasing the bastard for three months and didn’t have a damn thing to show for it but a laughably general profile: white male, age 25-35, probably employed in a position calling for regular interstate travel.
Grey had yet to find any solid connections between the victims. They had different physical characteristics, different jobs, different interests, and lived in different states. They were all raped and strangled by hand, but there were no prints and the crime scenes were all infuriatingly clean. There was an unusual herbal odor at each one, but no residue had been found for the lab to identify.
Grey shook his head and jogged up the stairs to take another look at the bedroom where Heather Peters’ boyfriend had found her body. The walls were painted a deep sage green. The color reminded him of light filtering through the trees in a forest.
Book shelves lined the walls on either side of the king sized bed, and a flat screen tv sat inside a large cabinet across from the footboard.
He squatted in front of one of the book shelves, perusing the titles. They were mostly fiction, ranging from romance to fantasy to horror, with a few titles on lucid dreaming and astral travel. So Heather Peters had at least a passing interest in the occult.
That was interesting. He’d found an old Ouija Board at the home of the vic in Texas, and a well-used deck of tarot cards in the nightstand of the New Hampshire vic. The woman in Key Largo had a large dream catcher
