somehow responsible for, hopefully I could make sure it wouldn’t happen again.
BY THE TIME I WAS ABLE TO HEAD HOME, I FELT drained, emotionally and physically. The scene at Brian’s house had taken only a couple of hours to wrap up, but we’d spent the next few hours trying to track down where Carol Roth might be. She’d been at work the day before but hadn’t shown up this morning, and we couldn’t find a single person who could state that they’d seen her since she left the office. I’d even requested copies of the surveillance video from the gate for the previous twenty-four hours, in the hopes that there might be some hint or clue there, but the camera system was brand-new—which apparently meant that the security company had no idea how to retrieve video from it and would have to call in a tech to download what I needed.
We’d run down every other possible lead, uncomfortably aware that her body could be anywhere—and in south Louisiana, there were a shitload of places to dump a body. But why the hell would Brian dump her body someplace remote if it was an accident? And then why kill himself? He wasn’t the type to panic . Nothing made sense with this case, and it bugged the shit out of me.
Then, to add to the emotional beating, I’d stopped by the neuro center to see my aunt—or, rather, her empty shell. I hadn’t stayed long, just enough to verify with my othersight that she didn’t have the same “look” that Brian’s body did. Still, it was depressing seeing her normally animated face so waxy and still, and the short visit had left me with a hollow ache of worry in my gut.
I made the turn into my long driveway, mood abruptly lifting as I rounded the last curve and saw the car parked in front of my house. I was quite familiar with that dark blue Crown Victoria—with the heavily tinted windows and more than the usual number of antennae on the back. Add the government plate and it practically shrieked federal agent .
I found myself smiling as I pulled up beside the Crown Vic. Leaning against the hood of the car with his arms crossed over his chest was a tall man with reddish-brown hair and a rugged face. He was wearing a polo-style shirt and blue jeans, which showed off his workout ethic nicely. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him attired. It didn’t make a difference. His entire demeanor announced his profession even more than his car did.
I didn’t give a crap about his profession at the moment. My day had started out shitty, but it definitely looked as if it was turning around now.
I climbed out of my car and slung my bag over my shoulder. He pushed off the hood of his car with a grin.
“Hello there, Special Agent Kristoff,” I said.
He gave a mock sigh, but his green-gold eyes sparkled with amusement. “So formal.”
I laughed. “Fine. Hi, Ryan.” I’d met Ryan during myinvestigation into the Symbol Man murders, when we were both assigned to the serial-killer task force. My first impression of him had not been a positive one—arrogant, condescending, and dismissive. Later I’d discovered that he could see the arcane, and I came to trust him enough to tell him that I was a summoner. Other than my aunt, he was probably the only person who knew that little fact about me.
After that initial trust had been established, we’d become friends—something that was both rewarding and baffling to me at the same time. Like my friendship with Jill, I treasured this connection with Ryan. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would ever go beyond “just friends.” Or if I even wanted that. Hell, I had no idea if he was remotely interested in anything beyond friendship.
And this is the last thing I need to be worrying about , I chided myself. My life is complicated enough as it is right now .
“Dare I ask why you’re standing in my driveway?” I said instead.
“Because, while you were dead, someone fixed your door for you.” He turned to
BY THE TIME I WAS ABLE TO HEAD HOME, I FELT drained, emotionally and physically. The scene at Brian’s house had taken only a couple of hours to wrap up, but we’d spent the next few hours trying to track down where Carol Roth might be. She’d been at work the day before but hadn’t shown up this morning, and we couldn’t find a single person who could state that they’d seen her since she left the office. I’d even requested copies of the surveillance video from the gate for the previous twenty-four hours, in the hopes that there might be some hint or clue there, but the camera system was brand-new—which apparently meant that the security company had no idea how to retrieve video from it and would have to call in a tech to download what I needed.
We’d run down every other possible lead, uncomfortably aware that her body could be anywhere—and in south Louisiana, there were a shitload of places to dump a body. But why the hell would Brian dump her body someplace remote if it was an accident? And then why kill himself? He wasn’t the type to panic . Nothing made sense with this case, and it bugged the shit out of me.
Then, to add to the emotional beating, I’d stopped by the neuro center to see my aunt—or, rather, her empty shell. I hadn’t stayed long, just enough to verify with my othersight that she didn’t have the same “look” that Brian’s body did. Still, it was depressing seeing her normally animated face so waxy and still, and the short visit had left me with a hollow ache of worry in my gut.
I made the turn into my long driveway, mood abruptly lifting as I rounded the last curve and saw the car parked in front of my house. I was quite familiar with that dark blue Crown Victoria—with the heavily tinted windows and more than the usual number of antennae on the back. Add the government plate and it practically shrieked federal agent .
I found myself smiling as I pulled up beside the Crown Vic. Leaning against the hood of the car with his arms crossed over his chest was a tall man with reddish-brown hair and a rugged face. He was wearing a polo-style shirt and blue jeans, which showed off his workout ethic nicely. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him attired. It didn’t make a difference. His entire demeanor announced his profession even more than his car did.
I didn’t give a crap about his profession at the moment. My day had started out shitty, but it definitely looked as if it was turning around now.
I climbed out of my car and slung my bag over my shoulder. He pushed off the hood of his car with a grin.
“Hello there, Special Agent Kristoff,” I said.
He gave a mock sigh, but his green-gold eyes sparkled with amusement. “So formal.”
I laughed. “Fine. Hi, Ryan.” I’d met Ryan during myinvestigation into the Symbol Man murders, when we were both assigned to the serial-killer task force. My first impression of him had not been a positive one—arrogant, condescending, and dismissive. Later I’d discovered that he could see the arcane, and I came to trust him enough to tell him that I was a summoner. Other than my aunt, he was probably the only person who knew that little fact about me.
After that initial trust had been established, we’d become friends—something that was both rewarding and baffling to me at the same time. Like my friendship with Jill, I treasured this connection with Ryan. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if we would ever go beyond “just friends.” Or if I even wanted that. Hell, I had no idea if he was remotely interested in anything beyond friendship.
And this is the last thing I need to be worrying about , I chided myself. My life is complicated enough as it is right now .
“Dare I ask why you’re standing in my driveway?” I said instead.
“Because, while you were dead, someone fixed your door for you.” He turned to
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