“So, they’re like...all milling about in your head?” It sounded like him on the internet, with so many browser windows open he didn’t know which way was up. “How do you stop it from driving you insane?”
She stopped and grinned. “Who said I was sane?”
He squinted in the sudden sunlight as they walked out of the bar and turned left toward the car.
“What the fuck?” Laney stopped dead in front of him, so abruptly that he almost trampled her. “Oh, no! We are not doing this. We are so not doing this!”
Troy looked over her shoulder, expecting to see something wrong with her motorcycle. There was. As in the hulking brute of a thing was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a big, black SUV. Like the bike, an aura of menace clung to it like a second skin. The front grill stretched into a hungry smile, hell, even the tires looked aggressive, ready to chew up the road and spit it out.
“Hey, neat trick.” Her skirt suddenly made sense. “Does it change with what you’re wearing or something?”
She shot him a look that would have frozen hell over. “No. It’s just being an asshole.”
“O...kay. I’ll just leave you two to...chat then.” Not wanting to get into that one, he backed away, his hands up in surrender. Then he turned tail and followed John to the car.
It didn’t take long to reach the home of the kidnap victim. They lived down the block from the station. Less than twenty minutes later they sat in the home of the Clarke family. John and Troy were crammed onto the smaller couch opposite the missing girl’s parents. He managed a circumspect look around without making it obvious he was gathering intel, which was a skill in itself.
Photos filled the mantelpiece and were arranged in artful groups on the walls. A middle-aged man and woman, the parents who sat on the couch opposite, and a girl. Always the same girl, but different ages. From the gap-toothed first days of school, he followed her growing up through the photos to what must be the latest—the pretty, all-American blonde cheerleader type. She was obviously the apple of their eye.
He leaned forward slightly, pitching his voice to be supportive yet professional. “I know this must be difficult for you, but we need to get some details. The more information we have, the better a picture we can paint to help bring Tiffany home.”
Movement caught the corner of his eye as Laney picked a photo up to look at it. When they’d walked in, the parents looked right through her, so neither John nor Troy introduced her. A little unprofessional, sure, but if they couldn’t see her and she wasn’t inclined to reveal herself, what could they do about it?
“Yes, yes, of course.” Mr. Clarke nodded, his arm around his wife supportively. “Anything we can do to help. Just get our daughter back. Please.”
His expression was open and honest. All Troy’s finely honed cop instincts told him that he was on the level. Tiffany had been taken from an alleyway on the way home from practice, her screams heard from a local diner. Without video surveillance, they were left chasing their tails for clues. Apart from the sulfur. That was one clue Troy would rather not have.
John shifted position, drawing attention to himself before speaking. It wasn’t the good cop, bad cop routine, just their normal approach to getting the families used to them. “Okay, as far as you know, was everything okay for Tiffany at the moment? No issues with friends, she hadn’t broken up with a boyfriend recently?”
“No, no boys.” The mother sniffed, shaking her head vehemently as tears coursed down her cheeks. A sodden tissue was slowly being mangled in her shaking fingers. “Our Tiffany is a good girl.”
He resisted the urge to share a knowing look with John. They’d heard that line from more than a few parents, only to find out later little Billy or Johnny or Mary was the baddest kid on the block. And not in a cool or hip way either, more a standing before the judge kind of way.
He covered by picking up a photo from the side table. Sometimes that was all it took for a clue or some little detail to leap out. “Is that a purity ring she’s wearing?”
If it was, as skeptical as he was, she might be exactly what her parents thought she was.
“Uh-huh, yes. It is.” Mrs. Clarke dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. They were red-raw from crying. “Our family. We’re—”
Mr. Clarke interrupted, almost in defense. “We’re not human. Kind of. We’re a Seer family. We can’t risk any...accidents, shall we say?”
Laney stepped into the clear next to him and took the picture from his hands. “Shit, so you’re telling me we have a virgin seer girl missing?”
Her sudden appearance made the victim’s parents jump, as though they were just seeing her for the first time. So other paranormals couldn’t always see a Reaper either, which made the fact that he could see her even more perplexing.
“What the fuck?” Mr. Clarke shoved his wife behind him, his arm in front of her protectively, and glared at Troy. “You brought a Reaper into my home?”
Laney shook her head, ignoring the parents. “Crap, this is worse than we’d thought.”
“I want her out of here!” Mr. Clarke’s voice grew steadily louder, his face twisted in anger. He stepped forward and instinctively both John and Troy stepped in his path. Who they were protecting, though—him or Laney—Troy wasn’t sure.
“What do you mean?” He directed at Laney, but the words were almost lost under Mr. Clarke’s shouting. He turned and glared. “Mr. Clarke, will you be quiet for a moment, please? Ms. Larson is a consultant with the department and specializes in cases like this. She is our best chance at getting Tiffany back. Understand?”
He opened his mouth to argue but Troy was done playing nice. Turning full on, he locked gazes with Mr. Clarke and crowded his personal space. Toe to toe.
“Do you understand?”
Silence filled the room. Everyone looked at Mr. Clarke, waiting for his next move. Troy’s fingers twitched. If he had to put this asshole in cuffs and charge him with obstructing an investigation, he would. Anything to get that girl back alive.
Clarke gave him back attitude, for all of a nanosecond. Troy was a breath from pulling his cuffs, but then Clarke’s eyelids flickered, and he nodded, looking away.
“Yes, sir, I understand.” His manner was deferential, like the beta in a pack backing down. Troy breathed a sigh of relief. Good. At least he hadn’t had to piss on him or dry hump him or anything.
He carried on with the hard look for a couple of seconds longer, just to ensure Clarke knew he wasn’t messing about, and then turned to Laney. “So, explain to me the significance of a virgin seer?”
Laney pursed her lips, giving him that stubborn-ass mule look. She had that vibe about her. He pushed and she pushed back twice as hard. Her gaze shifted to the right, flicking an almost imperceptible glance toward the parents. Just that one look, that one tell, and Troy knew what she said next wouldn’t be the whole truth.
“Virgin seers are a major component in a number of spells. B-i-i-g spells.”
John had obviously picked up her tell and slid in as smooth as silk. “Spells. Perhaps that coven we’re investigating in the Kaufman case?”
Laney nodded. “Exactly. Could just be a kid’s prank...”