I can’t see anymore, and Perkins’ voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. “He’s gone, Zoe. Whatever made him do this...we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
Two
Present Day
Zoe
Pushing through the door of the Red Light Diner on Grand, I stifle a wince as I remove my sunglasses. Macie, the way-too-perky server on the breakfast shift, arches a brow, and I slink into a booth.
“What’ll it be?” she asks, a weariness to her voice that I hear all too often.
“Tomato juice, heavy on the tabasco. And a glass of water,” I say as I pull out a packet of Alka-Seltzer.
“So, the usual, then.”
“Cut me some slack, Macie. You know I’m going through some shit.” I close my eyes, the sandpaper that’s taken residence on the inside of my lids scratching like a bitch. My own fault. I’ve fallen into a bottle more nights than not since I fired the shot that killed my partner.
“That’s what I’ve been doing. No more,” she says sharply. “Temple would be so disappointed in you.”
That hurts. No. It threatens to destroy me. Temple was the only person in my life I could count on. Or so I thought. Dropping my head into my hands, I watch Macie’s sensible black shoes shuffle away. A minute later, a glass lands on the table in front of me with a solid thunk. Then Macie rips open the Alka-Seltzer packet and the tablets plop into the water with a low fizz.
I peer up at her, my bloodshot eyes struggling to focus after yet another sleepless night. And those four shots of Jack. “Thanks.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Macie says, her voice softening. “Temple was my friend too.”
More than that. After three years of flirting, they’d finally gone out for a drink two days before Temple called in sick.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I have. All I can muster, but I feel it down to my toes. And in my scar. That damn two-inch line of raised, reddish tissue from the operation to remove the bullet hurts like hell every time I take a deep breath. According to my doctor, I’ve healed perfectly, so the pain is psychosomatic. Doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“You want breakfast?” Macie asks as she pulls out her order pad.
After the first sip of Alka-Seltzer, I clear my throat. “Denver Omelet. Extra—“
“Tabasco. I know.” She reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “One day at a time, Zoe. And maybe…try a night that ends with tea rather than whiskey?”
“Yeah. I know.”
She heads for the kitchen to put my order in, and I sink back against the vinyl. In an hour, I’ll be sitting at my desk, answering tip line calls. Sergeant Perkins won’t let me back in the field until I can pass my psych eval, and after I told the doctor it was like Temple had been possessed, she tried to put me on antipsychotics. And told Perkins I was off balance.
So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.
My phone vibrates in my hip pocket as Macie drops off the omelet.
Unknown number.
I jab the screen and hold the phone away from my ear. Loud noises? Not so good at this point. “Who is this?”
“Detective Dawes? This is Lieutenant Grayson Eve with the San Francisco division of the Bureau of the Occult and the Other.” The official-sounding female voice enunciates each syllable perfectly, but it takes my sluggish brain a moment to process her words.
“The what?”
“The Bureau of the Occult and the Other. We work the cases in the city that fall…outside the purview of civilian law enforcement.”
“Outside?” Shit. I sound like an idiot.
“The paranormal, Detective Dawes. I don’t think I need to explain further, do I?”
Straightening, ignoring the painful twinge in my side, I forget all about the omelet in front of me. “No. Sir. Ma’am. What…um… Why are you calling me?”
“I’ve read through your files.”
“Files? I have…files? From where?” Darting a glance at Macie, I force a smile and wave her off as she starts to approach. Wherever this conversation is going…it needs to be private.
“SFPD, FBI, NSA… Everyone has been watching you for a while now, Dawes.”
“Watching? Shit. I sound like a broken record. I’m sorry, but—“
“But you’re hung over.” The judgement is heavy in her words, and I look around wildly, searching for someone. Anyone who might be showing an unusual interest in me. Spying on me.
“Zoe, you’re highly intelligent, curious, and, dare I say, aggressive. In your time with the SFPD, you’ve pissed off three separate commanders at three separate precincts because you’ve shown them up within six weeks of being assigned to their squads. Your instincts are spot on, and you know—know—without a doubt, that there’s more to this world than what meets the eye. Like the death of your partner. Need I say more?”
“What do you want with me?” I push the omelet away without even touching it, but I’m not hungry. Not now.
“I want you to work for the Bureau of the Occult and the Other. Permanent assignment. It’s already been cleared with your sergeant.”
“I’ve been digging into Temple’s case since I got out of the hospital, and I haven’t gotten anywhere. What do you have?” Hope is a powerful motivator. She’s also cruel and likes to flee as soon as you invite her in. But I grab on and don’t let go.
I need the past three weeks to finally make some sense.
“Temple’s case is…complicated. I can’t let you touch it. But working for us, you’ll finally be able to put your very unique talents to use. One-eleven Cargo Way. Be there in an hour.”
Sin
“You cannot be serious.” Hunger churns in my gut, and every moment I spend staring at Lieutenant Grayson Eve makes it harder to control myself. She slides a file across the desk, and I snatch it from her long fingers.
Zoe Dawes.
SFPD detective, junior grade, and currently riding a desk.
Thirty-four. Human.
The product of a Catholic grammar school, a Jesuit high school, and a private college.
Oh, she’s going to love me.
Turning my attention back to Eve, I arch a brow. “You do realize pairing her with a demon isn’t the best way to introduce her to the Bureau, right? Try one of the mages. Or a shifter.”
“I’m not doing this for her, Sinclair. Your last assignment was a disaster. Hell, it was almost as bad as Tucson, and I won’t save you from yet another raving mob after your head.”
“That was a one-time lapse of judgement.” Running a hand through my black hair, I wonder if I’ll ever live that fiasco down. “If you had not insisted I work seventy-two hours straight, I would have fed on my own, and—“
Grayson rolls her eyes. “Enough with the excuses, Sinclair. I warned you there’d be consequences for your actions. Now, get the fuck out of here. Your new partner will be here at noon, and you might want to take care of your little…problem before then.”
My problem? Fuck. Shoving the commander’s door as hard as I can with my stomach twisting in on itself, I stalk through the bullpen.