Chapter 4

4

O h, yeah, this is gonna be fun,” he snickered, turning back to the murder board Detective Hale had set up.

Pretending to be studying the pictures and notes hanging in the order of the murders, Rafe used his enhanced hearing to eavesdrop on the irresistible woman who with any luck, he’d be working with in some capacity or another for all eternity. He’d wondered if she was his mate from not only his reaction, but that of the Dragon King with whom he shared his soul. Then he met her, and there was absolutely no doubt she’d been made for him.

Drawn to her like bees to honey, Rafe felt her intuition and powers of perception slide alongside his magic, testing the waters, happy to settle with his. The look in her eyes was sharp and direct, the speed of her thoughts momentous, and her determination damned near as unstoppable as his own.

In a word – perfect.

However, Detective Donatella Hale was no pushover. There was no denying she’d felt the attraction between them. Her heart had raced. Her blood whooshed through her veins. Her body warmed, filling Rafe’s senses with a succulent multi- dimensional scent that made it hard for him not to trail behind her like a hound dog after a bone.

The moment he’d crossed the threshold, the sweet scent of treacle tart had tickled his nose, immediately followed by an undertone of bold, earthy truffles then finished off with the sharp bite of a strong cup of java. Feeling like he was floating, it had taken everything in him to stop at the side of the table and comment to let her know he was in the room.

Working hard not to laugh when she nearly jumped out of her skin and squeaked like a mouse, he’d witnessed her amazing ability to control her emotions when it took only a split-second for her to grab hold of her irritation and growl at him.

And, dammit, if I don’t want her growling at me in the sheets…

“Enough of that for now. Heaven knows Gil will descale my hide if I mess this up,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to focus on the boards before him.

Walking the length of all three boards, he committed everything to memory, even the Leviathan Cross the nasty bugger had tattooed on the wrist of each of his victims. Not only was it the sign of the Devil himself, but the killer had used mercury as the ink for his glyph. The two together meant he knew both alchemy and the dark arts. He marked them as virgins and sent their souls to old Lucifer.

“What was the date of…?”

Talking to himself as he pulled the notecard size leather-bound pad from his bag, he wrote down the date of each murder. Pulling out his cellphone, he looked up the dates on the calendar, the information making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Every damn one was killed on a Wednesday.”

“But we didn’t find them all on Wednesdays,” Nat interjected, strolling back into the room with her pictures still clutched to her chest and her spine so straight Rafe wondered if it was hard for her to walk.

But she was talking, that was a step in the right direction.

“Yeah but look at the estimated times of death.” Pointing at each of the M.E. reports hanging under each victim’s photo. “Each one could have been on a Wednesday and that means we are looking for not only a serial killer but one that knows alchemy and witchcraft and is trying to send his victims’ souls to the Devil.”

“You mean Hell.”

“No, I mean the Devil, Lucifer, the Grand Poobah of bad guys.” Once again walking the length of the freestanding boards, he popped the tip of his index finger on the tattoo on the inside of each girl’s wrist. Stopping at the last picture which belonged to the first victim, Jean Smith, he left his finger just below the mark and asked, “Do you know what this is? What it stands for?”

“No, I have no idea.” The perfect mix of curiosity and agitation colored her tone. “But, I’m guessin’ you’re gonna tell me.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, which he rarely was, Det. Hale was poking at him. He was making headway at winning her over. Put a tick in the positive column and keep ‘em comin’. “I will if you want me to.”

Leaning her hip against the table, still using it as a barrier between them, he first turned to completely face her and held out his hand. “I know your name from the file I was given when they shoved my ass on the plane, but I’d feel a whole lot better if we did this the right way.”

Making himself not react when she reached for his hand, Rafe went on,” Name’s Rafe O’Rhordan. You can call me Rafe. I don’t do ‘agent’, ‘special agent’, or ‘sir’.” Skittering up his spine the instant her hand touched him, he cleared his throat, praying she didn’t notice the pounding of his heart as he hurried on, “This is your case. I’m only here to assist. Point and tell me what to do, okay?”

Slowly nodding with her eyes narrowed and the slightest of smiles on her gorgeous lips, she began, “As I’m sure you know, I’m Donatella Hale, but if you call me that, I might shoot you. Only my Nona gets away with calling me by my Christian name. Around here, they call me Hale. I also go by Nat outside of work. Either’s fine.”

Pulling her hand from his, she continued, “We’ll get along fine as long as you keep me in the loop, don’t upstage me, and don’t make me look like an idiot. I have a partner. Don’t need another.” Pushing away from the table, she walked to the first whiteboard and looked at the photo of Jean Smith’s wrist. “Now, tell me about this whole alchemy – witch connection, and while you’re at it, tell me how I can sell that shit to Captain Isaacs.”

Unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, Rafe crossed the room, grabbed his briefcase and pulled out an old grimoire that had been in his clan for centuries. Laying it on the table, he opened it and began thumbing through the pages.

“Exactly how old is that thing?”

Looking up with only his eyes, he winked. “Do you really want to know?”

Without an answer, Nat turned and headed towards the door. For a second, he thought she was leaving again, but the click of the latch and her returning footsteps calmed his fears. Waiting until she stopped beside him, he looked up just as she asked, “What are you…really?”

Seeing she had more to say but was still thinking about how to say it, he stood up, turned to face her, and crossed his arms over his chest. The moment the light shined in her eyes and her mouth opened, he had to smile. His mate was nothing, if not blunt.

“I’m what most people call psychic, but it’s not really that, and we can talk about that later, maybe. The Captain knows and Fitz knows, other than that, I don’t share.” She looked over his shoulder and bit her bottom lip which made not only his Dragon roar but his cock jump to attention.

Down boys. She’s nowhere near ready for that yet…

Looking back just as he’d schooled his features, Nat went on, “I don’t want to presume anything, and I need to trust you. So, I’m gonna tell you what I can see.” She lifted her hand and imitated washing a window or erasing a chalkboard which he immediately knew meant his aura.

Uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his sides, trying to look as open as he could, he nodded and waited. It didn’t take long until she explained, “Aside from the normal colors I would expect for what I know of you, there’s a strong brassy outline filled with a lighter but still very prominent scale design in the shape of a Dragon.”

Looking over her shoulder at the door then out the window that looked out onto the Squad Room before turning back around, Nat added, “Now, I know there are a lot of things out there in the world, people like me, people like the asshole who’s killing girls I’ve even met some of them, but if you really are a man who can shift into a Dragon, then I owe my Nona a hundred dollars.”

Giving a dramatic pause, just because he could, and because he was sure it would irritate Nat at least a little bit, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, gave her a hundred-watt smile, and chuckled, “You better stop by the ATM, ‘cause you owe your grandma some money.”