Chapter Fourteen

Morrisey debated going out. Paranoia sang in his head about being watched, though for the life of him, he couldn’t name the song. Although further conversation with the scary woman might provide answers to some of his life’s current burning questions, he was almost as afraid to run into her as hopeful he would. After reading and learning from Leary and Austen, besides doing independent research, Morrisey had questions he’d likely not get honest answers to from the FBI, regardless of Leary’s promise.

Which led Morrisey to revisit the bar where he’d met the woman who’d called herself Jessalain. He’d no sooner sat down and ordered a beer when a trace of expensive floral perfume wafted over him.

He slowly shifted his gaze toward the left. A beautiful blonde sat there, tall, nearly six feet, Morrisey bet, even without her towering heels. Her lips stretched into a smile, displaying even, white teeth. “I thought I might find you here.”

Morrisey studied the woman, but no sense of familiarity came. “Do I know you?”

“Look closer.” The stunning woman gave a musical laugh.

Morrisey looked. For one moment, her face flickered, one image superimposed by another. His heart sped. He’d found Jessa. “Who are you today?”

Jessa’s smile dimmed slightly. “Sheila is a temporary host. I’m still Jessalain.”

“Why the new body?” Given what he’d learned, Morrisey might need to arrest this woman someday. How could he arrest someone, though, if they could easily slip into someone else?

And how messed up to even consider such matters?

“My host is timid and needs to confront her ex to take back some family heirlooms. Though she lacks the brass balls, I don’t.” The blonde peeled her lips into a savage grin. Two men actually backed away.

Morrisey scowled. “I thought you fed on lust. Have you become a do-gooder?”

Jessa laughed, heartier and less practiced this time. “Not hardly. Not only are we able to chat without raising suspicion from the two men following you, but tonight I shall feast on not only Sheila’s ex’s desire for her, his desire for the power over her withholding her grandmother’s jewelry brings, but also his desire for the money he plans to sell them for.”

“Men are following me?” Not surprising. Morrisey thought he’d gotten a few glimpses on his way here.

“Everything I just told you, and that’s what you focus on? Of course, you’re being followed. You’re being recruited by a group who play by their own rules. They’re possibly more paranoid than you. They’d leave nothing to chance.” Jessa tutted. “Prepare to kiss your privacy goodbye.”

So, she knew about the FBI’s offer. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’ll decide for yourself since you strike me as the stubborn type, but I honestly don’t believe you can trust them.”

“You don’t.” A statement, not a question.

Jessa tossed her head, sending blonde waves shimmering over her shoulders. “I don’t. They’re indiscriminate. To them, I’m a criminal who’s earned banishment for taking a body that isn”t either deceased or near death.”

Dead bodies, or those teetering near death, stretched the limits of Morrisey”s twisted perspective. “From what you say, your arrangements are mutually beneficial.”

“Try telling FAET.” Jessa pronounced the acronym as “Fate.” ”Besides, how can you be sure I’m not lying? To humans, I’m a lust demon. You can”t trust me. I’ll do anything, use anyone, to get what I want.” She kept her tone mocking, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. So, she didn’t have a high opinion of humans, FAET, or both.

Good point, though. With the loss of Will, Morrisey stopped trusting people, not that he’d trusted many before. He sipped his beer, mulling over Jessa’s words. Farren was too beautiful to be trusted. Nature lured in unsuspecting victims with beauty all the time. Just look at poisonous plants.

But weren’t angels inherently good? Creatures of light?

Jessa nudged Morrisey with her elbow. “You’ve been around enough to know things are rarely black and white.”

“True.” Never black and white, in Morrisey’s opinion. All shades of gray, but not black or white. Gray, like the lower levels of the FBI complex. He shuddered.

“You prefer the gray areas,” Jessa said with conviction. “The other options aren’t enough of a challenge for you.”

Damn. Maybe this woman… demon… whatever… knew Morrisey better than he did himself. He indulged in another sip of beer to avoid answering.

The bartender offered a reprieve, taking Jessa’s order of a white wine spritzer. The edge of her mouth twitched upward when she turned back to Morrisey. “Sheila’s drink of choice.”

Morrisey arched an eyebrow, refusing to acknowledge the bartender’s face over a face. “Why not choose your own?”

Jessa shrugged, dislodging a spaghetti strap from her shoulder. It slithered back into place on its own. What the ever-loving fuck? “I share her senses while in her body. Other drinks wouldn’t taste the same.”

Made sense, Morrisey supposed. “You mentioned your kind being killed.” He immediately quieted when the bartender brought Jessa’s drink. She waited for the guy to retreat, although the bar was so loud, overhearing might be impossible unless someone used bugs.

Morrisey would get a bug detector first thing tomorrow. Several black market suppliers would keep his purchase quiet. If anyone official knew, they’d wonder why he’d bought one for personal use and not requisitioned one through work, which required legitimate reasons for asking and a paper trail.

Nope. Not happening.

Jessa had put them in some kind of soundproof bubble at their previous meeting. “You arranged privacy for us to talk before.”

“There are those among us tonight who’d see through my shield. I must be careful. Don’t worry. Though they’re watching, they can’t hear us.”

“How do you know?”

“Part of feeding from lust is knowing people’s emotions. They’re regretting not bugging your clothes or something.”

Oh, shit. “Can you feel my emotions?”

The frown wrinkling Jessa’s brow took nothing from her beauty. “No. I feel nothing from you. Not even lust.” She curved her lips upward into a sultry smile, squeezing Morrisey’s thigh with red-taloned fingers. “What’s wrong, Detective? Aren’t you fond of pretty girls?”

Morrisey didn’t flinch.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, pulling back her hand. “I’m starting to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You really don’t lust after pretty ladies. I was hoping I was wrong. I’ll bet you’re lots of fun because the quiet, reserved ones are usually hell cats in bed. However, there are plenty of gorgeous men here. You feel nothing for them, either.” Jessa pouted, pooching out a heavily lined, full lower lip. “Buzzkill.”

Morrisey cocked a brow. “I thought you couldn’t read my emotions.”

“I can’t, but I am observant as a survival skill. You don’t even check anyone out. Could it be you’re not interested in men or women? Or maybe something occupies your mind, making such baser needs irrelevant.” Jessa stared a bit too intently for comfort. “May my mind never be so occupied as to distract me from my baser needs. I happen to love my baser needs.”

Morrisey refrained from squirming. “Keep guessing if it keeps you entertained.” And kept him from too much introspection.

“Very much so. Beats any television drama. Much like you, I cannot resist a challenge.” Jessa sipped her drink, leaving behind a dark red lipstick print on the glass.

“What about the woman you’re currently inhabiting? What will happen to her? How did you know she’d consent to you possess—”

Jessa lifted a hand, palm out. “Never say the P word in my presence. Sheila sent up a plea to the universe for someone to help her get her grandmother’s things back. I realized the situation would be agreeable to both parties and merged.”

“Does she know you’re there?”

“Not really. I was passing by in a colleague’s body when she privately wished for help. She was terrified, but now she’s relaxed. We’ll meet her ex. He’ll bring the disputed items to wave around, both to gloat and try to finagle her into bed, after which he still wouldn’t keep his word.” Jessa mumbled under her breath, “The lying bastard.”

“And you’ll…”

Jessa bared her teeth. Morrisey nearly swore he saw fangs. “I’ll be reasonable at first, but I’ll do what it takes to free her of him once and for all—after I’ve fed. Tomorrow morning, she’ll wake up knowing she’d come out the winner against the old toad. Which will give her back the confidence he’s spent the last four years scolding out of her.”

Morrisey fought a smile. “So, you are a do-gooder.”

The do-gooder in question patted her hair, lifting her nose into the air almost comically. “Keep lying to yourself. I prefer to think of myself as a businesswoman.”

”What”s the deal with the woman from the other night?”

“Piper? She’s visiting family and currently has no need for my services. I’ll return to her in the morning.”

“And she’s aware of your presence.” How weird to share your body with another.

”Aware and grateful, I promise you.” Jessa’s smile became sly. ”You know, there are males from my species I could introduce you to just to test the theory of your total lack of interest.”

“Who’d suck my soul dry?” Maybe being fucked to death might be better than drinking himself to death.

Jessa shrugged what must have been the most elegant shoulder roll in the history of shoulder rolls. “Some you call incubi might want to, but I wouldn’t allow any to harm you, nor would I introduce you to any who wouldn’t play nice. Remember, if you ever get lonely, you’d make a lovely meal for somebody.”

Morrisey fought a shudder. Sleep with someone in a dead person’s body? Or maybe they shared a body, like Jessa, but then could allowing help really be called consent? Celibacy would be the best option. “Then I’ll try not to get lonely.”

“Fair enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see my mark coming through the door. Would you mind relinquishing your barstool, dear?” Jessa batted her lashes. Oh, yes. He clearly could see how she’d have a man eating from her hand in short order, even without any type of supernatural power.

“One question before I go?”

“Yes?” Amusement played over Jessa’s lips.

“Why not feed at a sex club?”

Jessa laughed, a musical sound. “Too easy for those who wish to harm or capture us—a novice mistake. Besides, I don’t hunt in company.”

Morrisey eyed the door as a man drew closer. Definitely not what he’d expected, considering the youthful, lovely Sheila. The approaching man must’ve been a bare minimum of twenty years older, and though still attractive in a businessman sort of way, his body showed signs of a life lived in excess: spreading girth, red capillaries adorning his nose. Based on his expensive suit, he had no need for the proceeds from selling Granny’s things unless they were worth one hell of a lot.

Morrisey paid his bill, left a tip, and then retreated. The man didn’t see him, having eyes only for the blonde. He swooped in to kiss her cheek, gently resting his palm on her thigh and inching her skirt upward.

Jessa turned her head, letting the kiss brush her hair while shoving the hand away. Yeah, let the bastard get a taste of hairspray.

The guy better watch out. Without a doubt, Jessa had no qualms about removing his hand at the wrist. How Morrisey knew such a thing, he didn’t understand, yet he felt certainty down to his toes.

He shuddered. Morrisey didn’t fear many people but might make an exception for Jessa. Demon Jessa.

Her mark’s eyebrows reached for his receding hairline. No need to be a demon to recognize a predator, though no other images blurred with the man’s pudgy face. Jessa whirled on the stool, grabbing the man’s wrist. He yanked back, but Jessa held strong.

Morrisey turned and left the bar, leaving Sheila in safe yet dangerous—for the man—hands.

Jessa didn’t trust the task force. Morrisey didn’t either if they’d taken to stalking. Was Austen with them? Morrisey imagined Austen’s eyes on him. Young, beautiful Austen. Way out of a used-up detective’s league.

But those eyes, those lips.

An ass to die for.

Nope, not good to dwell on such things, especially when Morrisey was about ninety percent sure they’d soon be coworkers. If one of those… beings… caused the breakdown that led to Will’s death, then Morrisey had a score to settle no matter who he used to pursue vengeance. He owed Will, Will’s widowed wife and orphaned kids, but most of all, Morrisey owed himself to do the right fucking thing for once.

And then he could go the rest of his days without having to pass the spot where Will took his life or look across the desk to see… not Will.

Better to leave the precinct completely.

Yet an air of mystery hid beneath the surface with Austen. An innate goodness, much like the angel he resembled. Morrisey shivered, imagining warming himself by the bright fire of Farren Austen.

The other ten percentage points slid into place. Yeah, Morrisey would accept the job offer.

And hope to hell he wasn’t making a mistake.