7. Sekani Aelor

Chapter 7

Sekani Aelor

W as it against department regulations? Yes.

Could Barnet lose her job of almost fifteen years if anyone ever found out? Yes.

Did she still show up with Callum’s case file after her shift? Yes.

I took the file from her outstretched hand and flipped through it quickly. Several witnesses had identified the car, but there was no indication whoever was working Callum’s case had done more than a basic search on the make and model.

No mention of collecting surveillance tapes or traffic camera footage. It mentioned where the accident happened, the time of night, the weather conditions, a few witnesses and their statements but . . . nothing else.

“What kind of shitty police work is this? There’s fuck all in here, Barnet.” I flipped a page and looked at the signature at the bottom. Groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

Rayner.

I couldn’t stand the guy.

Detective Rayner was useless in every imaginable way. He wasn’t going to take my calls or offer any kind of fucking assistance—which is probably why Barnet brought me the file.

No doubt he wasn’t going to be missing it either. He probably hadn’t looked at it since two days after the accident happened. The guy cared about two things: donuts, and his truck, and not necessarily in that order.

“It’s the best I could do,” Barnet said. “I ran a search on the make and model of the car, but that’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”

I shook my head. Finding the car was gonna be damn near impossible, I’d known that. “Is there anything not in the file you can tell me?”

“You’d have to ask Rayner,” she said with an apologetic smile.

I rolled my eyes. “You know that asshole is gonna stonewall. Can you beg the case out from under him? Tell him you’re bored or some shit. If I find anything, you can make the arrest.” She peered at me for a long, silent moment. “Come on, Barnet. Do me this solid.”

“Is this one of those freaky gut feelings you get that usually lead to a commendation?” she asked.

“I’m not saying it is. But I’m not saying it’s not,” I told her.

She groaned long and loud as she tipped her head back. Her shoulders slumped. She shook her head and met my gaze. “Fine. But if you’re gonna log into the department’s database, your ass better do it while sitting in my driveway. The last thing I need is your apartment in my location history.”

“I owe you one.”

She waved me away. “Just remember I like my job.”

“But if you lose it, you can always go into business with me,” I said.

She scoffed. “My idea of a good time is not sitting on some rich asshole’s McMansion, waiting to find out if the spouse is boning the pool-boy.”

“Hate to break it to you, Barnet, but you went into the wrong profession,” I said.

Most detectives spent their time drinking cold coffee and eating fast food bound to kill them early while sitting on some rich asshole’s McMansion , waiting for something to happen. The only difference was I made more money in the private sector.

Oh, and I had a hell of a lot fewer rules to follow.

“Stay outta trouble, Aelor.” She squeezed my shoulder as she stood.

I followed her towards the door, Callum trailing behind us. “I’m never in trouble.”

“You are trouble,” she replied, opening the door and coming face to face with a crying Isla. She stood there pink in the face, her shirt pushed up over her fat belly, a dirty diaper hanging off one thigh. “Something I should know, Sekani?”

I pushed around her and scooped Isla up. “Neighbor’s kid. Escape artist.”

“They all are,” Barnet said as I bounced Isla on my hip.

“Thanks for this.” I flapped the folder at her. “Tell Ryan and Emma I said hi. I’ll come by for dinner sometime soon.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” She stepped around me and started towards the elevator.

“I will.”

As soon as the doors slid shut behind her, I tossed the file on the table sitting next to my front door and carried Isla down the hallway. “Mrs. Taffett!” I called as I knocked.

The door was yanked open. Mrs. Taffett stood on the other side, her hair up in a messy ponytail, sauce staining her cheek. Her shirt was painted red and her jeans looked wet.

“Isla.” She reached for her daughter as tears welled in her eyes. “She got into the fridge, there’s ketchup everywhere. My friend who said she could babysit isn’t here and I’m late for work. They’re going to fire me.” Isla started fussing in her mother’s arms and Mrs. Taffett sniffed hard, rocking Isla back and forth.

“Shh. Shh. Not your fault baby.” She looked back at me. “I don’t know how she got out this time. I even got a baby gate.” She knocked her hip against the door and sure enough, there was a baby gate halfway down the hallway, separating the main apartment from the door.

Unfortunately, there was also a box of toys pushed up against it.

Maybe I hadn’t been lying to Barnet—maybe Isla was a little escape artist.

I sighed and held out my arms. “I’ll keep her for tonight.”

Someone had to.

Mrs. Taffett froze. “R—really?”

“Yeah. It’s not a problem. Just give me her bag.” Mrs. Taffett couldn’t afford to lose another job. She’d already been fired twice since moving into the building two years ago. And anyway, I liked Isla. It really wasn’t a problem.

“I’m supposed to get off at eleven. If you keep her, I can pick up an extra shift. Would that be okay?”

This was gonna become a thing.

My eyes drifted to Callum who stood watching, not far away. “Yeah. Okay. I’ve got work in the morning. If you can’t get her by five, I’ll take her with me for the day. You can use the break to . . . sort yourself out.”

“I . . . I’m . . . I’m her mom. There aren’t any breaks. She needs me.” Her eyes welled with tears as she tucked Isla under her chin and rubbed her back.

This right here is why I hadn’t called CPS.

Mrs. Taffett loved her daughter. She was trying but her try hard just wasn’t enough at the moment.

“One won’t hurt,” I said, grasping Isla’s side and lifting her out of Mrs. Taffett’s arms. She released her reluctantly. “Grab her bag so you can get to work.”

“Sh—ipyards. I’m late.” She turned away from the door, leaping over the baby gate and running around like a chicken with her head cut off. She gathered diapers, more than enough clothes, and even shoved a couple of toys into the bag until it was spilling over.

“Don’t give her apple juice. It does something nasty to her stomach. She won’t sleep without Ell.” She pointed to a pink stuffed elephant that had seen better days. “My number is—” She patted at her pockets. “My phone?—”

She looked around, her eyes wide and wild.

This woman was a mess.

“I know where you work, Mrs. Taffett. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

She nodded like a bobble head, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Isla’s head. “I love you. Be good for Sekani.” She kissed her daughter again before pulling away. Her eyes were wet; she reached up to rub them. “I better shower and change. Thanks for this. I’ll pay you when I can, I swear.”

I nodded—it was better not to argue—before taking the bag and pulling it over my shoulder. “You know where to find us,” I told her, giving Isla a bounce. “Ready?” I asked the baby.

She flopped her head on my shoulder and popped her thumb in her mouth. I turned away from Mrs. Taffett, who stood in the door watching us until I slipped into my own apartment.

River and Waylin had come out of the back room now that Barnet was gone. They were sitting on the sofa watching one of River’s videos, an older one. He was strolling through some old ass house, no ghost in sight until the camera overfocused. Doors started slamming and windows started slapping open and closed. The River in the video rubbed his chest, looked at his crew and did what he did best when something nasty was bearing down on him—took off running, like a bat out of hell.

I snorted as he tripped halfway down a set of stairs. Waylin started howling with laughter. Admittedly, that was my favorite part of this video. It felt like justice.

“I would have paid to be there in person,” Waylin wheezed, shoving his sleeves up to his elbows. My eyes landed on the tattoos he was sporting and I frowned.

“Pay me and you can be.” River started searching for another gem in the playlist I’d titled River’s Greatest Hits . Mostly, it was him fucking up so completely no one could possibly take him seriously.

It was a good cover story—a way to keep the supernatural community off his ass. Plenty of members hated his channel, abhorred what he was doing. They felt like it exposed us more than necessary, and maybe it did. But as stupid as I thought it was for River to fuck around with ghosts, he honestly enjoyed what he did.

No one—aside from his stupid ass—was getting hurt either, so as much as I bitched and moaned and huffed and puffed, I’d never flat out told him he needed to stop. I bitched just enough to let him know I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to put my foot down and make him give it up.

“At the bottom of the list you’ll find the one where the big nasty dragged your ass into the well,” I said. He’d been yanked off his feet and almost drowned. Once again, he’d survived so we could all laugh about it now.

“You know I do have some videos where I look like a total boss.”

“I like these better,” Waylin said. “Reminds me of home.”

River huffed and went to find the one I’d mentioned.

The home had been haunted; River had been target number one. Maybe because he looked soft and sweet, like an easy target. He was in a lot of ways. But also not.

River could be scared out of his goddamn mind, two seconds from pissing himself, but no matter how many hits he took, he just got right back up and threw himself into the fray again. Put simply, fear never stopped him. Sure, he ran when things got nasty, but that was just fucking smart.

When Waylin had been locked in the attic, something clawing at his back in a bid to climb inside of him, it had been River who climbed out on the weak, rotten roof and threw himself through the glass window to save him.

When I’d been trapped in the basement, ghost hands around my throat, choking the life out of me, River had been the first one down the stairs, screaming like a little banshee.

So yeah, he might be soft and sweet, an easy target who ran when things got real because ghosts could be scary, but he didn’t run when it really fucking mattered. Except when vampires were involved. Then he was gonna trip a bitch, slam a door and wish everyone good fucking luck.

“Oh! That’s the one.” Waylin snatched the remote and fast-forwarded through until just before River, screaming like a little bitch, was dragged feet first into the well.

“You guys are mean,” River huffed. “I could have died.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. I swallowed a laugh but there was no fighting my grin.

“But you didn’t.” I set Isla on her feet beside the sofa. She ambled towards Callum who was digging in her bag, pulling toys free.