Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) Read online

  Darkness took the figure. Then another hissing arc flared from the light switch, brightening the hallway again. Sylvia Reyes was gone.

  Jason grabbed her arm, pulled her back around the corner, and flattened her against the wall with an elbow digging into her belly.

  The white bolt flickered past the corner, then dove to the floor, sparking out with a fizzle.

  “Bad wiring?” he whispered.

  She shook her head, shoved away his elbow, and stepped into the hall again. The faint smell of something burning lingered in the air. The hall was once again empty. And dark.

  Cait held still, listening, and then she heard the sound. A soft wail. Like a distant echo. “Hear that?” she whispered.

  “No. What do you hear?”

  She swallowed. “Not anyone living.”

  Then the faint sound of whispers rose, maybe half a dozen voices joining in chorus. Her hand dropped to the camera at her side. She flipped off the lens cap, raised the camera, and looked through the viewfinder. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than a really sleazy flophouse. Still, she clicked off a couple of shots. “Let’s go.”

  “Don’t want to wait around until she leaves? A shot of the lady kissing her boyfriend good-bye would close this case.”

  Cait shook her head, not wanting to voice what she suspected. Not before she was sure of exactly what she’d seen. “No. Let’s get back to the office. I have to look at something.”

  Jason knew her well enough not to ask any more questions. The fact she was cutting the surveillance short told him they had a problem.

  This time they took the elevator. The sooner she got out of here the better. Well, she’d gotten what she’d wished for. Something out of the ordinary had definitely happened.

  Back at the Delta Detective Agency, Cait slipped the memory card from her camera into the slot in her computer. With a couple of clicks, she found the file of pictures and opened it.

  There was Sylvia Reyes outside the Deluxe, her small catlike features coated in too much makeup, her coarse blonde hair flattened to rest limply on her shoulders. Her expression was furtive, but excitement sparkled in her dark eyes. Another shot caught her too-tight skirt hugging her J.LO butt. Then Cait clicked on the last two shots, unsure what she might see inside the third-floor hallway. Maybe nothing. Maybe something she didn’t want to see.

  The shot showed an empty hallway. The photo was blurred, but the differences between the hall’s actual appearance and what was on the computer screen was startling. Gone were the yellowed walls and crappy brown and green carpet. In its place was wallpaper—a foiled gold-and-wine-colored paisley. The carpet was a solid blood red. The fixtures—lights, switches, brass plates on the door—were shiny and new.

  “Where’d you take that?” Jason asked, hovering at her shoulder.

  “At the Deluxe,” she said, closing out the file. She suppressed a shiver of dread.

  “No kiddin’? How come I didn’t see that?”

  She didn’t dare look his way. He’d see her shock and ask more questions. Questions she didn’t have any quick answers for.

  “Tacky as hell, but—”

  She gave a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not the way it is.” At last, she shot an upward glance.

  Jason pushed out his lips. His gaze settled on her, waiting.

  She knew he wouldn’t let her up from the chair until she gave him at least a clue of what was going on in her head. “It’s the way the hotel was.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  She rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t know what I mean.”

  A frown dug a line between his blond-brown brows. “I don’t think Reyes is going to pay us for those shots or our time since we didn’t get what he wanted.”

  “Reyes is the least of our problems,” she muttered.

  Jason groaned. “It was the anchovies, right? This is your revenge?”

  Her mouth tipped up into a smirk. “You think this is all about you? Poor little rich boy.”

  He shook his head, grinning, but the fine lines beside his hazel eyes deepened with worry. “Since this case looks like major woo-woo is involved, you have the lead. Where to first?”

  Cait grimaced. Once again, she had no doubt they were headed straight down the rabbit’s hole. “I need to talk to Sam about that taped-off room.”

  At Cait’s apartment, Sam Pierce felt along the top of the door frame, and then cursed as his fingers encountered cool metal. Heat filled his cheeks as anger boiled up. But he hesitated before barging in. Instead, he opened his palm and stared down at the brass Brinks key. For the first time since he’d resumed his on-again/off-again relationship with his ex-wife, he studied the key, his detective’s instincts kicking into gear.

  This was no dusty, corrosion-encrusted key. The metal gleamed in the light cast by the lamp outside her door. If what he suspected was true, Cait hadn’t simply forgotten about the key being there all this time. She’d replaced it.

  But why? And when?

  She’d had no idea they would be pulled together again on the Worthen case, that he’d be ordered to stay on her tail day in, day out, until the investigation ended. And yet, the first time he’d sought her out after nearly a year of forcing himself not to check, not to care, this shiny new key had been there. Waiting.

  It’s what enabled him to break into her apartment that first morning when he’d been scared shitless she was somehow involved with the murder of Henry Prudoe, the incident that launched their investigation. The key’s presence was what allowed him to continue to enter at will, take what he wanted of her, then quietly leave again.

  He’d warned her time and again about leaving that key where a thief or someone looking for something even more precious might find it.

  The mystery of the key wouldn’t be solved by simply asking. Stubborn, with an itchy allergy toward straight talking, Cait would never admit she’d outright lied about forgetting it was there. He inserted the key, turned the lock, opened the door, and returned the key to the ledge.

  Inside, the foyer was empty and dark. A step deeper into the apartment, he noted the kitchen and tiny living room were empty. He eyed the bedroom but sensed he wouldn’t find her there either. These days, she couldn’t sneak up behind him because he’d developed a sixth sense. Or maybe he was just reverting to a more primal version of himself, and he could scent her without realizing he did.

  Right now, her soft, feminine musk was absent. Another familiar smell missing from the apartment was the sour odor of booze. Something he didn’t take for granted, because Cait’s sobriety was still so fragile.

  Pulling his iPhone from his pocket, he tapped the screen, found her number, and tapped again.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Hey.”

  “You still on stakeout?” he asked.

  “Finished a little while ago,” she said, an edgy energy in her voice. “Just went by your apartment, but you weren’t there.”

  His eyebrows shot up. Cait never came by his place. He thought maybe she didn’t want proof he’d managed to move on after their divorce. Which suited him fine. Last thing he wanted her to see was evidence he hadn’t. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not a good idea to leave your key on the door frame?”

  “Only one ever used it was you.”

  He grunted. “So you always say.”

  “If you’re so worried about it, why not put it on your key ring?”

  Sam paused. Not the grumpy response he’d expected. And her voice held a breathless note, like the question meant more than she wanted to let on.

  He decided to ignore her suggestion, because the act would be another step toward a commitment he wasn’t ready to make again. But he didn’t tell her that. He didn’t want to hurt her. “How far away are you?”

  “Pulling up now.”

  He turned and lifted a slat in the blinds to watch her car slide in beside his.

  “Oh look, I have an intruder,” she said, humor ligh
tening her voice. “I might have to draw my gun.”

  “You don’t carry a weapon,” he muttered, retracing his steps.

  “That wasn’t the kind of gun I was talking about.”

  His cock pulsed at her deep-throated drawl. A grin teased at the corners of his mouth. He opened the front door and leaned against the frame, pretending he wasn’t eager to grab her up and toss her on the first soft surface he could find.

  “Glad you’re here,” she said, still holding the phone to her ear as she stepped out of the car.

  Sam shoved his into his back pocket and folded both arms across his chest, waiting as Cait sauntered toward the door. Her hips swayed, her eyelids dipped as she raked his frame with a glance that said just how happy she was to see him. She halted mere inches away, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. Not that far, because even though he was taller, her boots added a couple of inches.

  His heart started its happy dance, thrumming in his chest, but he held still, waiting to see what her first move would be. She always managed to surprise him, whether aiming barbs to incite his anger, which invariably turned to lust, or rarely, letting him see a hint of vulnerability. He’d always been a sucker for those infrequent moments when she let down her walls and allowed him inside her complicated mind.

  Cait tucked a lock of wavy red hair behind an ear while her mossy green gaze ate him up. But rather than move in for a kiss, she leaned away.

  “Why were you looking for me?” he asked, arching a brow. “Something you needed?”

  Her head shook, and she gave a soft feminine snort. “Think you have anything I need?”

  He aimed a smoldering glance at her green eyes. “I recall you needing something just last weekend. Something you got on your pretty little knees to beg for.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Not fair. And you’re not going to distract me until after we talk.”

  “But you want some distracting?” he asked hopefully.

  Cait laid a palm against his cheek. “Baby, you know I love it when you make me forget everything.”

  At her touch, he gave a little growl but moved out of the door to let her pass, cupping her ass for a quick feel as she stepped inside.

  Her bottom wiggled, but she strode away, setting her purse and a camera on the coffee table. Then she plopped onto the couch and tugged off her boots. “The PD has a room at the Deluxe on South Front Street taped off,” she said, not looking his way.

  Which should have warned him she was about to drop a bomb. Sam sucked in a breath. Surprised, but not for the sexy reason he’d expected. But why was he shocked? Hadn’t he known their professional paths would intersect again—especially given the strange circumstances of the investigation he’d been asked to lead? “Third floor? Room 323?”

  Her gaze swung, locking with his. “Exactly.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why were you here? You knew I’d be on stakeout until late. Thought we weren’t meeting until Friday.”

  Sam frowned. “Leland wants you.”

  “Another case?” Her glance held steady. “The room?” At his nod, she cursed. “I knew it,” she muttered, lips tightening.

  “I’ll show you what I have if you show me yours.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and her lips stretched. “No more sexy talk. I can’t think when you say things like that. Another full-moon case?”

  “Right up your alley, baby.”

  She pushed off the sofa and walked toward her bedroom.

  He trailed behind.

  When her face turned toward his again, her expression was tight, her skin a little pale. “Ready for another round of crazy train?” she asked softly.

  Sam wasn’t ready for another case like the last one, but if he wasn’t the one to bring it to her, Leland would rope her in anyway. His boss, her old nemesis, was a believer now. “So long as you let me have your back.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered. “Sure that’s all you want?” she drawled.

  Sam canted his head. “Thought you wanted to lose the sexy talk.”

  She walked to him and leaned against his chest, rubbing her breasts against his body. Her eyelids dipped. “Is that really what you want?”

  Knowing she was stalling, but not caring since her nipples were tight and scraping his chest, he dipped his head toward hers. “Maybe we should get this out of the way before we get down to business.”

  “I like the way you think, Detective Pierce,” she said, her hands flicking open the buttons of his dress shirt.

  Sam inhaled deeply, content to let her do the work while he watched. He lifted his hands to cup her hips and drag her against the part of him most eager for her attention.

  “You’re not making this any easier,” she murmured, bending slightly back so she could finish with the buttons. Then she slid his shirt off his shoulders, forcing him to let go so the garment could fall to the floor.

  Then all bets were off. He rucked up his T-shirt, dragging it over his head. Her busy fingers were already freeing his belt, opening his trousers, and reaching inside—

  The moment she wrapped her firm grip around his shaft, his eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus, Cait.”

  “Love the way you say that,” she said, her voice a throaty murmur.

  Her hair brushed his belly, and he opened his eyes, eager for the sight of her dropping to her knees in front of him. With one hand holding his cock, she bobbed forward, taking him into her mouth. Engulfed in sweet heat, he rocked on his heels. Then she grabbed for the waistband of his trousers and shoved them down his tightened thighs.

  She’d forgotten his shoes, and he couldn’t step out of his clothing. Maybe that was her intent, because she scrambled backward and began removing her own clothes, slinging away her tank and shoving down her jeans, all the while watching him with a slightly wild glint in her eyes. When she was nude except for her bra, she grabbed his arm and swung him toward the bed.

  He went down, sitting on the edge, his feet bound together. She didn’t mind. Her smirk was wide, her eyes glittering with triumph as she straddled his lap and shoved at his chest, forcing him to lie back.

  Above him, she shook back her long hair, looking every inch the exotic Irish witch: pale skin, rusty brown nipples, dark thatch of hair between her legs. Her slender but strong frame undulated, the muscles of her abdomen bunching then stretching as she rubbed her sex along his length. She leaned down, bracing on her arms as she scooped his lips with her own lushly swollen mouth.

  He kissed her back, his arms encircling her. “This would work so much better if you got my shoes off,” he whispered.

  “Think I want you in charge?”

  The challenge heated his blood. He gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t you always?”

  She traced his mouth with a stroke of her tongue. “Maybe I don’t want this over fast.”

  He stuck out his tongue and flicked her bottom lip. Her breaths deepened, and she came down on her elbows, her mouth locking with his.

  Suctioning against her wet lips, he knew he had her. Her hips rolled, sliding on him, unable to capture the tip of his cock because it was trapped between their bodies. And he wouldn’t allow her the room she needed.

  Cait nipped his chin, her eyebrows drawing together in a sexy frown. “Dammit, I hate it when you’re right.”

  He chuckled, sliding his hand to the back of her neck, still keeping her close.

  She licked his teeth between his smiling lips. “Tell you what,” she whispered. “Let me go, and I’ll slide off. Get off the last of your clothes, and then we’ll wrestle to see who’s on top.”

  Sam grunted, knowing the only way she’d win would be if he let her. “Think you can beat me?”

  Her eyelids swept down, and she gave him a rare, flirting glance from beneath the fringe of her dark lashes. “Three, two, one!” She rolled away.

  He jackknifed up to reach for his boots, sending them flying, and then shoved his trousers off his feet.

  She was on him before he had a chance to face her, her arms clampin
g around his shoulders from his side and pulling him down to the bed, her sturdy, slim legs slipping over his hips. With a triumphant laugh, she came over him.

  With his large hands, he cradled her hips. “Think you’ve got me now?”

  Her hips lifted. Her slick sex slid along his cock and then wriggled at the tip to center it. With a sexy roll of her hips, she impaled herself. “Don’t I?” Then she groaned. “Sweet Jesus, that feels good.”

  Sam heaved up, his arms coming around her as he stood. Her thighs gripped his hips; her legs crossed behind him. He took a couple of steps forward and flattened her back against the bedroom wall. “Sure about that now?” He bent his head toward hers, locking with her sparkling green gaze.

  “I do believe I have you right where I wanted you. I win,” she whispered, her lips an inch from his, her hot breath wafting against his mouth.

  “I control every move,” he countered, giving her a swirl of his hips that brought him deeper.

  Air hissed between her teeth. Her lids fell halfway. “Waiting for something?”

  “For your surrender.”

  “Why does that sound so sexy coming from you?”

  He shook his head, enjoying the moment, because they both knew she’d concede, but she liked drawing out the foreplay—a long tease that fired both their senses.

  Sam slipped his hands to her rump and gave both cheeks a hard squeeze. Her breaths came faster. Her nipples were spiked and poking at his chest. He dropped his gaze for a look, then groaned. What he wanted was one of them in his mouth, and he couldn’t bend that low, not with her staked on his cock and crammed against the wall.

  A warm, husky chuckle shook her.

  Glancing up, he caught the smile twisting her lips.

  “Just ’cause you’re bigger doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” she whispered, and then gave him a squeeze with her inner muscles, one so strong his cock pulsed inside her.