She would survive this.
“That wasn’t a request, Sergeant.”
“This is my crime scene, Ms. Brown,” he growled. “And anything you saw in Leah’s mind is evidence.”
She paused. Legally he was right. Anything she discovered during her investigation went into an official transcript that could be used in court.
But technically Leah had already passed on when the stranger had popped into her mind. So that left jurisdiction ... fuzzy.
At least as far as she was concerned.
“This has nothing to do with your case.”
“Oh yeah?” He stepped closer. “I’ll decide what does or doesn’t have to do with my case,” he retorted, reaching to grab her arm. As if he thought she was intending to disappear in a puff of smoke.
Not an unreasonable fear.
Most people didn’t understand how a Sentinel was capable of traveling. They simply assumed they popped place to place with some mysterious magic.
The cop, however, had forgotten an important rule when working with a diviner.
His hand was still inches away from her when Fane reached out to grasp his wrist in a punishing grip.
“Don’t. Touch. Her.”
Duncan hissed, his gaze never shifting from Callie as he used his free hand to grasp the butt of the handgun that was holstered at his side.
“Call off your dog,” he commanded through clenched teeth.
Fane kept his grip as he stepped forward to stand at Callie’s side. “I’m her Sentinel, not her servant. If I decide someone is a threat I’ll do whatever necessary to protect her.” Although casually dressed in a pair of combat pants and white muscle shirt, no one, absolutely no one, could mistake Fane as anything less than lethal. “That badge doesn’t scare me.”
“Fane.” She laid a light hand on his arm. This went beyond Fane protecting her. The air was choking with male testosterone. One wrong word and things could get very, very messy. “Please.”
“Someday we’re going to settle this,” Fane snarled before grudgingly releasing his hold.
Duncan made a show of releasing his gun. “Sooner rather than later.”
Callie rolled her eyes.
Men.
“Perhaps the sergeant should hear this,” she said, accepting that Duncan was going to dig and prod and generally make a nuisance of himself until he had what he wanted.
Or until Fane snapped and killed him.
As if to prove her point, Fane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his touch as much a warning to Duncan as a support for her shaky balance. “You need to rest,” he said.
She shook her head. “There’s no time.”
Fane frowned, not missing the edge of fear in her voice. “What happened?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Did you—” Duncan tried to hide his grimace.
She completed his sentence. “I was able to locate her memories.”
“Then you know what happened to her?” Duncan asked.
“Not exactly.”
Duncan frowned. “Not exactly?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How can you not be sure?”
“Her soul left before I could access her final memory.”
“Dammit,” Duncan muttered, frustration smoldering in his hazel eyes. As annoying as he might be, his dedication to his job was never in doubt. He was as tenacious as a bulldog when it came to solving a case. “Then you didn’t see her murderer?”
She shivered, vividly recalling the diamond-bright eyes.
“Actually ... he was still there.”
Duncan stepped forward, his lean face tight with shock. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Back off.” Fane lifted a warning hand before turning to study her with a searching gaze. “Callie?”
“A man appeared. I think it was the same man who killed Leah.”
Fane hissed, turning her so he could run an assessing gaze over her. “Did he hurt you?” he rasped. “Is that why you were having a seizure?”
She lifted an unconscious hand to her head. It was beginning to throb with an uncomfortable persistence. “It must have been, but I didn’t feel his attack while we were speaking.”
“You need to see a healer.”
“Later.” She placed a hand on his wide neck. It was a gesture of intimacy without being sexual. Trust between partners. “I promise.”
“How is this possible?” Duncan sharply intruded, his voice filled with annoyance. “Was he a necro?”
She turned back to meet his narrowed gaze, inanely noticing the bruises beneath the hazel eyes and the unusual pallor of his tanned face. Sick? Or just a late night?
Not that either was her business.
“He must have some powers of necromancy, but he was more than that,” she said, wrapping her arms around her waist as she returned her attention to Fane. “Much more,” she emphasized. “I must speak with the Mave. She may know who, or at least what, he might be.”
Fane didn’t hesitate, moving toward the door. On the point of following him, Callie was halted as Duncan moved to stand in her way.
“I’m going with you,” he said, stubbornly holding his ground, although he was smart enough not to touch her.
Fane was on edge. One wrong move and he would explode.
She shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
He leaned forward, wrapping her in the scent of warm male and ... was that whiskey?
Ah. So not sick, but hungover.
“Then make it possible.”
In the blink of an eye Fane’s huge body was between them, his muscles primed for violence. “A man with a death wish,” he drawled.
“What I am is a cop with a victim who’s missing her heart with no visible wounds,” Duncan countered.
Callie gave a soft gasp, stepping around Fane to regard the cop in horror. She never asked how a victim died. It might influence her when she was reliving their memories.
“She’s missing her heart?”
“Gone, just like magic.” He held her gaze, his expression grim. “That means the killer is a freak. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know what’s going on.”
It took a minute for her to realize she’d just been insulted. Odd considering it happened with tedious regularity.
“Are you implying I would try and hide the identity of a murderer?”
He ignored the bristling Fane as he moved to stand directly in front of her.
“I’m implying that you’re stuck with me, Callie Brown.”