It didn’t register until I got back to the hotel and went through my bag what was missing from the collected evidence.
The carving knife.
Sometimes, it’s what’s absent that is the biggest clue.
Did I overlook it when I was hastily gathering items at the ritual ground? Or was it removed from my bag afterward?
“Halen? Did you hear me?”
I blink hard and recenter my focus. “Yeah, sorry. Just zoned out for a second.”
“Uh-huh.” Devyn turns toward her kit. “Well, in order to process everything you gave me stealthily, it’s going to take a bit of time. The lab is overworked with this case.”
A bite the corner of my lip. “Of course. I was just hoping…” I shake my head, having no idea what hope even means anymore.
“I know,” she says, her tone soft and reassuring as she faces me. “Look. Whatever happened to you out there—” she nods in the general direction of the ritual crime scene “—it’s going to take even more time for you to process that. You’re a psychologist, Halen. You know this. Give yourself enough time to equilibrate or recalibrate or whatever.”
A thin smile ghosts my lips. I nod appreciatively. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” She steps closer and drops her voice low. “And if you need to talk about anything that might have happened between you and a certain devastatingly sexy expert consultant. Hey, no judgment. I’m here for that. But if he hurt you—”
“No. I promise. Nothing like that.” I meet her concerned gaze, and really hope I’m convincing. “As crazy as it sounds, I just want to make sure I’m not losing my mind.”
Her mouth twists into a smile. “Oh, I can confirm that for you right now. You’re absolutely batshit. But, I suspect that’s why you’re so good at what you do.”
An amused laugh escapes, and I appreciate her attempt to put me at ease despite our grisly surroundings and the obvious stress of the case. “Thanks. I think…”
“You’re welcome. Now, get out of here before you fall asleep on a pile of evidence.”
Devyn heads to the center of the scene to confer with one of the federal agents on the task force, leaving me feeling some strange, vulnerable melancholy.
Typically, my field manager Aubrey would check in a couple times before I closed out my day. I’d send in my field reports. I have a strict routine. Had a routine. And that might be all I’m feeling, the lack of structure. What kept my mind focused, busy. Off of painful reminders of the past.
Once I have my tripod and tools packed in my case, I hoist the strap over my shoulder, groaning at the tender ache in my back. Really, as the adrenaline that’s been fueling my manic efforts to process this scene starts to wane, every sensitive bruise and injury on my body makes itself known.
My back bears the scrapes from the bark where I was bound to a tree. My wrists are abraded with rope burn. My skin is covered in scratches and bruises and bite marks, and a sigil is carved into my innermost upper thigh.
My whole body thrums with a painful, visceral reminder of Kallum.
The hotel room has a soaking tub, and I’m thinking about submerging myself for the next several hours when an alarming sensation prickles the back of my neck, lifting the fine hairs along my body.
As the early morning air crackles with a volatile, kinetic force, I sense the moment he enters my energy field. Like the darkest flint striking an abrasive surface, the friction of his presence scratches over my skin, heating my flesh.
His fiery chaos pulses against my logical defenses, and my breathing becomes erratic. I can feel him, tangible, magnetic, drawing me in like a moth to a frenzied flame.
I don’t miss the dark irony as I stand amid a crime scene designed by the Harbinger himself.
My heart clenches in my chest, and suddenly every molecule vibrates with his frequency as I gravitate toward the boardwalk and climb the steps onto the worn planks. Gathering my remaining strength, I look down the walkway.
Kallum’s striking silhouette is framed by the hazy glow of the lamps.
Like a lit match dropped to a trail of gasoline, the distance between us blazes through the dark. He eats each step with a sure but unhurried stride, his gaze intently aimed on me, making the world fall away.
Sheathed in a designer black suit tailored to his beautiful form, he’s the devil of deception and debauchery descending on Hollow’s Row once again.
Kallum is flanked by Agent Alister and another special agent—one of the tagalong feds.
The closer he draws, a gauzy web of indecision spools around my mind, the heavy thud of my heart drowns out the background of the marsh. White noise fills my head and my hand clasps the bag strap so tightly my fingers go numb.
It’s only been hours since I last saw him, and I’ve already forgotten how consuming his presence is, how—when his sole attention is directed on me—he desires to make me feel like I’m the only person in the universe.
A dangerously deceptive illusion by the chaos magician himself.
Breath bated, I hold his intense stare as he coasts toward me, close enough that when I’m forced to take a breath, his scent of spicy sandalwood burns in my lungs.
Kallum’s mouth tips into a devastatingly beautiful smile. “Hello, Halen.”
OceanofPDF.com
4
OceanofPDF.com
DAEMON
OceanofPDF.com
HALEN
The deep baritone of Kallum’s voice curls in my belly as I stay locked in his gaze, reminding me of our first encounter at the Cambridge crime scene. Beneath that vivid memory, however, some elusive feeling, like a misplaced familiarity, tugs at the back of my mind.
A shadow of the past is conjured against the hazy lamplight: Kallum’s hands stained in red, his suit jacket draped over my shoulders, his voice breaking through the shroud of my mind: Breathe.
I blink hard to clear the vision as the bite mark on my shoulder pulses with heat beneath the bag strap, the place on my body where Kallum claims he traced a sigil before he ever approached me at the university.
“Professor Locke,” I say, my voice breathy as I strive to control the tremor. “Welcome back.”
I wanted to be more prepared before I had to confront Kallum.
I wanted the evidence to profile him as the prime suspect of this crime scene. I wanted to pin him—without a shadow of a doubt—as the Harbinger killer.
I wanted to witness him arrested and handcuffed, where I couldn’t be forced to play his game, where I felt safely removed from his reach.
But life has never once asked my permission before it decided to blow my world apart. I don’t expect it to start now.
So I grip the bag strap tighter, lift my chin, and meet Kallum’s smoldering gaze with cool indifference. Tension infuses the air of the marshland, the silence stretching until Agent Alister clears his throat.
“Right,” Alister says. “No introduction necessary.” Sarcasm laces his words as he glances first at the progress of the crime scene, then between me and Kallum. “St. James, I heard you’ve officially been hired on by the locals.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Two expert consultants,” Kallum comments. “Feels a bit overkill.” The goading remark is punctuated by his smile that reveals the slight dimple in his cheek.
I loathe that dimple.
“There’s two suspects, so maybe not.” I tilt my head, gaze narrowed on him. “That was a fast trip, professor. You work quickly.”
“My services are obviously sorely needed,” he says, letting his gaze drift slow and deliberate down my body to further his innuendo. “And I do aim to please.” His intense eyes settle on my neck, noting the absence of the diamond pendant, and that calculated action trips my pulse.
