Midnight Hunter. Kait Ballenger
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other indication that she’d once been laid to rest there, was gone.”
Vera’s eyes widened. “So what are you insinuating?”
Shane shook his head. “I’m not really sure at this point, but it seems too bizarre to be coincidental. My theory is that a black-magic coven is using Mrs. Foley’s corpse, probably for some kind of spell. I’m wondering if maybe they used scare tactics on Mr. Foley before his death that made him think his wife was haunting him. Maybe they had a vendetta against him for some reason. This is all just speculation, though. Until now, I haven’t been able to gain access to the scene of the husband’s murder. I asked my division leader for the photos, but he asked Ash to set up an actual visit to the scene, which was what Ash was just calling about. Do you think you can handle it?”
She pursed her lips together as she considered. A murder scene that was less than a week old, quite possibly complete with bloodstains? She didn’t have a weak stomach, but that didn’t exactly sound like a stroll through the park. “As long as the body isn’t there, I should be fine. I need more mental preparation time for a dead body, though.”
Shane stood and grabbed his computer bag off the desk. “No dead bodies. Mr. Foley has long since been moved to the morgue, and Mrs. Foley died two years ago. I can’t promise it won’t be eerie, though.” He shrugged the bag onto his shoulder.
Following his cue, she grabbed her backpack and swung it over her own shoulder. She waited for him to exit, but he just stood there.
He gestured toward the door. “You go first. Head to the edge of campus—I’ll pick you up there. Look for the Chevy Volt.”
She laughed. It figured he would drive a Volt. She admired how environmentally conscious it was, but a Volt was like the Rolls-Royce of yuppie cars. “I can’t just walk out to the parking lot with you now? That would be a lot easier.”
Shane ran a hand over his ponytail again. She recognized it now as his nervous tic. Damn, how she would love to free that ponytail and watch his hair, just long enough so it framed his jawline, cascade forward, then run her fingers through it.
“I don’t want anyone to see you getting into my car in the employee parking lot.”
Fantasy officially destroyed. Vera rolled her eyes. Seriously? Did he have to be so adamant that she not be seen with him? He could at least let her dream of the things she could do with him for a few minutes without ruining it with his disdain. A girl needed a good fantasy once in a while. With a huff, she exited his office, very aware of the fact that he was still there as she walked away.
Behind the closed door.
She smirked. How appropriate.
* * *
SHANE BREATHED A sigh of relief once Vera was sitting safely in the passenger seat of his car, hidden behind the darkness of the Volt’s tinted windows. The last thing he needed was suspicion they were fraternizing, because guilt would be written all over his face if anyone asked him about it. They drove to the northwest side of town in silence. Mr. and Mrs. Foley’s building sat nestled in between a brick apartment complex and a vacant lot filled with shredded tires, the occasional fast-food wrapper and various other pieces of garbage.
Shane parallel parked on the street before reaching into the backseat and removing his weapons bag, where he stored all his normal Execution Underground gear while on campus. He couldn’t exactly be seen with a gun on his belt in the middle of a lecture. He unloaded his new Walther PPK from the bag. Jace had insisted he needed something more “interesting” than a standard nine-millimeter issue and had nagged Shane until he picked out the PPK. He had to admit, the gun had style. He secured the magazine, clipped his holster over his belt and tucked the gun inside. He left the massive textbook-size occult reference filled with all his notes inside the bag.
“Do you expect to need the gun?” Vera nodded toward the weapon on his belt.
Shane replaced his weapons bag in the back of the car before he opened his door. “No, I’m not expecting to, but I’ve learned during my time with the Execution Underground that you can never be too prepared.”
They both exited the vehicle. Yellow police tape distinguished the correct door when they reached the third-floor landing.
Shane tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. He sighed. “Shit. I forgot my lock pick in the car.”
Vera waved her hand in dismissal. “Step aside.” Placing her palm over the keyhole, she muttered a few words under her breath as purple light flashed from her hand. A small click sounded and the door popped open. Vera stepped aside, clearing the way for Shane to go first.
He raised an eyebrow. “A spell for breaking and entering?”
She shrugged. “What? You really thought black magic was the only slightly felonious activity I’ve participated in during my lifetime?”
Shane ducked underneath the tape. “Honestly, the extent of what I know about your file is that the Execution Underground detained you for black-magic use. I’ve never looked any further than that.”
She followed him underneath the tape, then stopped behind him. “Well, don’t bother looking. It was a stupid decision I’d rather keep buried.” She closed the door.
Shane surveyed the room in front of him. A slightly overstuffed Lay-Z-Boy and a small side table with a lamp sat facing a large flat-screen television. A small love seat, which appeared to have seen little use and looked as if it had been purchased straight out of a newspaper circular, stood against one wall. Hanging on another wall was a photo, presumably of the happy couple, showing a round-bellied Mr. Foley sitting with his feet propped up in the chair, the TV remote in one hand and a can of Budweiser in the other, his slender wife perched across the arm of the chair with her arms around his neck. She smiled toward the camera. He didn’t.
“This doesn’t look much like a crime scene,” Vera said. “Just an unoccupied living room.”
Shane nodded toward the hall. “That’s because Mr. Foley was found stabbed to death in his bed with a cheap kitchen knife. The only prints they found on the knife were his own and, oddly enough, Mrs. Foley’s.”
Vera shivered. “That’s so fucking creepy. How could her prints be on the knife?”
Shane walked toward the semi-dark hallway. “Mr. Foley didn’t exactly appear to be the type of man who would bother to cook himself a nice homemade dinner after his wife died. I could be wrong, but my guess was that whoever killed him wore gloves, and the knives just hadn’t been cleaned since his wife died.”
Vera frowned. “Gross.”
Shane stepped slowly through the hall, examining the floor for any stray fibers, herbs or possible leftovers from a black-magic ritual, signs the Rochester CSU wouldn’t have noticed or had otherwise written off as too unimportant to include in their report. When he reached the room at the end of the hall—which, based on its placement directly next to the bathroom, was likely the master bedroom—he paused. Light crept out from underneath the door, as if one of the policemen who had previously scoured the scene had left a lamp on. He pushed open the door.
The “Holy fuck!” that escaped his lips didn’t even begin to cover it.
He drew the Walther PPK and aimed. Atop the bloody mattress sat a woman who he immediately recognized as Mrs. Foley, and by Mrs. Foley he didn’t mean the corpse she should have been. Oh, no. Mrs. Foley looked exactly like she had in life, only with no color to her face and a flat dead look in her eyes because, well...she was fucking dead.
Her head snapped toward them. Vera let out a string of screamed profanities that would have impressed a sailor. Shane didn’t think. He squeezed the trigger off several times, aiming directly at Mrs. Foley’s head. His shots hit the dead woman point-blank in the forehead. Her body jerked with each impact. Blood and brain matter spattered onto the already-blood-soaked bed behind her. She fell back onto the mattress, twitching.
Shane released a long breath. Adrenaline filled