I swallow hard and inch forward, mind going a mile a minute. There’s a dead body next to me. Cops walked up and down this alley not that long ago, meaning whoever dumped the body could be nearby. I should go, call this in, and canvass the area for the murderer.
But there’s also what I think is a ghost hovering feet from me.
“Hey.” My voice comes out strangled, forced, but what the hell was I expecting when talking to a ghost. “Can you hear me?” If I weren’t so stunned, I would have rolled my eyes at myself for sounding so fucking lame.
The ghost flickers, reminding me of a video game character glitching before the whole game crashes. The air around me fills with heat, and the whispering is back, so close I can feel a breath on the back of my neck.
I whirl around, heart racing, but nothing is behind me. I spin again, and the ghost is gone. Gun still raised, I take a step away from the body, keeping my back to the wall behind me so no one can sneak up and take advantage of my shocked state. Blinking rapidly to try and clear my head, I exhale heavily and half expect my breath to cloud around me like it does in movies.
Though if the last few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that Hollywood knows shit about the paranormal. Jacques, on the other hand, is a walking—and flying—encyclopedia of the supernatural. My free hand jerks up to grab my phone to call him.
I’m at work. As a detective. A detective who, for the last few years, has proved over and over that the supernatural doesn’t exist. But things have changed.
Reaching for my radio instead, I call it in and go back to examine the body. Right away I know something isn’t right, and I mean other than the fact a dead guy is lying on the dirty alley ground.
His hair has been combed and styled. His clothes are clean. There are no obvious wounds, no blood staining his clothes, no bruises around his neck or wrists. Thick makeup coats his face, hiding the death pallor.
He’s been professionally embalmed.
I stand up, waiting for an officer to get here, and pull out my phone after all. But I don’t call Jacques, not yet. I dial the station and ask if any bodies have been reported missing from a local morgue.
One has, and it’s only three miles from here.
* * *
“I lied.”I put my Charger in reverse, eyes going to the backup camera.
“About what?” Hasan’s heavily accented voice comes through the speakers. Explaining how cell phones work was hard enough, trying to get the guys to understand how you can connect it to Bluetooth and have the conversation “hands free” was pointless. It doesn’t help that I don’t really understand it myself, but I at least don’t question it.
“I’m not coming home. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Turns out there was a body, though he died of natural causes.”
“Then why are you there?”
I carefully back up, turning my wheel so I can get out of the spot I parallel parked in. “The body was stolen from the morgue.”
“Morgue,” he repeats, trying to place the word. For being over a thousand years old, and not having English as their first language, I have to hand it to the guys for picking up on things fast.
“It’s where they keep bodies and prep them for funerals. The whole thing is weird.” I hesitate, knowing if I mutter the word “ghost” Hasan will take to the sky and come find me. All of the guys are overprotective of me, which annoys me as much as I appreciate it. Hasan was a badass warrior back in his day, and he’s never said anything, but I think he misses it.
It was his calling.
He was doing what he was meant to do.
Ridding the world of evil. Making it a better place. Fighting for a cause he believed in with his entire being.
Helping me fight crime is the next best thing.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. Do you want me to pick up pizza on the way home?”
“Do you have to ask?” he shoots back, making me laugh. I get a flash of his handsome face, and feel the longing for home grow in my heart.
And warmth grow between my legs.
“I’ll see you soon.”
