Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)

Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1) Page 2

Why it was so important to find that woman was another one of those things he put on the list of “don’t fucking care.”

“Sergeant O’Conner,” she said, moving with an unearthly grace to stand beside the sheet.

“Duncan,” he insisted, shifting to stand across the body, his gaze never leaving Callie’s pale face.

“Has the body been processed?”

“As much as can be done in the field. You’re free to do your thing.”

“Time of death?”

“At least an hour ago.”

“Then I should have time.” She knelt down, reaching for the edge of the sheet. “The spark—”

“Yeah, no need explain.” He held up a restraining hand. He might not share the prejudices of most of society against the freaks, but that didn’t mean he wanted an insider’s guide to necromancy. Christ. The mere thought made his stomach clench. “Just see what you can do.”

“Fine.” Cool, indifferent. Then her body tensed. “So young,” she murmured softly.

“Twenty-six.” He crouched down, studying her silken skin unmarred by wrinkles. “Older than you?”

“A woman never shares that information.”

“You share nothing.”

“Do you blame me?”

His lips twisted at the smooth thrust. Most people went out of their way to avoid freaks, but there were others who thought the only good freak was a dead freak. There were even a handful of cults where people trained to kill them. Mostly simpleminded idiots who needed someone to tell them what to think and angry outcasts who had nowhere else to go, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous.

“No, not really.”

“What was her name?”

His jaw tightened. Okay, he was vain. He’d spent most of his life knowing women found him irresistible. The fact he wasn’t certain if Callie had even noticed he was a male annoyed the hell out of him.

Then with a silent curse he shoved aside his ego and concentrated on the only thing important at the moment. Finding the son of a bitch who’d killed this woman.

“Leah Meadows.”

“Is that her real name?”

He shrugged. “That’s all I got for now.”

She paused before giving a slow nod. “It should do.”

“Why do you need her name?” He asked the question that he’d wondered about more than once.

By law they couldn’t give details of the death in the fear that the necro might be swayed into naming a murderer even if the victim couldn’t reveal the truth.

But a necro always asked for a name.

“It helps me to connect with her mind.”

He shuddered. “Christ.”

“You asked,” she reminded him in a low voice.

“Do you need any other details?”

“I need to touch her.”

“There.” He pointed toward the forearm where Frank would have prepped the victim. “It’s been sanitized.”

She at last lifted her head. “Would you make sure—”

“That no one enters?” he finished for her.

“Yes.”

He abruptly frowned. “Where’s your Sentinel?”

A necro never left the compound without a guardian Sentinel. Not only were they capable of opening portals to travel from place to place (a mysterious talent that was never discussed among the mundane mortals), but they were also trained warriors who were covered in intricate tattoos. From what little Duncan had been able to learn, the ceremonial markings protected the warriors from magic as well as any attempt at mind control.

And, oh yeah, they were capable of killing with their bare hands.

There were also rumors that there were other Sentinels—hunters who weren’t marked and could travel among the humans unnoticed. But info on them was kept top secret.

“I asked him to wait outside.”

He lifted a brow. “Why?”

“Because you take such pleasure in tormenting him and he’s too well trained to fight back.”

“Are you saying I’m not well trained?”

She ignored the open invitation to point out that he was barely civilized and instead returned her attention to the victim.

“The door, please.”

He slowly straightened, swallowing his groan as his head gave another protesting throb. Whiskey was the devil’s brew, just as his ma had always claimed.

“No one’s coming in,” he muttered, “but I’ll keep guard at the door if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Duncan.” His headache forgotten, he flashed a smile of pure challenge. “One day you’ll say it. Hell, one day you might even scream it.”

No response. With a low growl, Duncan made his way to the door, leaning on the doorjamb to make sure no one could enter, while keeping his attention on the woman kneeling beside the corpse.

She ignored his unwavering attention, lifting a hand to remove her sunglasses and setting them aside. At the same time the slanting sunlight spilled over her, catching in the sapphire blue of her eyes.

Duncan’s heart forgot how to beat.

He’d seen them before. At a distance. At the time he’d thought they looked like expensive gems, perfectly faceted and shimmering with an inner light. Up close they were even more magnificent.

Christ.

The beauty of those eyes was hypnotizing.

Priceless jewels that revealed this was no ordinary woman.

Duncan would be pleased to know that it was only her years of training that allowed Callie to ignore his raw sexual magnetism.

He was the sort of primitive male that should have infuriated her, not tantalized her deepest fantasies.

Of course, the Mave would tell her that fantasies were meant to be filled with unsuitable desires. Why not lust after a bad boy cop? It wasn’t as if she was going to do anything about it. She didn’t know if his flirtations were a way to taunt her or if he was one of those groupies who got off on sleeping with “freaks,” but either way, it had nothing to do with her as a person.

Still, it was only with an effort that she managed to crush the tiny tingles of excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach and the dampness of her palms.

Now wasn’t the time or place.

Tonight in her dreams ... well, that was a different story.

Clearing her thoughts, she laid her hands on the victim’s arm and closed her eyes.

It took a second to slip from her own mind and into the female stretched on the floor. There was always a strange sense of ... floating. As if her consciousness was hovering between one body and the next. Then, focusing on the feel of the female’s arm beneath her fingers, she murmured her name.

“Leah.”

The soft word was enough.

With a hair-raising jolt, she was sucked from her body and into Leah’s mind.

She could easily sense the female soul, just as she could sense she was fading.

Fast.

Despite the ridiculous myths, a necromancer couldn’t control or raise the dead. Her only ability was to tap into the mind of the murdered victim to see the last few minutes of their life.

And only within a very short time frame.

Once the ... spark, for lack of a better word ... was extinguished and the soul moved on, the memories were lost.

A meaningless talent for the most part. But on rare occasion it could mean the opportunity for justice.

With a well-honed skill, Callie touched on the female’s memory center. Just being born a diviner didn’t automatically mean that a person would be capable of reading memories. There were many necromancers who were never able to do more than enter the body and hopefully catch a stray thought.

Callie, however, was one of the most talented.

Which was why she was always sent when there was a suspicion the death might have been caused by a high-blood, as the freaks preferred to call themselves.

Finding the spot she was searching for, she delicately slipped into the fading memories and allowed them to flow through her.

Suddenly she was no longer kneeling on the hard floor. Instead she was in the attached garage, stepping out of her sleek black Jag. She sensed a pleasant weariness in her limbs, as if she’d just finished a vigorous workout at the gym, a suspicion confirmed when she glanced down to see she was wearing a pair of stretchy pants and a matching sports bra.

Rounding the car, she moved to unlock the door that led to the house. She stepped into the small laundry room and stripped off her sweaty clothes to toss them in the washing machine. Now naked, she moved into the sun-drenched kitchen.

As she headed for the stainless steel refrigerator to pull out a bottle of water there was an ease in her steps that hinted this was a routine morning for her, and a comfort with her surroundings that said she had lived in the house for at least a few weeks.

Callie, however, could sense a faint surge of pride as she turned to study the large kitchen that looked like a picture out of a fancy magazine.

Leah had recently moved up in the world.

And she was fully enjoying her elevation.

Callie had barely managed to grasp the knowledge when Leah was stiffening, her head turning toward the French doors.

Was there a shadow lurking by the trimmed hedges that lined the patio?

She gave a strained laugh, lifting the bottle to drink the last of the water before tossing it into the recycle bin next to the fridge.

The neighborhood was the safest in the city. Besides, the house was guarded by a security system.

If there was a creep out there trying to sneak a peek through the windows, then he’d set off a hundred bells and whistles the minute he stepped on the patio.

Brave thoughts, but a tiny shiver inched down the female’s spine as the shadow moved, stepping away from the hedges to reveal—

Without warning the image was snatched away.

Just like that.

Callie blinked, expecting to have been returned to her body. When the spark left, it destroyed any connection that Callie had to the dead.

But instead she found she remained in Leah’s body, standing in the center of the kitchen as if she were still in the memory ... without Leah.