Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(49)

He arched a brow. “Only sometimes?”

After being returned to Kansas City by Fane and his magical portal, Duncan made a brief stop by his apartment for clean clothes before heading to the station house to speak with the techy who was dissecting Calso’s security tapes. He forced the poor bastard to go frame by tedious frame until Duncan had the information he needed.

Only then did he head south of town to the mansion that was now a crime scene.

Parking a block away, Duncan blatantly trespassed through private yards to enter through the back terrace doors. A death in this neighborhood would bring out the vultures in hordes. He didn’t want to have to shoot paparazzi. No matter how satisfying it might be.

Entering the kitchen, he was met by a rookie who looked impossibly young with his face flushed and his pale eyes shimmering with excitement.

Christ. Had he ever been that wide eyed and fresh faced?

Probably not. By the time he was four his special little talent had revealed just how often a face of an angel could disguise a soul as black as the pits of hell.

“You had the entire neighborhood canvassed?”

The young man squared his shoulders, his uniform perfectly pressed and his shoes shining.

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“And?”

“And nothing was seen except a silver Taurus parked a block south of here,” a female voice answered as Molinari stepped into the kitchen.

A small woman in her early fifties, the chief of police didn’t have the muscles or the bluster to intimidate others, but there wasn’t a cop in the city who didn’t quake beneath the dark gaze.

There was something in that glare that reminded him of the day he was busted by his ma for hiding a stash of Playboys beneath his mattress.

“Any one jot down the plates?”

Molinari shook her head, the dark hair that was dyed, sprayed, and pinned into a bun at her nape not moving an inch. Her tailored jacket and matching skirt were equally rigid as she stood in the doorway. “No.”

“Of course not.” Duncan rolled his eyes. “I can’t sneeze in my apartment without old lady Rogers asking if I’m coming down with a cold. Where are the nosy neighbors when you need them?”

“Nosy neighbors aren’t allowed in the communities where power brokers live,” the chief said, her dark gaze flicking toward the backyard, which was as large as a football field. “They have too many secrets.”

“So what were Mr. Calso’s secrets?”

Molinari lifted a slender hand. “Follow me, O’Conner.” She glanced toward the silent rookie. “Blackwell.”

The cop audibly swallowed the lump in his throat. “Chief?”

“Make sure we’re not interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Duncan followed Molinari through the house to the office where Calso had died. He smiled as he caught a glimpse through the windows at the dozen cops who surrounded the house, keeping the gathering jackals at bay.

“Trying to keep a lid on things?”

The woman moved toward the desk, making a wide path around the spot where Calso had . . . disintegrated.

Duncan didn’t blame her. The memory of watching the body turn to ash was something that was going to haunt him for a long time.

“When it gets out that one of the richest men in Kansas City was killed by magic all hell’s going to break loose,” Molinari muttered, reaching to pluck a manila file off the desk.

“You left out the fact that the person casting the spell was a zombie who escaped from our own morgue.”

That dark glare swiveled in his direction. “I’ve already named my first ulcer Mayor Stanford. Do you want me to name the next one O’Conner?”

“I’ll pass.”

“This whole damned thing is a nightmare just waiting to happen.”

Just waiting to happen?

Duncan was fairly certain they were knee-deep in the nightmare.

“You can’t keep this from the press for long,” he said, waving a hand toward the window that revealed the line of news vans already blocking the street. “Not with such a high profile victim.”

“Instead of stating the obvious, why don’t you make yourself useful and assure me the freaks know who’s doing this.”

Duncan moved, studying the open safe, effectively hiding his expression. He was loyal to his job and to his chief, but he’d go to the grave protecting Callie and her connection to the case.

“Like us, they’re following leads,” he said, absently noting the stack of crisp thousand-dollar bills just begging to be taken.

Whatever the reason for Calso’s death, it had nothing to do with money.

“And?” Molinari prompted.

“And that’s all I know.”

“You wouldn’t be keeping anything from me, would you, O’Conner?”

He turned to meet her suspicious frown. “The Mave has her people trying to track down info on a necromancer capable of truly raising the dead. I assume they’ll contact us when they discover anything.”

The suspicion remained. “Hmm.”

“Tell me about Calso.”

The chief’s lips parted to cross-examine him, then clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the battle, she instead turned her attention to the file folder in her hand. Flicking it open, she read from the top page.