Delilah Devlin - Lost Souls

Sam took the chair opposite Reyes, whose hair stuck up in oily spikes and whose beady eyes were so wide, the whites showed.

More surprising to Cait was who stood behind him. She lifted her chin in a silent greeting to Sylvia, whose red-markered lips were stretched with a wide smile.

Cait took the chair beside Sam’s, aimed a glance toward the camera in the corner of the ceiling, and then settled her full attention on Oscar.

A cup of coffee sat in front of him, and he stared at it, his expression a little wild.

“Oscar,” Sam said, drawing the anxious man’s attention. “The officers read you your rights. Whatever you say now can be used against you. Do you understand?”

Oscar, all bravado gone, nodded, the movement jerking.

“You have something you want to say to me?”

Tears filled Oscar’s eyes, and he began to sob—deep, wrenching cries that made Cait cringe because they were so opposed to his previous arrogant display.

“She won’t leave me alone. The fucking bitch is haunting me.”

Sylvia’s dark eyes narrowed, and she leaned around Oscar. She pointed a finger and then stared at the cup. When she touched it, the cup moved an inch toward him.

Oscar cried out and scooted back his chair. “You see that?”

Sam gave no indication he’d seen the cup move.

Cait had to fight the urge to look in Sylvia’s direction. Instead, she intently watched Oscar Reyes’s shot nerves fray.

“She’s haunting me. Everywhere. Moving things. Writing on mirrors and windows. ‘Confess, confess,’ she says. The bitch knows.”

Sylvia pushed the cup into his lap, and Oscar leapt from his chair, shouting before curling into a fetal position in one corner of the room. “I spoke with a dude at the Deluxe,” he whispered, not lifting his head. “Said he’d take care of my whore of a wife. Said he was in the business of taking out whores. He got me drunk. Got me to agree. Then I gave him my wife’s Match.com password. She didn’t know I knew she had an account. She was flirting with other men online.” His face rose to meet Sam’s steady stare. “What was I supposed to do?”

Sylvia stood next to him, one hip hitched forward, her arms crossed under her ample breasts. “Joo a loser, Oscar. An idiota ! Now joo gonna go to jail. Ha!”

Cait kept a straight face, but just barely. The man cowered like a whipped puppy.

Sylvia was on fire, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and doing a little victory dance in her pink heels. She shot a glance at Cait. “That enough to get him?”

“Oscar,” Cait said loudly to break through another round of loud sobs. “Who was the man who approached you?”

Oscar sniffed. “Some fireman at the Union Street station. Eddie.”

She winked at Sylvia and then angled her body toward Sam.

He hadn’t written a word in his notebook. Nor had he clicked the end of the Nick the Plumber pen. “Eddie,” he said, giving her a glare.

Cait raised her shoulder. “He seemed like such a nice guy.”

His gaze smoldered, so she moved around on her chair until she felt a twinge, and let him see it.

His lips curved. “Guess we’re done here,” he said, his gaze locking with hers. “Back to the hotel?”

Her breath left in a whoosh. She hadn’t expected him to cave that easily, and gave him a nod.

“I’d like to see the recording your buddies from Reel PIs have.”

Leland met them in the hallway as uniforms led Oscar away to booking. “Strange shit. Can’t edit that tape since it’s evidence.”

Cait cleared her throat. “His knees were bumping the bottom of the table. Scared himself silly. Guilty conscience got to him, I guess.”

Leland glared but gave her a nod. “Yeah. That’s the way I saw it too.”

Sylvia fluttered her fingers from behind Leland’s back, trying to get her attention.

Cait scratched her head. “I’m gonna hit the restroom. Be right back.”

Once inside the ladies’ room, she quickly searched the stalls to ensure privacy before rounding on Sylvia. “That was some trick.”

“Joor daddy showed me how. Said pure emotion can make it happen. Since I purely hate Oscar, piece o’ cake,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“You plan on sticking around here? Torture him some more?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I’ll be around. For when joo figure out how to send me back. Joor daddy said hi too. Says joo know where to find him if joo need to talk.” She yawned. “Need to rest. Payback takes a lot out of joo.”

In Sam’s car, heading to the hotel, Cait gave Sam the rundown of what had happened with Oscar.

Sam’s gaze didn’t leave the road, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Too bad we can’t put her on retainer.”

They parked on the street in front of the hotel and got out of the car.

Cait cocked her head, listening but hearing no whispers. She glanced up at the dumpy place. Old glass, yellowed, and in need of a good exterior cleaning. The marquee sign with its missing letters. Would anyone miss this place if it did burn to the ground? And how could she manage the destruction without ending up in prison herself, or getting someone hurt? There had to be another way.

“Nervous?”

“Of going inside?” She shook her head. “Just worried about how this will all end.”

“Can’t torch the place, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His gaze rose as well. “Not that anyone would miss this dump.”

Cait smiled. In some ways, they were on the same page. More alike than not, if she thought about it. They were both mulishly stubborn. Both kept their hearts cloaked behind brittle shields. And Sam had missed her every bit as much as she’d missed him during their long split.

The proof had been in the photographs. Even though they’d rushed through getting showered and dressed, with her climbing back into yesterday’s clothes because they didn’t have time to hit her apartment, she’d paused long enough to note the pictures. One of her on his nightstand, uncharacteristically smiling for the camera at her old desk in homicide. A picture of her and Sam, both wearing PD T-shirts at a family-day picnic. On Beale Street, standing under the red, white, and black Blues City Café sign. All happy moments. Always with a smile. Because they’d been so fleeting, she couldn’t remember the happy times as well as she could the sad.

Sam touched her elbow. “Look, you don’t have to come with me.”

Summoning a smile she didn’t feel, she met his questioning glance. “But then you couldn’t stay on my ass and make sure I don’t take rides in the elevator with demons.” She touched his sleeve. “You be careful too,” she added softly, then led the way inside.

Things were hopping. Two clerks staffed the front desk. New arrivals were being processed. Looked like business as usual. Odd in a place where numerous bodies had been dug out of the walls. Hadn’t these people read the newspapers?

Mr. Lewis, looking rested, his posture held straighter than on the previous days, walked toward them. “I need those rooms. We’re getting calls for bookings from as far away as California. Reservations. And they’re all requesting that floor. I’ve got repairmen lined up to fix the holes your people left as soon as you clear out.”

Cait eyed him, wondering if he was the demon. Then wondering why a demon couldn’t manage a more imposing figure.

“Sir, we’re working as fast as we can,” Sam said, his voice calm and firm.

Mr. Lewis’s gray brows bunched together over his faded eyes. “I’ve spoken to your director of police. He has assured me you’ll be out of here by tonight. There’s nothing more to be learned. You have your evidence. Your bodies.”

“Looks like all this fuss is good for business,” Cait murmured.