Rachel Lee: Claimed by the Immortal

But never had she seen an aura like this: all one color, a deep wine-red that hugged his body more closely than usual. She blinked, tamping down her awareness, telling herself it must be his illness. Yes, it had to be.

She rose. “Mr. Messenger, I’m Caro Hamilton. Sergeant Caro Hamilton. Pat Matthews tells me you might be able to help me.”

He nodded slowly, still smiling. “Please, come in. My colleague is in my office, as well. That won’t be a problem, will it? You may need his help, too.”

Caro shook her head, although the idea of telling her story to two strangers was enough to make her reluctance grow to near dread. Then she reminded herself the worst had already happened: she was considered nuts and had been put on medical leave. The worst these people could do to her was laugh her out of this office.

Inside Jude Messenger’s windowless office she noted nothing unusual except what appeared to be an old cavalry saber on the wall. The room was heavily paneled, lit only by a couple of desk lamps. Two leather wingback chairs faced a large walnut desk, the kinds of chairs she was used to seeing in a lawyer’s office. Upscale for this part of town, certainly.

Rising from one of them was a man who nearly took her breath away. He was only a few inches taller than average, like Jude, but he literally resembled one of the effigies of Teutonic knights she had seen in Templar churches in Europe years ago. She hadn’t realized a face like that could be real, but she was looking at one, with the prominent jaw, the blade of a nose and pronounced cheekbones. She had thought carving a face into stone had simply been difficult, but here she was looking at just such a rigid and sharp face. He smiled faintly, softening his harsh features, and tossed his head a bit to throw raven-black locks back from his face.

“Damien Keller,” Jude introduced him. “He hails from northern Germany. Damien, this is Sergeant Hamilton.”

Damien stuck out his hand and Caro automatically shook it, but as her surprise at his appearance faded, she noticed something else: he had the same odd aura as Jude. What was going on here? Did he have the same illness? His skin did feel just a bit cool.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t ask. So she settled in one of the offered chairs and tried to focus instead on what she needed to say. Amazing how difficult this felt when she’d managed to get in trouble at work by refusing not to talk about it.

“What can we do for you?” Jude asked.

She met his oddly golden eyes and felt as if concern poured out of them. A glance at Damien gave her the same feeling.

Then her heart skittered. They both had golden eyes? She shook her head a little. Maybe they were related. They had to be related, given their auras and their eyes.

“Sergeant?” Jude prompted.

She dragged her gaze back to him. “Just call me Caro. I don’t know where to begin.”

“At the beginning is usually a good place,” Jude said. His voice was pitched soothingly, filled with calm and patience. Damn, he was good.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she said, “but here goes. Three nights ago we received an emergency dispatch. A man, Andrew Pritchett, had called saying his family was being murdered.”

Jude’s nod encouraged her.

“Anyway, six of us responded. We had to break in the front door, and we split up. One went to the back of the house, four went upstairs. And I...I went into a closed room off the main foyer. I opened the door with my gun drawn, and there was a guy standing there, looking for all the world as if he were going out of his mind with terror. My first thought was that someone was in that room with him. I keyed my radio, calling for backup, but before anyone could get there...”

She stopped, looking down, swallowing hard. The memory was etched vividly in her mind, rising up now as if it were happening this very moment. No one pressed her.

At last she drew a deep breath. “This is where it gets crazy. I saw that man—I saw him—lift up straight off the floor. He levitated at least six feet right in front of my eyes. I tried to move, but I couldn’t figure out what was going on, and then before I could do a thing he flew hard across the room. The next thing I knew he was impaled on the horns of a stuffed elk’s head about eight feet above the floor.”

“Good God,” Messenger said. Damien uttered something that sounded about the same in German.

“Yeah.” She drew another breath, this time a shaky one. “My backup came piling in then, but it was too late. In less than a minute the guy was dead. He was later identified as the caller, Andrew Pritchett. But there was no one else in that room. No one.”

She fell silent, awaiting judgment.

“I believe you,” Jude said.

“As do I,” Damien added. “I’ve seen many strange things over the years. Such a thing is possible.”

She jerked her head up then, looking at them both. “You have?”

“Most definitely,” Jude said. “Which is why Pat sent you to us. But what do you want us to do about it?”

“I’d like to catch the killer,” Caro said hotly. “Of course. But...” Again she hesitated, because this was probably the hardest thing of all to believe.

“Yes?” The prompt was quiet.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself. Just spit it all out. “There was no one in that room. No one. No mechanical means were used to kill that man either. But I...felt something. Something I can’t describe. Something that saw me. Something that’s been watching me ever since.”

The expected dismissal didn’t come. Jude’s expression turned grave. She looked at Damien Keller, and then wished she hadn’t, because his golden eyes were drinking her in as if he wanted to devour her.

Suddenly uncomfortable for an entirely different reason, she crossed her legs and folded her arms, something she rarely felt the need to do. She hated it even more when she realized she was responding to that intensely male look. Ordinarily she reacted negatively to such looks from men, but this time it was as if someone had poured heat through her veins and it was pooling between her thighs.

She looked away, then glanced at him again. His expression had changed, appearing merely interested. Had she imagined that lustful look?

Cripes, maybe the department was right. Maybe she was losing her mind.

“All right,” Jude said. “We need background on this. Can you give me the incident address?”

She reeled it off. “There’s not much in the newspaper about it yet, except for a family of five having been killed. They’d been thrown around like rag dolls and died from trauma, according to the medical examiner.”

“I won’t be looking in newspapers.” Jude punched the intercom button on his phone. “Chloe, get me Garner. And then find me everything you can on the murders over on Duchesne Street and the victims.”

Chloe’s voice responded sarcastically. “Sure, boss. Will next week do?”

Jude punched off the intercom without responding. Apparently he was used to attitude from his assistant. He returned his attention to Caro.

“This thing you feel. Is it threatening? Is it getting stronger?”

“It’s certainly not fading,” she said finally. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I’m not succeeding.”

“And you first noticed it when you saw the man killed?”

She nodded. “It was almost as if some invisible eyes suddenly settled on me. Like a shift in the atmosphere. And once it fixed on me, it hasn’t gone away.” She sighed. “This is so hard to explain!”

“You’re doing just fine,” Jude said. “But you’re not sure it’s getting stronger?”

“It’s strong enough,” she retorted tartly. “Maybe it is intensifying. Thickening would be a good word. But I’m not really certain. Maybe it’s just eating away at me, this feeling of being watched all the time.”