Touching Evil (The Leila Marx Novels Book 1)

  Touching Evil

  A Leila Marx Novel

  by Amber Garr

  Copyright © 2012 Amber Garr

  www.ambergarr.com

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  If you’ve illegally downloaded this book for free, stop it. No one likes a thief. Authors put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into their work and only I should choose whether or not I offer it for free. Besides, after reading my books, you should be leery about what happens to thieves.

  Cover Design by Amber Garr

  Photos from www.shutterstock.com

  Acknowledgements

  I am so excited to see this book come to fruition and I’d like to thank Sandy, Elizabeth, Deb, Jen, and Cory for reading through the first drafts and providing valuable comments. Thanks to my husband, Bryan, for suggesting I add some scenes and increase the action. But sorry, my werewolf is still a regular wolf not a wolf-man. Celia, my dependable critique partner, thanks for always adding to my manuscripts. To my editor Charlene, thank you for your time and for making me a better writer. And finally, for fans of The Syrenka Series, I think you will enjoy Leila’s world as much as Eviana’s and I look forward to seeing you there.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  The Syrenka Series

  About The Author

  One

  “This conversation is over.” The last of my drink splashed on the table when I slammed down the glass. I watched with annoyance as my fiancé rubbed his hands through his dark hair and rolled back his head.

  “Leila, we have to talk about this. I can’t stall my mother any longer.”

  “Just tell her no,” I snapped.

  “Please don’t be like this. You know I can’t do that.” He leaned forward and dabbed at the liquid sitting between us like neutral territory. “I don’t understand what the big deal is anyway.”

  “And that is why I’m finished with this conversation.” Sitting back in my chair, I looked around the darkened bar only to find that we had an audience. I must have said that last quip a bit loud.

  Russ sighed and imitated my defensive posture. “I’m only getting married once so I wish you would indulge her one request.”

  One request? Was he serious? I loved his family, yet when it came to planning my wedding, I had to draw the line somewhere. This hadn’t been her only request and I’d been willing to give in up to this point. But I wasn’t going to exchange my dress because it wasn’t fancy enough for her friends, or whatever ridiculous reason she’d come up with this time. I wasn’t going to do it.

  Russ must have seen the resolution in my face because he pushed back in his chair and stood with calculated theatrics. “I’ll see you at home,” he mumbled, then downed the rest of his drink.

  “Where are you going?” I asked. We didn’t usually fight, but this circular discussion was weeks old. I hated how wedding planning disrupted the normal bliss of our relationship.

  “To work. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

  He squeezed around the small table, avoiding my touch. Normally that would have bothered me, but tonight I was glad I didn’t have to deal with his plethora of emotions on top of mine. Besides, I was already pretty sure I knew what he felt.

  Thunder crashed outside and the skies opened up like a waterfall. Great. Now I had to find a cab in the rain. A nearby couple whispered to one another and then looked over at me. No doubt they were applauding themselves for not having a fight in public.

  I gave them a quick glance and stood to begin my journey home to an empty house. As I did, I noticed Russ’ jacket lying on the floor in the corner by his chair. He’d want it back, so I reached forward to grab it.

  Images filled my mind as I ran in the rain. My burning feet sent shards of pain through my body and my dress clung to me in places it shouldn’t. The quiet street shimmered with lights so dim they appeared to lose the battle with the storm. Dark shadows glistened on the asphalt hinting at the dangers prowling through the night.

  I ran but felt like I couldn’t gain any ground.

  Screaming for him with each step I took, I barely noticed my shoes had stayed behind with the serenity of my other life. The puddles grew, the murky water now swallowing my feet up to my ankles. There! That noise. Was that a gun shot?

  I ran again with every ounce of energy I could gather, but I couldn’t move fast enough. Tears poured down my checks alongside the raindrops. I kept calling for him, chasing after him, hoping I wasn’t too late. The narrow alley was ahead to my left, but the darkness of the storm hid the borderless buildings.

  As I reached my destination, a long shadow of a person moved toward the other end. Who was it? Where was he going? It didn’t matter because at that moment I heard Russ.

  He called for me, reached for me. The relentless rain and limited light cast shadows so deep I could barely make out the outline of a body halfway down the corridor.

  No, this can’t be happening. Please let me be wrong this time.

  The sirens played like a muffled symphony. They were too far away, too far away to help us.

  I pushed toward him, splashing through the puddles on the brick street without regards for my own safety. The smell of wet pavement saturated my breath while the city was washed free of its sins. The beating of the rain on the ground and the metallic ping of rooftop water droplets falling on the dumpsters, echoed through the narrow passage. I never even looked around. There could have been others lurking, waiting for me, but it didn’t matter.

  I had to save Russ.

  With one more step that felt like my last, I fell to my knees beside the love of my life and clasped his outstretched hand.

  “No,” I gasped. The pain in my chest intensified and I felt my heart breaking. “Please, Russ. You have to hang on. I…didn’t…know…until…I…touched…” I couldn’t finish. My throat ached with unshed tears and my stomach twisted in knots.

  “Leila,” he whispered with a labored smile.

  That small movement caused him to tense with pain, which drew my attention to his body. He slumped against the wall, arms crossed and legs bent. His tie had been loosened from the collar of his white dress shirt and although it was tattered, he still looked handsome. The gloomy alley hid his now translucent shirt, but it couldn’t mask the darkness covering his stomach. I ran my hand down his arm and over his hand. Blood. It was blood.

  “Oh no, no!” I looked at his face. I was hysterical, but his eyes held peace. He focused on me as he lifted his hand up to my cheek.

  He smiled again and breathed, “You are so beautiful, Leila.”

  The sirens grew louder and sounded like a sharp ringing in my head. Why wer
e the sirens ringing?

  “I am so sorry Russ…..Russ?”

  He closed his eyes. I grabbed his face with both of my hands and leaned down toward him close enough for a kiss.

  “Please…Russ….” I begged between sobs.

  Sirens pierced the night. From down the alley, a bright light blinded me, forcing me to shield my eyes.

  An incessant ringing reverberated in my head. It couldn’t be a siren because it sounded more like a phone. My phone. I heard people shouting from the light, but it was like being underwater. I turned my attention back to my fiancé. His face was drawn and his body slack, and as Russ’ hand dropped from my cheek for the last time, I woke up.

  When I realized I was dreaming, my heart climbed down from my throat. The thumping in my stomach stopped as it slowly untangled itself. Once the adrenaline returned to its resting spot, I could breathe.

  Until my phone rang again. In a split second, I travelled from horrific dream to harsh reality. Yes, I’d been dreaming, but it was a nightmare. Russ had died that night. He was gone and I kept reliving his death over and over.

  It can be nature’s cruelest trick to let me forget, for just a moment, that my life isn’t in ruins. Because when I remember, it’s the most sickening, heart wrenching, painful realization. My stomach cramped and my heart ached, fresh tears still falling from my eyes. He was really gone.

  My phone rang for the final time. I rolled over and grabbed it on the bedside table. It was a little past eight in the morning. Who would call me so early? I didn’t get many phone calls anymore.

  I flipped the phone open, pulled the covers over me, and tried to imagine Russ by my side. It took a few tries to get sound out of my dry mouth.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Leila? Leila Marx? It’s Detective Pearson. Uh, Garrick Pearson.”

  He sounded unsure of his name. Maybe he wasn’t expecting me to answer, or maybe it was too early in the morning.

  “Why are you calling me?” It sounded cranky. Okay, I was grumpy. I’ve known Detective Pearson for almost a year. He’d call me on occasion, but not usually this early and he never sounded this uncertain. I cleared my throat and said, “I mean, good morning, Detective. How are you?”

  “Leila, I’m sorry to wake you. I was waiting until I thought you’d be up. Am I still too early? I can call back if you prefer.”

  Now I felt bad. “No. I mean, yeah, it’s too early. But it’s all right. What are you calling about?”

  My head started to clear, but the nightmare clung to my subconscious with gritty little hands. I could still smell the musty bricks and decomposing trash as I visualized looking into Russ’ eyes. God, I missed him.

  I shivered with emotion I could barely contain. I needed to see him one more time. Snuggling up against my covers, I faced the empty side of the bed where he once slept. The lingering aroma of his cologne was long gone but I tried to remember the familiar scent. Taking a deep breath to steady my frantic heart, I swallowed the tears and the giant lump in my throat.

  “Leila? Leila, are you still there? Did you hear what I said?”

  No, I hadn’t. I think he may have been talking to me for a while. “Sorry. I was trying to wake up.” I cleared my throat. “Can you repeat that?” Although going for strong, my voice felt shaky and fragile.

  I could hear the detective sigh, preparing himself for the walk on the broken eggshells of my life. “Are you all right? Are you having the nightmare again?”

  “No.” I didn’t even convince myself. “Look, you woke me up really early, and I’m trying to get my head clear. That’s all. Now, what were you saying?”

  He paused a minute, surely trying to decide if he should push me. I could hear the wheels clinking in his brain.

  “I was wondering if you would come in to the station and help me with a case today?” Good boy, he’d let it go.

  “Sure. I don’t have much work to do today, so I can be in there later this morning.” After all, I had to face the world at some point.

  “Okay, great. The sooner, the better.”

  He sounded more anxious than normal. I’ve worked with him on a few cases in the past year, but something about his tone gave me a bad feeling.

  “I’ll shower and eat and then be on my way, say in an hour or so?” I needed the shower to clear my head and I didn’t do anything without eating breakfast first.

  “That’ll be good.” Then he added almost as an afterthought, “We have bagels here if you need.” Why was he trying to get me there so quickly?

  “I’ll see you in an hour. Talk soon.”

  I hung up the phone and curled back into a tight little ball, wishing I could disappear. Life must keep moving on. No one lets you stop living when half of your reason for it is gone.

  Exhausted, I took a long shower. I needed time to grieve and cry. I always wonder how many more tears I can shed until the last of the intense aching fades away. At what point will I not care so much anymore? I know that may sound harsh, but this sadness…this anguish, was not healthy. It’s been almost a year. Granted, some days have been more productive and tear-free than others, but all it took was one memory, one dream, and my world would crash down around me again.

  I managed to dress in a pair of black capri pants and a black short sleeved blouse. I pulled my long, straight blonde hair into a low ponytail and added a minimal, but passable amount of makeup. Most of it went to cover the dark, puffy circles under my eyes. As I looked at my colorless outfit in the mirror, I realized that my mood wasn’t going to improve. I dressed depressed.

  Letting out a long sigh, I decided to add a cute pair of blue platform sandals to help lighten things up. It was a little better, although I also grabbed my black cardigan for the police station. Yes, it was dreary, but I’m always cold in air conditioning and black went with everything. Sue me.

  After a quick breakfast of oatmeal and juice, I headed out the door. Our condo was on the second floor of a three story building, overlooking a communal pond and wooded area on the outskirts of the city. Our condo. I still used that term. One day it would change so I had to keep practicing.

  Walking out to my car, the smell of autumn wafted through the air. This was my favorite time of year, when the rain started to slow and the crisp cool weather moved in. Soon the trees would be covered in a variety of red, orange, and yellow leaves. Leaves that had to die in order to become beautiful.

  It was a short drive to the police station, barring any heavy traffic. The building had been recently renovated to add arches and overhangs. It resembled a college campus more than a law enforcement complex. The red bricks and faux stone accents didn’t really fit together, but I wasn’t the architect.

  I snagged a visitor’s parking space right out front and prepared myself to go inside. I’d never been to a police station before last year. Never had a reason to be there. Now, I found that my visits were more frequent, although each time still wreaked havoc on my memories and emotions.

  I took several slow, steadying breaths to calm my stomach and my heart. Some day this would end, right?

  Walking through the double glass doors at the main entrance, I stopped at the reception desk. Shirley was working today and she offered a smile while checking me in. With the standard visitor’s badge clipped to my blouse, I continued on through the security check and headed toward the elevators.

  Garrick’s desk was on the third floor in the homicide division, but the elevator pinged and stopped at the second floor. His partner, Detective Danny Sherwood stepped in. In one hand he carried a large travel coffee mug and the other held some sort of breakfast treat. Detective Sherwood was a large man in every sense of the word. At least six feet tall, he had once been solid muscle, but was now reduced to being called “big boned”. Meaning, he probably shouldn’t be eating his little snack.

  He gave me a head bob and swallowed a bite. “Hey, Leila.” Taking a swig of coffee, he readied himself for another taste. “Mmm, they have way better food in forensi
cs.”

  His next bite almost finished off the pastry, and it was gone by the time we made it to the third floor. “So, Garrick asked you to come down, didn’t he?” he said as he wiped his hand on his jeans. “I told him I didn’t think we needed to get you involved this early, but he’s taken lead on this one.”

  We turned left out of the elevator and walked down the short hallway. The space opened up into a large area filled with desks, lockers, and noise. Stale coffee, old cigarette smoke, and sweaty bodies bombarded my nose and dredged up memoires I tried to ignore. We started moving toward the conference room when I noticed a man being questioned by a detective. The civilian had graying dark, greasy hair that fell to his shoulders and he wore an old tee shirt and jeans. Although his demeanor disturbed me, it was his eyes that I noticed most. Those dark, beady orbs seemed so empty and soulless and…predatory.

  The man continued speaking with the detective but caught my stare. There was something familiar about him, yet I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He followed me with his gaze as I walked beside Detective Sherwood.

  “That’s King. He’s one of our street informants.” The detective moved to put himself between me and the spy. “He’s a strange character but has been useful on some of our cases. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s usually right on when he points us to a suspect.”

  King gave me a slight nod as Detective Sherwood praised him and guided me into the conference room. When I took one last look at King, it gave me an uncomfortable vibe. I usually listened to my gut feelings, and this time they were telling me that something was different about this informant.

  “Leila, thank you for coming here.”

  Detective Garrick Pearson stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the chair. File folders and photographs littered the conference table, and he turned many of them over before I stepped further into the room.

  “Uh, do you want some coffee or water? Did Danny offer you anything?” He continued flipping folders.