Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel)

  Hot Trick

  By Patricia Rosemoor

  Shelley Caldwell’s career as a Chicago homicide detective is complicated by her city’s supernatural underground, her abilities as a sensitive and her half-vampire lover, Jake DeAtley.

  Meeting a crazy banshee with visions of someone drowning in a trunk is the latest strange incident. Shelley ignores the warning—until famous illusionist Sebastian Cole reveals his new trick: escaping from a locked trunk submerged in the Chicago River. Sebastian gets out alive, but a woman across town isn’t so lucky. Then another person is found killed in circumstances eerily similar to one of Sebastian’s acts.

  Shelley is certain there’s a link between the magician and the murders. Even more unsettling is the way Sebastian invades her mind and stirs her senses. Not to mention Jake’s negative reaction to the man. Can Shelley fight off Sebastian’s supernatural influence to determine if he’s the killer…or another victim?

  69,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.

  We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella Fatal Destiny by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel, Mercy, can look forward to her follow-up story, Redemption, set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.

  Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shot trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with Double Shot.

  In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.

  Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors, Liar’s Guide to True Love by Wendy Chen and Unscripted by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.

  Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  I love Detective Shelley Caldwell and her hidden supernatural world, so I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to bring my readers the sequel to Hot Case. Look for short stories Hot Corpse in digital formats, and Hot Note, part of Thriller 3, to be published by Mira in Summer 2012.

  Good reading,

  Patricia Rosemoor

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  A crimson streak bleeding into a rising full moon held me mesmerized outside the Area 4 office of the Chicago Police Department. On my way to the parking lot after a seventy-two-hour stint working a homicide, I couldn’t for a moment move. Though I wanted to believe this was no dark omen, simply a phenomenon of nature—strange cloud cover extending a colorful sunset across the western evening sky—a shiver coursed through me.

  Already late, I shook off the odd feeling.

  Rushing toward my red Camaro convertible, I was unprepared for the scrawny man who popped up in front of me and stopped me cold in my tracks. Though the evening was warm, he wore a tweed suit with vest and a Donegal tweed cap.

  “You must be Detective Caldwell,” he said, his accent faintly Irish.

  That would be me—Detective Shelley Caldwell, Homicide. “Who wants to know?”

  His narrow face spread into a wide grin, showing off a gold tooth, and his sandy eyebrows wiggled. “The name’s Casey Brogan.”

  “What can I do for you, Brogan?”

  “’Tis not what you ken do for me, but what I ken do for you.”

  “Which would be…”

  His grin faded, leaving a serious expression on his wizened face. “To tell you of the murder, of course.”

  Another shiver. “You have information about the White case?” I’d thought we’d solved it. Did he have new information to add?

  “Na, na. I’m here to tell you someone is about to die.”

  My gut clenched as it always did when I was about to investigate a murder. “About to… Who?”

  “I wouldn’t be knowing the name.”

  But he obviously knew something. My exhaustion faded as adrenaline pumped through my veins. “What would you be knowing?”

  He went all glass-eyed and a long, eerie moan escaped him. “I see a trunk…bound hands…” Another moan. “Water…deep water…”

  “Seeing?” I interrupted, having a moment’s doubt. “As in psychic?”

  “Not psychic, not exactly, ’tis my heritage as a banshee to know these things.”


  Banshee. Uh-huh. I raised my eyes to the full moon and wondered why it always brought out the kooks. They came to the district office on a monthly basis with stories that spanned the city and beyond. Really beyond, as in alien arrivals. I played him along.

  “Now why would you tell me if you were a supernatural creature?”

  “Because you’re a sensitive.” His forehead wrinkled. “You would know soon enough. I’m figuring ’tis best to start out with truth between us.”

  I ignored the chill that shot up my spine at the word sensitive. The only person I was sensitive to was my twin, Silke. We’d always had kind of a radar which I generally chose to ignore. The curse of being an identical twin, I figured. But how would Brogan know about that?

  “As far as I recall from my childhood books,” I said, “banshees are young women with long fair hair, wearing flowing white dresses—”

  “Not very PC of you in this day and age, Detective.” Brogan sounded mildly indignant. “Why can a man not be a banshee? Sexual discrimination is against the law, you know.”

  Part of me wanted to laugh, but with the adrenaline gone, most of me was simply exhausted and all of me wanted out of here. Circling the man to get at my car, I said, “Only if I were denying you work or some kind of financial dealings.”

  “Well that you are,” Brogan insisted, following on my heels. “You’re in need of an informant—I know how the last one died a horrible death in an alley, his poor body broken.”

  He knew about Junior Diaz, who’d been left in a garbage can by his murderer. Only, again…how? Junior’s death hadn’t made the evening news.

  “I happen to be available to take his place.”

  So he was looking for a way to make some easy money. That explained a lot. “Look, that’s not how it works. Informants don’t apply for a job. They come up with intel and if it turns out to be all good, they get paid.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m proposing then. The economy is hard on everyone, you know, not just on humans.”

  I sighed. “All right. So when is this murder going to happen?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “I told you—deep water.”

  “Nothing more specific?” When he shrugged, I realized he was wasting my time. “Brogan…” I was about to say nice try, but his pronouncement didn’t really qualify. “Good night.”

  “But Detective!” was all he got out before I slammed the car door in his face and started the engine. “Your da would have believed me.”

  He stood fast as if the reference to my late father could make me listen, and I laid on the horn for a moment. His expression turned dark and that shiver returned to spook me a little. But then he moved out of my way and I slid the Camaro out of the space and out of the lot, glancing back only once.

  By the time my gaze met the rearview mirror, however, he’d disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  I headed downtown to the address given to me by Silke. My twin had told me she had a big surprise for me tonight and that I shouldn’t be late. Something about a new job. Thankfully. The last one had ended when the Goth bar Heart of Darkness, where she’d worked as a waitress for several months, closed.

  Thinking about why still gave me weird vibes.

  Young girls connected to the bar had been drained of blood after which their bodies disappeared. Everyone in and out of the department thought the “cult” killer had died in an explosion. Only Silke, my boyfriend Jake and I knew the truth. The murderer had already been dead. A vampire. Having already gone through a psych evaluation when the first body disappeared on me, I’d kept the secret from the department. Not to mention Jake was half-vampire and I had to protect him. But I’d tried my best to put all woo-woo stuff out of mind.

  Times like tonight brought the horror home, though. Even so, I forced myself to tuck the memories to the back of my mind and concentrate on Silke.

  Always worried about how my actress-wannabe twin would get along in life, I was happy to know she finally had another job. Not that I’d had to support her. Somehow, she always got along on her own. It was simply natural to worry about someone you loved who didn’t have a sensible goal in life.

  Like there were no worries to being a copper…

  Arriving in the Loop, I checked Silke’s directions, took the nearest bridge across the Chicago River and looked for Escape’s address. Expecting to find a bar or restaurant, I parked a block away and set off on foot. Judging by the crowd surrounding the place, it must be popular. A dance club, maybe?

  But drawing closer, I realized the crowd was glued to the riverbank where a platform had been set up, a crane hovering to one side. My stomach fluttered. This wasn’t good.

  A quick inspection of the area told me why—parked nearby was a bus painted with moons, stars and planets and the name Sebastian Cole scrawled across the side.

  Suddenly it became clear why Silke had been so excited. There was no bar or restaurant called Escape. My impractical twin had gotten a job working with a well-known escape artist.

  Sebastian Cole used to have an act in Vegas, but was now known for his guerilla performances around the country. He’d been on the news the other day when fans learned he’d set up a studio in Chicago. His public relations person alerted the fans and press via email and social networking and the next thing everyone knew, he was doing some kind of stunt in a public venue. The fans went wild for his performances. No charge, but donations were accepted and supposedly went into a charity account that helped victims of violent crimes fight injustice.

  All good if true, but being the suspicious type, I figured Sebastian couldn’t possibly be so unselfish.

  Hoping Silke hadn’t gotten herself involved with a con man, I pushed through the crowd, trying to catch sight of her.

  “Hey, watch it!” one guy growled. “We were here first.”

  “Good for you.”

  I went around him toward the stage, but the guy grabbed my hand to stop me. Quickly rotating my wrist until my thumb lined up with the weak part of his grasp, I quickly seized my captured hand and pulled myself free.

  “Hey!”

  I ignored the guy and spotted Silke at last. I headed straight for her.

  While Silke and I are identical twins, we don’t look anything alike. At the moment, her long, almost purple hair hung in waves around her face, while mine was its natural chestnut and pulled back into a pony tail. My face was scrubbed clean except for a whisper of lip gloss while hers was dramatically enhanced, especially her raccoon-ringed green eyes. Silke wore the bohemian look today—full skirt, skimpy top partially covered by a shrug, lots of bangles and shoulder duster earrings—and I was decked out in pants, a T-shirt and light jacket, and the only jewelry I wore other than a watch was a pair of handcuffs on my belt. And the gun snugged up against my back, of course.

  Just then, Silke turned and spotted me. With an enthusiastic wave, she urged me closer to the stage. “You made it!”

  “Don’t sound so shocked.”

  “This isn’t exactly your thing.”

  Indeed, the stage with dozens of colored lasers, silver balls floating above the deck and mysterious red smoke was exactly not my thing. Trying to figure out how they were floating, I stared at the silver balls for a moment. No wires that I could see.

  “No doubt the reason you didn’t tell me what the thing was.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” Silke waved her hand at the stage. “Surprise!”

  Uh-huh.

  Of course Silke would get herself involved with someone like Sebastian. She lived for controversy, or so it seemed to our mother and me. How many times had Mom tried to coerce or cajole me into taking Silke in hand and getting her straightened out?

  “So what exactly is your role in all this?” I asked.

  At the same time, a tall blonde in black leather touched Silke’s arm, while giving me a thorough once-over. Or once-through. Her piercing eyes seemed to look right through me.

  “You
must be the sister.”

  I couldn’t tell what she thought of that.

  “I am,” I said, trying not to rush to judgment. “And you are?”

  “Sebastian’s right hand.”

  “What happened to his left one?” I joked.

  The blonde stared at me, her lips not so much as quivering. Okay, no sense of humor…

  “Um, Oriel, this is my sister Shelley. Shelley, this is Oriel Leger. We work together.”

  “He’s ready now,” Oriel told Silke without taking her gaze from mine.

  “Gotta go, Shell. Later.”

  I watched them move away, Oriel giving me one last intense glance that triggered a curious negative reaction. I tried to shake it off. Undoubtedly she was searching for similarities between Silke and me. Nothing more dire.

  Benches were set up before the stage, and on either side, donation buckets with slit tops were handled by an older man and a dark-haired woman. Signs “suggested” twenty bucks as fair donation for a seat. Very low tech compared to the stage and the way the gig had been promoted online.

  I preferred to keep moving, to watch the crowd from different angles. My training, I guess. It would be difficult to stand still and enjoy a performance with so many potential problems brewing.

  Like the couple at the back of the crowd arguing. The man’s expression was dark, his hands balled into fists as though he was ready to use them on the woman. Or the drunk swaggering around the perimeter of the stage, ignoring the security guard trying to get him to move. Or the four gang members wearing baggy pants and black bandannas around their foreheads milling through the crowd, their gazes glued not to the stage but to the donation buckets.