Detached Read online

  “You can’t wait for me to die.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Watching him in the rearview mirror, I saw him look out the window. “Soon, I won’t be around to bother you ever again.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. Elias Nyx seemed to own permanent real estate in my mind. I wasn’t even sure that his death would free me of him completely. As if to illustrate the certainty, my heart gave an unwelcome tug.

  I shifted uneasily in my seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “You think it will be fast?”

  “I will be dead by morning.”

  My heartstrings danced, despite how desperately I wished not to care.

  “Listen, please,” he begged. “For Ransom and Amelia.”

  I swore under my breath. Elias knew there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for my brother. Even less that I wouldn’t do for my niece, Milly. “Fine. How am I supposed to help him?”

  “First, don’t forget the basics. Never detach at night.”

  “It’s nighttime right now,” I reminded him.

  I expected him to launch into a “do as I say, not as I do” speech, but he didn’t. “I am well aware. May I continue?”

  I shut my mouth.

  “The detached must assimilate, rejoin the body, before sundown. Those two things are absolutely essential.”

  “Right. So essential you would choose to ignore them yourself.”

  “Saphera, please!”

  I flinched, but I shut my mouth.

  “Any vacant body, including my own, is an open door to the dangers of the Boundary. I’m aware of that risk, which is why I would hope you might take me seriously.” He took a deep breath and calmly continued. “Finally, remind Ransom to keep his mouth shut.”

  I smirked. “Are you afraid people will think he’s crazy? That they won’t believe him?”

  “No. I’m afraid they will.” For the first time I could ever remember, fear filled Elias’s voice. “In the wrong hands, this gift—”

  “You mean this curse.”

  His tone of concern shifted to annoyance. “It can be very dangerous.”

  “I know. Maximum security kind of dangerous.”

  In the rearview mirror, I saw him hang his head. “Saphera, I won’t ask you to ever forgive me. God knows I’ll never forgive myself. But for Ransom’s sake—for your sake—please don’t let your hatred for me dismiss the very real threat of this power. Every day is a battle, a constant choice between good and evil.”

  “Do you think that’s something exclusive to your precious bloodline? Elias, we all have that choice. Every single day. I wouldn’t have a paycheck without it.”

  “You’re right, but what is exclusive to my bloodline is the power to operate in secret. Keep your brother accountable. Work together. Don’t let him end up like me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Someone knows the power of my blood. With nightwalkers in the area, I fear it is the God of Nightmares. My attacker stabbed me with a weapon from Imera.”

  “From where?”

  “The spirit land across the Boundary. Whoever it was could see my detached spirit, and they’ll be able to see my heir once I’m gone.”

  That worried me for Ransom.

  “You must be vigilant. And you must find the plant before anyone else dies.”

  “Well, if it grows where your blood was spilled, where were you when you were stabbed?” I merged onto the freeway, checking my blind spot before changing lanes.

  Elias didn’t answer.

  “Well?”

  “Well . . .” Teek Fleming shoved his face through the window.

  The car swerved as I flinched at the sudden change in voice behind me. Teek was back in control of his mouth, and my father was gone.

  An hour later, Elias still hadn’t returned. I booked Teek into jail, specifically asking they call his brother or grandma to come get him.

  Essex was waiting for me when I walked out of booking. It was still jarring to see him so often at work. He hadn’t asked to be put on nights, but when our sergeant, Sharon Gregg, was moved to narcotics, Essex was next in line to make rank.

  “All done?” he asked, looking up from the paperwork in his hand.

  “All done.”

  “Good. Take the rest of the night off, so you’re fresh for tomorrow.”

  “That’s really unnecessary.” I started toward our wall of mailboxes.

  “Consider it an order.”

  “Thanks.” With a grateful smile, I reached into my box.

  He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, and the short sleeves of his black uniform strained over his shredded biceps. “Did you take my advice?”

  I forced my eyes away. “Yes, but it feels arrogant.”

  “It’s not arrogance if it’s true. You’re a badass, and the committee needs to know that.”

  “I’ve been with this department for over two years. Shouldn’t they already know that?” I sorted through memos and mail.

  “Most of us do.” He looked around the hallway and lowered his voice. “But the brass only see what comes through on paper. Your arrest record speaks for itself, but they probably haven’t seen the history in your file since you were hired. It definitely wouldn’t hurt to remind them you’re one of the most highly trained officers on the force.”

  I stopped sorting and looked up at him. “Why are you so invested in this?”

  “Because I know your value. And, as your boss, it’s my job to help you succeed professionally.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  He chuckled. “And I may have put fifty dollars on you beating Morris.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. “I appreciate the confidence.” I glanced over the department newsletter before tossing it in the trash.

  He looked over at my mail. “Ooo. Department of Corrections. What’s that?”

  Shit.

  He leaned closer. “Is it from your father?”

  “Excuse me, but is that your business?”

  “No.” He grinned. “But is it?”

  “He’s been writing a lot lately.”

  “Because he’s dying?”

  “Beats me. They’ve all gone into the trash.” I moved the letter behind another stapled intraoffice memo.

  “You’re not even curious as to what he has to say?”

  “Obviously not as curious as you. I could give you his address. Maybe you two could be pen pals.” I walked past him toward the exit.

  “Touchy?” he teased as he caught up to me.

  “Not even a little bit.” The tension in my jaw and shoulders probably told him otherwise.

  “Will you see him before he passes?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Sure you won’t regret that?”

  I stopped walking and turned toward him. “Not everyone’s father is on the Wall of Heroes.”

  Essex came from a long line of cops. His father had been chief of police in Sapphire Lake when he was killed on duty. Even the man who would become his stepfather had been appointed acting chief when James Essex died.

  In stark contrast, Elias went to prison later that very same year for fraud, grand larceny, possession and distribution of a schedule-one narcotic, and first-degree murder of a law-enforcement officer. Having a felon for a father was something my boss would never understand.

  We started toward the door, and when we reached it, he held it open for me. Outside, his SUV was in its reserved space. My car was still parked at the booking entrance.

  It was drizzling, chilly drops that in a few short months would turn to snow. I held out my hand to catch a few raindrops on my palm. “Be safe out there tonight.”

  “I’d better be, since you won’t be watching my back.”

  I laughed.

  “I’ll probably see you in the morning,” he said, unlocking his car.

  “Why? You’re off this weekend.”

  “Word has gotten out that a semi-celebrity died in Sapphire Lake, so we�
�re all prepping for blowback. My life is about to be nothing but one meeting after another.”

  I smiled, walking backward away from him. “And you wonder why I don’t want to make sergeant.”

  He laughed and opened his door. “If you want overtime, I’m sure they’ll approve all we want once the national media rolls in.”

  “Cool. I’ll probably do that.”

  Before I could turn around, he pointed at me. “Have at least five copies of your qualifications in hand when you go into that interview tomorrow.”

  I gave a snarky salute.

  He laughed. “Goodnight, Nyx.”

  “Bye, Sarge.” It was still weird calling him that.

  I got in my car, locked the doors, and waited for him to leave the lot. When he was gone, I pulled out the letter stamped “Nevada State Penitentiary” in bright red ink.

  With a shaky breath, I opened it—something I’d sworn I’d never do.

  Dear Saphera,

  I’ve written to your home address a few times without an answer. Perhaps this letter will find you at work. At your request, I’ve left you alone for as long as possible, but it is now essential that I speak with you. I don’t have much time left, and there are things you should know.

  Things you must know.

  Please visit as soon as you are able. We should talk in person.

  * * *

  Elias

  I sat back in my seat. What the hell was suddenly so important? I pulled out my phone and tapped my brother’s name in my call history. It went straight to voicemail. “You’ve reached Ransom. You know what to do.”

  “Hey, it’s me. Had a weird night after I left the fire. Call me when you get this.” I ended the call and pulled out of the lot.

  I pulled my radio to my mouth. “Delta Three, 10-7,” I said, signing off for the night. I got on the highway back toward my place.

  It was a quiet trip, unusual for a drive in my patrol car. I loved music, and it always echoed the ever-changing demands of my job. At the beginning of a shift, rock or metal amped me up. Put me on alert. Kept my head on a swivel.

  Pop or classical would bring me down for the drive home. Pop when the shift was calm; classical when I had to battle demons. It was a trick I’d learned from my training officer the night I worked my first suicide.

  Tonight, there was no radio, only my mind replaying the bizarre conversation with my father. How could this be happening again?

  Now, of all times in my career.

  The exit toward home was empty; not surprising since most of Sapphire Lake shut down after ten p.m. I turned onto the highway and caught an oncoming car in my radar beam.

  Alarm bells sounded through the car. I looked at the flashing radar as the car whizzed by me.

  Sixty-six in forty-five.

  Damn it.

  I flipped on my blue lights and cut the wheel hard to the left, spinning up gravel as I crossed onto the road’s shoulder. I touched my radio. “Delta Three, 10-81.”

  I sped to catch the car. “Please don’t be drunk. Please don’t be drunk. Please don’t be drunk,” I chanted in a whisper.

  Tickets I could write and leave. Drunk people I had to take to jail, the same jail I’d just come from. I really wanted to go home.

  Brake lights blazed up ahead as the driver finally slowed.

  “Go ahead, Delta Three,” the dispatcher replied.

  “Sapphire Park Highway approaching Snow Valley Road. Nevada tag, eight-six-nine-victor-charlie-adam.”

  The piece-of-shit car eased onto the side of the road across the emergency lane. Its crooked bumper was covered with band stickers.

  I pulled behind it, leaving the front of my car angled onto the pavement to protect me from any other idiots who might be out that muggy night.

  I threw my transmission into park and unbuckled my seatbelt, carefully checking all around me as I got out. Then I closed my door and cautiously started toward the car.

  Music was blaring so loud it rattled the back window. What’s that song? Oh . . . “Apple Bottom Jeans.” Shit. Drunk people love that song.

  Erratic movement in the driver’s seat made me slip the hood off my weapon and partially unholster it. The music stopped. I cautiously approached, counting only one head inside as I touched the back taillight to leave my fingerprints behind. I shined the flashlight on my shoulder into the messy back seat as I passed.

  Is that a boom box?

  The driver—White female, shoulder-length brown hair—waved through the hazy glass. Duct tape was holding it inside the window frame.

  The girl pointed to the door. “Can I open it? The window doesn’t roll down!”

  I nodded as my gaze swept the empty passenger’s seat.

  The door creaked open. “Hi!” Two soda cans and a long, slender piece of plastic tumbled onto the asphalt. “Whoops. My bad.” She moved to pick them up.

  “Ma’am, please stay in the car,” I ordered.

  She held up both hands. “Sorry. Didn’t want a ticket for littering too.”

  I frowned. She has to be high. Nobody’s this chipper.

  The car appeared to be empty. I kicked the plastic device over with my boot. “What’s this?”

  “A remote control.” She glanced into her back seat. “The car speakers are busted. I dropped the remote when I saw the blue lights.”

  So weird.

  “My name is Corporal Nyx with the Sapphire Lake Police Department. I clocked you doing sixty-six in a forty-five-miles-per-hour-zone. Why were you driving so fast?” Pupils normal size.

  She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I’m really sorry, Officer. There’s been some kind of emergency at my work, and my boss needs me to come in and close the bar, and I really can’t afford to lose this job because my ex moved out, and I’m already behind on my rent, and I—”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Where do you work?”

  She tilted up the name badge on her white blouse. “The Drexler. It’s the golf resort near—”

  “I know very well what it is.”

  “I’m a bartender in the lounge and kind of on a final-strike basis with my boss, if you know what I mean.”

  “Where are you coming from?”

  “My apartment.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I live in Seneca Park, the older complex behind the—”

  “License, registration, and proof of insurance, please.”

  When she leaned across the car to open the glove compartment, I took a deep whiff inside. No pot. No booze. No cigarette smoke either. Just coffee and pizza. A half-eaten slice lay on the center console.

  She gripped the car-owner’s manual with her teeth as she riffled through her purse. Then she passed a Nevada driver’s license through the window.

  Bess Lincoln.

  24.

  Organ donor.

  Seneca Park address.

  The license had only been issued a few months ago. “You just move here?”

  “From Charleston in the spring.” As she flipped through the pages of the owner’s manual, she rolled her hazel eyes up at me. “A guy. Guess how well that turned out? Whatever, though. It got me the hell out of South Carolina, and this place is—aha! I knew the registration was in here.” She handed me a folded piece of paper with torn edges. “My proof of insurance is on my phone.”

  She pulled a phone out of her purse and swiped the cracked screen. Then she showed me a digital insurance card from a budget company.

  The names and address matched, and the insurance was current, so I let her keep the phone. When I handed it back, she pointed at my arm. “Nice ink.”

  How is this girl not high?

  I patted the roof of her car. “Close your door and sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I backed toward the end of the vehicle.

  Had she been going six miles per hour less, I wouldn’t have given her a ticket, but fifteen over on this road was my limit. My code. And it was a rainy night.

  No job was worth wrapping a car around
a tree.

  At least she wasn’t impaired. Which, thankfully, meant no trip back to the station for me.

  When I reached her bumper, I turned back to my patrol car.

  Tires screamed.

  Headlights swerved.

  Crunch.

  The last thing I saw was a flash of silver sailing straight for my face.

  Chapter Three

  “Shit, Celise!” With a stifled yowl, through a clenched jaw, I pounded my fist against the side of the thin gurney mattress. “What are you cleaning it with? Battery acid?”

  “Yes. It’s been a while since we’ve had to patch you up.” The syringe clanged against the metal tray as the nurse put it down. “We use battery acid on all our patients now.”

  I held up my middle finger.

  “Classy.” She bent so we were eye level, and her honey-blonde bob fell away from her face. “You sure you don’t want the drugs? This isn’t going to get any better.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Are you about finished?”

  “No.” She picked up another syringe. “Does Paps know about this?”

  “Not yet, and don’t you call him. No sense in waking him up. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

  “What about Ransom?”

  “I’m waiting on him to call me back.”

  “Sounds familiar.” She laughed and hosed down the side of my head again.

  I cringed, unsure of what hurt the most: the gash in the skin or the pounding inside my skull. Through watery eyes, I saw the lobby door open and my boss walk in.

  Because he’d been on his way back to the Drexler when the 911 call came in, Essex had been the first officer on scene. He’d stayed behind with the driver of the car that had hit mine when I was taken by ambulance to the ER.

  I muttered the F-word into the pillow, then steeled my nerves—and my face—as Celise bathed the wound in betadine.

  Essex squatted beside me. “Nyx.” A lot of emotion was packed into my name. Worry. Pity. Relief. All those feelings surged in his dark eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Do I look all right?”

  He let out a sharp sigh. “You look better than you did. God, there was so much blood.”