Page 31 of Deadly Lineage
Miss Patty was having none of it. Growls now accompanied her ear-shattering yips. I was about to ask if Mrs. Heart needed help when car lights lit up our quiet little street. While we’d been talking, it had gotten dark enough for them to be needed.
Those lights flared to life before a car eased down the street. It wasn’t a car I recognized. Most likely it was someone visiting one of my neighbors—someone Miss Patty didn’t recognize.
Miss Patty watched the car leave, finally quieting when the taillights faded from view.
Waving goodbye in Mrs. Hart’s direction, I walked to the back porch and picked up my phone. I had a new message,the voice and name unwelcome. I’d had threats before. I didn’t always give my clients the news they wanted. I was honest, and sometimes honesty got you into trouble.
In the case of Antony Livingstons’s heirs—particularly, Bart—honesty had opened a hornet’s nest.
“What did your father say?” Franklin asked me. It was odd, sitting in the police station, across from his desk. My complaint wasn’t really his department. No one had been killed. Yet. According to the noxious message Bart Livingston left on my voicemail, he hoped to change that fact.
“I haven’t told him yet,” I answered while tugging an irritatingly loose thread. If I pulled too hard, I’d lose my t-shirt hem.
“Why not?” Franklin sounded more curious than judgmental.
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Because Pops already threatened to hop a plane and head to Mississippi. That was his solution when I said I wouldn’t go to Cali.”
Franklin sat forward, elbows resting on his desk. His broad frame pulled the fabric of his suit jacket. Mrs. Hart was right, Franklin was built. I could thank the Mississippi heat for allowing me a few treasured glimpses of the skin and muscles lying beneath all those layers of cloth.
“Why don’t you want to visit him in California?” Now Franklin sounded genuinely confused.
“He wants me to visit because he thinks I’m in danger.” When Franklin’s eyes widened, I waved a dismissive hand. “I know he’d like to see me too, but cutting and running isn’t my style. Pops knows that. That’s why he offered to come here.” Ifrowned. “I’d like to see him, but he’s busy and I don’t want to disrupt his life.”
“I may not know your father well, but I hardly believe Warlock Holland would consider protecting his son adisruption.”
“No, no. I know. It’s just…” I blew out a frustrated breath. “He shouldn’t have to do that.”
“On that we can agree. To a point. If you haven’t spoken with your father about Bart Livingston’s recent threat, then what was he concerned about?”
Well, shit. Sometimes my mouth got me into more trouble than my necromantic nature. My fingers abandoned the annoying thread and began tapping a rapid tempo against the wooden armrest. “He’s concerned about what happened with Rebecca and Phineas.”
Franklin’s eyebrows shifted skyward. “That seems reasonable. I don’t like what retrieving their souls has done to you either. I’m not sure how your father plans to help with that, but—” He cut himself off, and I could tell the moment Franklin realized Pops’s true concern. “He thinks you’re in danger.” Franklin pushed back into his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Christ, Boone. Is your father correct?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? We’d have to know who this psycho is first, and right now we don’t even know what species they are.”
“Shit, I should have considered this.” Franklin shook his head while leaning forward again. “You’ve found both bodies and considering where they were, whoever did this didn’t mean for them to be found.”
“That’s about all I’ve been able to do,” I lamented.
“Not necessarily. And besides, if word gets out you’re the one who found them, it’ll place a target on your back.”
I twisted, shifting my weight to my opposite butt cheek. Honestly, you’d think the police department could afford chairs with a little cushion. Next time I’d bring a damn pillow.
“I wish I could do more than find them.” I hated feeling so useless.
“Maybe you have.” Franklin’s lips twisted and his eyes pinched. I’d seen that face many times before.
“What are you thinking?”
“Too many things. Most of them are just thought fragments and not worth getting into yet.” Head tilting, Franklin’s gaze captured mine, holding me still. “While it’s true the souls you’ve brought back haven’t been able to verbally tell us anything, the condition of their souls is a big fucking clue.”
I scoffed. “It’s a clue we don’t know what to do with.”
“Also true, at least for the time being. But this is rare. The list of possibilities is longer than I’d like, but it’s not nearly as wide-reaching as our perpetrator would like.” Franklin pointed at me. “You’ve got connections. Scary as fuck connections, but connections all the same. I can see how that might work for or against you.”
I considered Franklin’s point and said, “It might scare them off—or make them afraid I’ll figure it out.”
“Exactly.” Franklin slapped his palm against his desk, pulling a few gazes our way. Twisting his chair, Franklin’s gaze drifted across the room. “Your house has protections?” Franklin waved a hand in the air. “I’m not sure what to call it. Charms? Wards? Something like that?”
