Excerpt: Chasing Shadows

Chapter One

I hated funerals. There was something beyond macabre about staring at a body ensconced in the splendor of an exorbitantly expensive tree-corpse. Funerals meant dressing up, too, which was something I also wasn't fond of, not to mention making polite small talk with people I barely knew, and trying to find pleasant things to say about the demised, which was sometimes challenging for my open-mouth-insert-foot tendency. My mood soured further while I waited in line to pay my respects. The new shoes my best friend had picked out for the occasion pinched my feet, and had four-inch heels, which were not conducive to my comfort. Damn Lorgan for picking them out. We were so going to have a talk about appropriate footwear.

As I stepped up to the casket, my ankle wobbled, and I stumbled, almost landing on top of the deceased, one Tressa Valora. My hands flailed as I tried to catch hold of something, anything, to stop myself from pitching into the satin-lined box of death. I squealed, visions of falling on my face in front of the crowd flashing through my mind, complete with a Technicolor picture of my dress flying up over my head and leaving my thong-clad bottom exposed. My fingers caught in the huge spray of white flowers draped atop Tressa's coffin, and yanked it off. I staggered backwards in a shower of white petals, clutching the arrangement to my chest. The whispered conversations from the mourners behind me fell silent, replaced by gasps and muffled exclamations. I somehow managed to catch my balance, and stood there for an instant, chest heaving, my face burning, and tried to regain my composure. My purse slid down my arm, the contents threatening to spill out. To add to my discomfiture, the clip in my hair came loose with a loud snap, flying to the side and clattering to the floor. My hair tumbled about my shoulders in a dark-brown mass. Well, at least I hadn't flashed anyone.

The funeral director, an older man in a somber black suit, hurried forward, eyes wide. "Are you okay, Miss?"

I nodded. "Fine." Mortified, but I seemed to be okay. Stupid shoes. I was never wearing them again. No matter how cute they were.

He grabbed the flowers from my hands and closed his eyes briefly at their bedraggled state. He whisked them back on top of the casket, straightened them, and turned to offer me his elbow for support. "If you'd like to pay your respects now, Miss?" The pleasant smile stayed on his face, but the tightening around his eyes allowed me no chance to refuse his assistance.

I forced a smile to my face and took his arm. Great. Nothing like being treated like an unruly child in front of God and everybody. Everybody, in this case, meaning half the New Orleans Police Department and most of the city's prominent businesspeople. I couldn't wait to hear what my mother would have to say when she heard about this.

"Thank you," I said with as good a grace as I could muster.

I stepped up to the casket again. Tressa Valora looked just as she always had, her hair a gleaming blonde so light it looked silver, her smooth white skin unlined, despite the fact that she had to be almost a hundred. She was a well-known businesswoman, and had been my grandmother's best friend, so I'd known her for my entire life. She was also an elf, one of the few, like me, who chose to make their lives in the human world, which was why I was here representing my family, instead of one of my more polished relatives, who rarely left Eden. Tressa was dressed in purple, her favorite color, a brooch of shimmering opal at her neck. That brooch caught my breath in my throat. My grandmother Sedemay had worn one just like it. She had died almost a year ago, but I still missed her fiercely, and tears stung my eyes, blurring Tressa's face for a moment. I blinked them back, and reached to pat her hand in farewell.

Except her hands weren't visible. Which was odd, to say the least. Elves were always laid to rest with an olive branch in their clasped hands, and despite Tressa's decision to live as human, she wasn't one to flout other traditions. I frowned, but the whispered conversations behind me were back, so I took the hint and settled for a respectful nod. I turned for the door, and the funeral direction released my arm with an expression of the utmost relief. Not that I blamed him. I wanted out of the sanctuary of the cathedral badly, away from the curious gazes of on-lookers, some of whom would be more than happy to report my antics back to my mother, the rest of whom would be running to tell my ex-boyfriend.

People crowded the foyer, a seething mass of bodies standing in clusters, talking, lit by the bright hues of light streaming in from the stained glass windows. I moved through the crowd, looking fore Dolen Valora, Tressa's adored teenaged grandson, and her only living relative in the human world. I didn't see him anywhere, and he should have stood out. Dolen was half-human, and usually dressed in black, with shaggy hair dyed black, piercings in his nose and eyebrow, and sometimes a spiked dog collar around his throat. Despite his appearance, he was a good kid, and we got along well on the occasions we met. I frowned. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Dolen before the service, either, and the front pew usually reserved for family had stood empty, since none of Tressa's elven relatives had attended the human service. I caught snatches of conversation as I struggled through the crowd, which held more than its fair share of dress blues. The NOPD were out in full-force today, in honor of Tressa, whose son-in-law had been a long-time chief of police.

"—Saint Louis Number One this morning?" This from a middle-aged woman in a satin pantsuit, Susan Something-or-other, who owned a tiny shop in the French Quarter. I knew her on sight, but not to speak to, and her face was alight with interest. Nothing like some good gossip to brighten the eyes.

"I heard a tomb was completely destroyed." Her companion, a slightly older woman whose face had the frozen look of fresh Botox, leaned closer, barely bothering to drop her voice.

"Really?" Gleeful horror registered on Susan's face, and I shook my head. Really. Some people just had nothing better to do than delight in other's misfortunes. Still, Lorgan would be wanting to know what I'd heard, so maybe if I could hear the rest of their conversation—

"The one right next to—" Botox Lady caught me looking at them, and her gaze narrowed. I stopped staring and slipped past the group of old men blocking the way. So much for gossip. Maybe Dolen was outside. If I were him, I would be, away from the fawning sympathy of people he barely knew, and the fresh reminders of his grief. I finally made it to the heavy wooden doors, and pushed them open, slipping outside. The late September heat made me gasp for a second, then I adjusted to the heavy humidity in the air and smiled. You had to love autumn in the South, hot as the Sahara and steamy as the Amazon. I took a deep breath, letting the warmth bake the smell of dead flowers out of my nose. The door of the cathedral creaked, and I stepped aside, not wanting to get smacked in the head.

A man strode past me, his body heavy with muscle, wearing a black leather jacket and faded jeans with scuffed black boots. I caught just a glimpse of a scruffy almost-beard, more than a five-o'clock-shadow, but nowhere near Grizzly Adams-length, and dark hair just a shade too long. He strode up the brick street, graceful in that way that panthers are, pretty to look at but full of danger. He reached the street corner and stopped, glancing back over his shoulder at me. Dark mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, but I felt his gaze burning into me nevertheless, warmth settling in the pit of my stomach for no reason I could discern. The left side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile, the faintest trace of a dimple just beside it, then he turned around, disappearing around the corner.

I continued to stand there, still staring stupidly at the place he'd been. Holy crows! I didn't know who he was, but he was hot as hell and twice as sinful. I licked suddenly dry lips and took a step towards the empty street corner. It wouldn't hurt if I glanced around the corner, would it? Just to see where he was headed, of course. You had to be careful of strange men, keep your eye on them. Stranger Danger, and all that, right? Right. I was doing a community service by checking to see where he went. Uh-huh. I hurried to the corner, bracing myself for the site of his rather attractive back view, and peeked around the building. The street lay empty before me, a few pieces of trash littering the sidewalk, ferns swaying in the slight breeze on wrought-iron-lined balconies. No hot stranger needing my supervision. Darn. I sighed. Well, at least I'd done my civic duty.

Unfortunately, I was on the wrong street corner. I lived the other way, only a few blocks up the street. A few long blocks, in these shoes. I stared down at them. Black, of course, with a kicky little ankle-strap and a peep-toe. Lorgan had said something about Manolo, but I seriously doubted that. Maybe Manolo knock-offs. That was much more likely, and much more in my price range. Good thing, too, since I wasn't planning on wearing them ever again. Well, the walk wasn't going to get any shorter the longer I stood here. I turned around, and ran smack into a hard male body. The breath whooshed out of me and I staggered and would have fallen if hands hadn't grabbed my shoulder, steadying me. I looked up, half-hoping to see my mystery man. No such luck. No, the man standing there, staring at me with a knowing look, was someone I knew all too well. He had close-cut dirty blonde hair, no trace of stubble, and gleaming grey eyes. Handsome, and he knew it. He was also an NOPD detective, Thomas Hardwick, and I hadn't had the misfortune to run into him since I caught him half-naked and smeared with red lipstick at his apartment with a giggling and equally half-naked co-worker. Cheating bastard.

"Hello, Mina," he said in a low voice. He squeezed my shoulders and stepped back.

I stared at him. Did he have to look quite so good, the sun sending tendrils of gold through his hair, his black short-sleeved shirt molded to his shoulders and what I happened to know were a rather impressive set of abs? Not to mention the black pants he had on, which showcased his long, lean thighs and made me think of him in bed, only a black silk sheet wrapped around his hips. Was it suddenly about twenty degrees hotter out here, or was it just me? I resisted the urge to fan myself, and did my best talking-to-a-perfect-stranger impassive voice.

"Thomas." I didn't trust myself to say anything else. I hadn't spoken to him since the day I'd caught him red-handed, so to speak, and he hadn't bothered to call, so if I said anything more, I was afraid I'd end up screaming at him like a harridan in the middle of Jackson Square. So not what I wanted today.

He did a slow once-over, and I was suddenly glad I'd taken Lorgan's advice and worn the little black dress. You know the one. Short, form-fitting, showing just a hint of cleavage. It made the most of everything I had, and I knew it looked good on me. Unfortunately, Thomas's presence here meant he'd probably also seen my less-than-glamorous fumble at the casket. Figures.

"You're looking good, Mina." His voice smoldered with heat.

"Thank you." Mine was icy as the Arctic, despite the butterflies suddenly flitting about my stomach. Damn him! Thomas had always had that effect on me, and he knew it as surely as I knew the tourists were going to flock to the city for Mardi Gras. Not fair of him to use that voice of his against me like this. Well, two could play at this game. I reached up to toy with my neckline, my fingers curled into the valley between my breasts, which were rather good, if I did say so myself. His gaze immediately dropped from mine, following the motion of my hand, and I smiled inwardly. Trust Thomas to be distracted by boobs. Some things never changed. My nipples tightened under his regard, and he grinned, and looked up at me. My gaze narrowed. Damn it! Why'd my body have to betray me like that? I dropped my hand to my purse.

"It's been a while," Thomas said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping enough to send a shiver through me.

I nodded, but didn't currently trust myself enough to speak.

"We should get together sometime. Go out for a drink or something," he said.

I stared at him. Was he serious? We'd dated for six months, spending a fair amount of the last four of those months in bed, and then, a month ago, I'd caught him practically in bed with someone else, and he wanted to meet for drinks? Had he lost his mind? He really thought I'd agree to have drinks with him? As if sensing my thoughts, he grinned at me, his dimples flashing in a way that made me struggle to remember how to breathe.

"I think there's a few things we need to discuss. In private." His voice held just a hint of sexy secrets in it, which didn't do my breathing any good. "Why don't I give you a call, and we can make plans to meet?"

Yeah. I remembered the first time he'd used that "in private" thing on me. We'd ended up in his bedroom for the entire weekend, barely bothering to come up for food or other bodily functions, both of us enjoying ourselves so thoroughly that I had forgotten to even call Lorgan and say I wasn't coming home. The memory of that weekend made everything in my body tighten, and the image of Thomas and those black silk sheets turned into something a whole lot more x-rated. Dear God, he was good in bed. And apparently, I hadn’t been enough to keep him satisfied there. The memory of his tall, blonde co-worker peering over his shoulder, wearing nothing but one of those sheets, burned my retinas, and I was instantly angry, positively furious at Thomas for thinking he could just waltz back into my life, invite me out for drinks, and end up back in my bed. That's what he had in mind. I could tell from the look in his eyes. I opened my mouth to give him a scathing piece of my mind, and a female hand appeared, clutching his arm possessively, the same brown eyes I'd seen before peering over his shoulder again through a cloud of blonde hair. At least she was wearing clothes this time.

The boyfriend-stealing hussy slid in close beside Thomas, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Thomas, we really need to get going if we're going to make it to the tomb by noon," she said in a sultry voice.

I closed my mouth with a snap and gritted my teeth. I'd be damned if I'd give her the satisfaction of reacting to her presence in the slightest. Nope. Not going to happen.

Thomas nodded, never taking his eyes off mine. "Okay, Cassie." He disengaged her hand from his arm, and her eyes narrowed. "I'll be along in a minute," he added, in clear dismissal.

Her lips curled in a pout, and she folded her arms across her rather perky chest. Those couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. They were too perfect, and they didn't belong on her otherwise tall, lean, supermodel form. She gave me a glare that should have made me drop dead, or at least curled my hair, then turned and strode away, her hips swinging like a pendulum. I wasn't the only one who noticed, either. All the men who'd spilled out of the church onto the sidewalk watched her go, their gazes drawn to her. Well, she was dressed like a hooker, even if a rather upscale one, wearing a tight, black, knee-skimming skirt and a silk tank that looked more like lingerie than clothing, along with strappy shoes with pencil-thin heels that made my own look clunky in comparison. And she didn't seem to have any trouble walking in them, either, not from her swaying progress. I sighed. I guessed I shouldn't really blame Thomas for being attracted to her. Hell, if I liked women, I'd probably be attracted to her, too. Still, her outfit seemed a tad unprofessional, at least for a detective. Maybe she moonlighted at night on Bourbon Street. The thought brought me a small measure of satisfaction, and I smiled.

"Think about what I said, Mina," Thomas said.

I jerked my gaze back to him. "What?"

He leaned in close to me, his lips grazing mine and sending a flicker of heat through me. "About getting together." He smiled, and my gaze was drawn to his lips like a moth to a flame. He held my gaze for a long moment, his smile deepening, then reached up and plucked something from my hair. It fluttered to the ground as he walked away, a single white rose petal. My cheeks burned as I watched him walk away.

Oh, it wasn't enough that I'd humiliated myself in front of the entire church full of people, and been accosted by Thomas and the other woman, but I'd had to do it with a flower petal in my unruly hair, too? Life just wasn't fair sometimes. Could this morning get any worse?

Of course, the universe immediately proved it was laughing at me, as music blared from my purse, Paramour's Supermassive Black Hole at an ear-splitting decibel that at least hadn't ruined the funeral service, since I'd apparently forgotten to put my cell phone on silent. I fumbled through my purse, wondering what I'd done to piss off God or whoever else was in charge of things upstairs, because the morning had just gotten way worse. The noise echoing down the street and drawing the stare of everyone in sight was my mother's ringtone.