It was only when Detective Harper handed her coffee cup that Ophelia's hand stopped shaking. He took off his jacket to place it on her back, and she told the police what she had seen that night. No matter how hard she tried, she could tell them nothing more than that she had seen a black car drive away from the scene.
Ophelia was surprised when a motorbike roared up nearby, and the excited Chris jumped off it to rush to her. She stared at him in bewilderment.
"What are you doing here?"
"I woke up and you weren't there. Your weird friend called you and then told me where you were. I'm sorry I picked up the phone, but I got scared."
"No, it's okay."
"Miss Hamilton is involved in the investigation, so we've informed her," Detective Harper added quickly, for which Ophelia was terribly grateful. After all, she couldn't tell Chris that her friend was a fortune teller, and she'd probably drawn the picture of the murder scene from one of her nightly comic strips again.
"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, Ophelia wondered and nodded.
"Yes, of course, but I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow, if that's okay."
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you?" Chris glanced at the corpse that was about to be delivered from the scene. CSI had taken pictures nearby of the Wicca marks and internal organs lying around the victim. Ophelia, if there was a way, didn't look.
"Sorry, this really isn't a good time. I'm out of sorts, we'll talk tomorrow, " she stood on tiptoe to plant a brief but firm kiss on Chris's lips, who gave up the attempt with an anxious sigh. He sat back on the bike to watch her from there for a few more moments, then drove away from the crime scene in the quiet of the night.
"Will you take me home?" Lia looked at the detective, who scratched the back of his head nervously. "Relax, I'm not planning to seduce you," she rolled her eyes, sensing his hesitation.
***
It was dawn. They returned to Ophelia's apartment in silence, and she opened the door wearily for the detective, who did not sit down, but only stood in the doorway. Ophelia automatically made coffee and then settled down at the kitchen counter, where she offered the man a seat on one of the bar stools.
"You seem to be under a cloud, finding you at the crime scene again," the detective stirred the coffee, before Ophelia's gaze fell on his still-scarred hand, where the injuries he'd been given for her were lined up.
"You know it wasn't me. I was dreaming again, and it was the same thing," she buried her face in her palms. She felt tiredness pulling her down, but still she looked up, lost in his cold blue eyes. "I don't understand what's wrong with me. What nature is trying to tell me with this madness."
"Believe me, I don't like it either, finding you sleepwalking near the scene of the crime all the time, but if we can get to the coven, we'll find out. On Saturday, right?"
"That's right, but we should be talking about what we're gonna do about Fernando Sanchez."
"There's nothing to talk about. You take me to him, you hand me over, they bring us the drugs, we ambush them, and that's it."
"That's it? Are you out of your fucking mind?" Ophelia's voice went up two octaves.
"You've done this before. If he wants to shoot me, you deflect the bullet and it's done."
"Sure, like it's that easy. I have no idea how I did it the other day, and I don't want to risk your life on a stupid mission."
"You don't have a choice."
"Did the Chief of Police give you permission?" She raised an eyebrow.
"He doesn't need to know everything in advance," the detective shook his head.
"You've been given too much liberty," she said in disbelief. "But it doesn't matter whether they allow the operation or not, I'm not taking part in it."
"I decide when and why I risk my life. You are under contract to help me."
"I never thought it would come to this, that you would threaten me with a contract. But I won't consent to you walking to your death in exchange for a few grams of cocaine. So forget it."
"For once in your life you should trust yourself and your power," the detective shook his head. "I've seen what you are capable of. In order to interrogate Sanchez and get Detective Parker to hit the cartel, we need what I said; you'll hand me over to them and if I'm in trouble, you'll deflect the bullet."
"I'm not a fucking Houdini, you understand?" she snapped at him angrily. "I don't know my powers because I've never had to use them."
"It doesn't look like it to me," the detective pointed to Lia's tattooed skin peeking out from her robe, "I've seen the scars and I have a feeling they're connected to your abracadabra."
"Okay, you're a stubborn fanatic who lives for his job. I give up," she bowed her head in surrender. "After Alpha died, I didn't resign myself to the fact that fate had taken him away from me. I challenged the forces of nature; I tried to bring him back. Before I knew you, only euphoria or deep pain could increase my strength. I had little of the former, as I had not wanted to see a man for a long time after Alpha, but the latter was easily achievable. I was cutting myself. Not because I wanted to hurt myself, but because the physical pain increased my strength. I kept trying, inventing spells, but I couldn't bring him back to life. But the scars remained. I always wanted a tattoo, I had the first one done with Alpha, then the others covered the scars well. Once I was in hospital, Mum got fed up and that's when I moved to Gaxburn. The rest is history."
"I'm sorry you didn't get your love back, but you should understand, simple isn't always the right solution."
"You're a wise bastard," Lia snorted, "but I'm not going to let you drag me into a situation where you're going to be carried out in a body bag."
"Your only choice is whether or not to come with me. Thanks for the coffee," the detective stood up and headed for the exit. Ophelia shook her head and opened the door for him. But before he left, he turned back, a look of concern in his eyes. "If you want to cop out, I understand."
"Do I look like someone who would give up so easily?"
"Get a few hours' sleep, I'll be back for you at ten."
"I'll be waiting," a lopsided smile appeared on her face. Even though she bloody hated the thought of being alone, she couldn't ask the detective to stay with her for the rest of the night.
***
Ophelia's third coffee that day did nothing to help her mood or her tiredness. She stared at the people hurrying down the street bored, as Bradley kissed Lyra's lips for a long moment before he made his way out with great difficulty.
"Don't forget to get home early today. The boys are coming to play poker and they're dying for your guacamole. I've already bought tortillas."
"Okay, I'll be home soon," Lyra purred in his ear, as the disheveled, glasses-wearing, blond-haired, tall Bradley downed his coffee and reached for the redhead's lips again.
"Your girlfriend's the best," he hinted to Lia.
"Then I guess you've finally learned to appreciate her," Ophelia threw him these words.
"You could get someone of your own," Bradley retorted.
"One thing's for sure, I wouldn't use my sweetheart as a maid." The argument had to be settled by Lyra, at the end of which Bradley left the café.
"Tell me how the investigation is going." Lyra took Ophelia's hand when they were alone. It was then that Lia came to her senses and was forced to report what had come out about the second corpse, if Esteban wasn't counted.
"And Chris?" she asked, interested.
"He's very nice. He took me for a ride on his motor and then... What happened was what you had drawn."
"Wow, so you two are dating?"
"I wouldn't say that, but... things happened."
"So you slept with him," Lyra smiled steadily with downcast eyes. "Details, please!"
"He's very devoted and kind, but you should have seen the detective's face when he came in yesterday morning."
"I hope you noticed that you were talking about the detective instead of Chris," Lyra frowned, and Ophelia was forced to tell her about the morning. Lyra just shook her head for a while, then after the account and another murder story, she asked:
"And who do you think the murderer is?"
"I don't know, but we'll find out. He's killed twice, he'd have to be very professional not to leave any clues. And they'll show connections that could give him away. I think we'll know more on Saturday."
"I'm worried about you, Lia. I just feel like you're getting yourself into trouble, and I don't need to be a visionary to know that."
"Right now I'm more worried about Detective Harper than I am about myself," she sighed, "He's more confident in my abilities than should be."
"Or maybe you're not as confident in your abilities as you should be," the redhead sighed, before emptying her coffee cup.
"If I can help, let me know!"
"You've already done a lot," Lia put her hand on her friend's arm sweetly, and she finished her drink and left the café.
***
Ophelia felt like a UFO among the many uniformed and plain-clothed bailiffs. Many looked at her dubiously, as if everyone was talking about how, for some inexplicable reason, she had gone back to the crime scene and might have something to do with what had happened.
"What did you find out?" Lia asked the detective, who looked up from the mess of documents in front of him at the sound of her voice, as if awakened from a dream.
"The victim was Samuel Harrison, who worked as an IT specialist for a large engineering company. Forty-two years old, unmarried, childless, living with his mother. But his salary was high, and he allegedly designed the system in the factory."
"So all he has to do is press a button and everything stops," Ophelia put it together.
"Pretty much," the detective nodded. "Our IT guy is checking his computer, and two other colleagues are giving his mother the bad news. I tend to leave the family and not visit them immediately. Let them process what has happened, if they can process it at all."
"I suppose he had nothing to do with the Wicca thing either," she sighed, as the detective beckoned her closer, took his coat and strode past her to the right floor.
"I don't know how she got to the centre of the circle of signs, but the fact is he had the kind of knowledge that could have been paid for. Or they could have paid to keep that knowledge out of the hands of others."
"So we have a drug dealer and a presumed cyber criminal. I'm beginning to think our killer doesn't mean the world any harm by killing criminals."
"Believe me! Don't think we're dealing with a modern Robin Hood," the detective shook his head. "A murderer is a murderer, no matter what principles he sheds blood for."
"Is that what you think of our patriots?" she turned to him defiantly.
"Have you ever killed someone?" the detective halted in the corridor to turn to Lia. She pursed her lips, but did not answer. "There, you see! Let's get back to this once you've been undergone a trial of fire, shall we?"
"My job is to help others, not to take lives," she complained, for the first time thinking that he had blood on his hands. She had to admit it to herself; it was both attractive and creepy.
Without a word, Lia followed him to the offices at the top of the building. When she reached one of the rooms, she saw a dimly lit one with a row of machines and monitors lined up in soldierly columns. The room was decorated with comic books and a few superhero figures.
"Hey, Clyde, did you find anything?" the detective said hello to the employee inside, whom Lia hadn't seen before. Suddenly, a rolling chair cut out in front of them, and a young man with disheveled black hair, brown eyes, a kind face and glasses appeared sitting on it.
"Harper!" he grinned at the newcomer. "I have a very tasty story to serve you. Who's your partner?" he glanced at Lia. She was wearing a leopard-print mini dress with spaghetti straps and sneakers, so she wasn't surprised that he eyed her several times.
"Ophelia Goodwin," he introduced her to Clyde, whose body tightened the T-shirt with the Superman sign on it as he straightened his back. "My consultant. Tell me what you found."
"Harrison worked as an IT guy, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. It was not an easy ride, but it is not impossible; I found incriminating evidence in our friend's computer. He was blackmailing companies into leaking sensitive data, secrets about them, or even shutting down their systems, which he had discovered or simply hacked. He deposited his money in a bank in Cayman Islands, but he did it in such a tricky way that it kept moving between accounts without the owners being aware of it. Only our friend knows the algorithm to get the money."
"That's pretty poor."
"And of course I..." Clyde straightened his back, "will, as soon as I figure it out, but it'll take time. I didn't sleep much last night anyway."
"Because you're a genius," said Detective Harper approvingly.
"The thing is, not many people could have liked poor Harrison. He was going to start his own company and if he had gone through with it, he would have made more money than Queen Elizabeth or Zuckerberg. Take that!"
"I knew I could always count on you," he patted him on the back in appreciation.
"It would be advisable to talk to his workplace, his friends, if he had any, to see if they knew anything about it. I'll let you know if I find anything interesting."
"I'll be waiting," the detective said goodbye to the computer guru, who cleared his throat. Detective Harper reached into his pocket and pulled out a superhero figure wrapped in an unopened plastic holder.
"I see you haven't forgotten," grinned Clyde, then let his odd couple leave.
"I had a good hunch. We have a hacker, a drug lady and three dead bodies," sighed Ophelia.
"Not sure if Reyes' death is connected to the others, but we'll find out. I have some paperwork to do and hopefully Kendra Smith with the autopsy report. Go home and get some rest. I'll see you at the briefing at 7:00 p.m.."
"How could I forget?" she rolled her eyes, then sighed deeply and wondered for a moment if she should leave the detective alone, but said goodbye and left the building.
***
Ophelia couldn't go home, she wanted to see Chris. She wanted to call his office, but since she was leaving anyway and the lawyer's office was close by, she decided to surprise him.
At the reception desk of the tall glass building, a blonde woman in a suit was waiting the clients. Lia adjusted her leopard-print dress before stepping to the counter. She didn't have to wait long, and she saw the look that had been scrutinizing her, repeatedly running over her tattooed skin and provocative dress.
"I'm looking for Dr. Chris Davis, attorney at law."
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked coolly, and with a tone of contempt.
"No, but you could tell him I'm here. I'm sure he'd be pleased to see me," she said suggestively. She wasn't afraid of the blonde secretary, who dialed the number with a broad smile, as if waiting to see when Chris might refuse her.
"Davis Law Offices on the Fifty-sixth," she said unwillingly. Lia couldn't help it, and flashed a triumphant smile on her face. Then, swaying her hips, she slowly made her way toward the elevator, giving the secretary time to stare at her with a frown.
When Lia entered the lawyer's office, she played the same game with the assistant there. Once past the two women, she saw several lawyers in suits working behind computers in cubicles or offices. She concluded to herself that two options were possible; either they would ignore her or they would size her up with incredulity.
Ophelia headed straight for the boss's office, separated from the corridor by a brown wooden door. Knocking on it, she was admitted. Chris was seated behind a massive wooden desk, surrounded by bookshelves and papers on the table.
"Lia, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he asked, a broad grin on his face.
"What's this?" she lifted a paper from the table, curious, which was lying in front of Chris. She thought he wouldn't leave there anything she couldn't see.
"I've just signed our divorce," he said, and Ophelia looked at the document more closely, quickly realizing that it was indeed a divorce decree. She put it back on the table, straight in front of Chris, and then gently pushed him back in his rolling chair so she had room to sit on the table. She spread her legs.
"What are you doing?" he asked, puzzled, but he didn't seem to mind.
"I've just never had sex on divorce papers before," she grinned challengingly.
"It's a proposal I can't say no to," Chris laughed, then leaned close to Lia's thighs and dropped kiss after kiss on the tattoos that ran up and up her body.
She let out a sigh of lust. Chris stood up, reached under Lia's skirt, and in one determined movement, grabbed the strap of her panties and pulled them off.
"I didn't know you could be so wild," Lia grinned, as Chris's face broke into the smile that made his look so sweet.
"You don't know me yet, but I think we're making progress," he grabbed her waist and pulled her even closer to him for a fierce kiss.
Lia's whole body was just waiting to take the man in. The man who had brought redemption and a curse upon her. She fidgeted nervously with his belt buckle, and as she released him, Chris pulled her closer to him, and with ever wilder moans, she flew herself to fulfillment.
Ophelia enjoyed the time together, the touches, the kisses, Chris's every wild and lust-fueled movement, but once again he found solace in the soothing waves of lust before she did. Ophelia felt Chris burrowing his hands into her dreadlocks, pressing his lips to hers, finding pleasure in the intoxication of her body with a loud sigh.
"I want you to be my...!"
"You've only been divorced just a few minutes and you're asking me to marry you?" Lia grinned provocatively as she pushed herself off the table and pulled on her panties.
"I have a weekend cottage in the mountains. I could take you there... just you and me. No dead bodies, no cops, and most of all, no detective would enter the picture."
"Sounds good."
"I don't want you to get hurt."
"Unfortunately, I'm already promised for this weekend, but I can take a few days off afterwards."
"How stubborn, unconvincing, irresistible and beautiful you are," Chris caressed her cheek after a kiss on the lips at each word, then smiled.
"You know me," Lia shrugged, and then she caressed his cheek and asked him firmly:
"Be patient! You know, that's the key to me," she winked at him flirtatiously as stepped to the exit. She didn't care how much Chris's subordinates might have heard. A slight smile appeared on her face as she exited the office, and a faint blush crossed her cheeks as she thought back to Chris's embracing arms.
***
Lyra waited for Ophelia in her studio with visible excitement. She hurried there, puzzled, knowing that something was wrong. At least her friend wouldn't have called her there for trifles. They stirred their tea excitedly, sitting in front of each other.
"What did you see?" Ophelia asked, as her redheaded friend put down an elaborate comic book in front of Lia, wringing her hands. "What's this?" the dreadlocked woman picked up the pages where she saw the detective.
"I wanted you to know," said Lyra, as Ophelia lost herself in the drawings. The detective was at the station, several police officers waiting for him in a dark room in the basement.
She read his words aloud:
"Let's get this over with, boys. I admit I deserve it," was written in a thought cloud above the detective's head. In the next frame, several police officers rushed at him. Ophelia recognized from the picture the ones the detective had taken out when he had tried to go after her in a rage during the previous operation, but had been detained. Hard fists slammed into his face, boots between his ribs. He let himself be knocked out. In the last frame, the detective lay on the ground, a thought cloud above his head showing Ophelia herself in a leopard print dress, sinking into Chris's embracing arms in a fit of lust.
"I've never had such a detailed drawing, and apart from a few minor events, the visions always come in connection with you. I don't know what's going on between you two, but it's starting to freak me out."
"Me too," Ophelia sighed. "Thanks for showing me." She didn't know what was going on between them, but she knew it was affecting all three of them.
***
Ophelia felt as if she were the only prey among a multitude of predators. Every passing glance questioned her, but it was the cold blue eyes of the haggard detective that revealed most of the predators' intentions.
"Put this on," Detective Parker appeared with an assistant, who held out a small black object. Ophelia shook herself out of her thoughts and looked at the woman, puzzled. "We'll put a bug on you too."
"I had no idea there were such tiny things for this purpose," she eyed the small black dot, which the woman thought was a bug, but she thought it could be anything.
"Where do you want it?" the policewoman answered her with a question. Ophelia shrugged, and the assistant very cunningly applied the device to her ear tunnel.
Ophelia felt strange, as if the eyes of the predators were not only gliding over her skin, but were now seen through her. She paced back and forth nervously, listening in silence to the briefing.
"Are you all right?" the detective came up to her after it, his gaze more concerned than commanding. The man's face showed bruises and bumps.
"I am, but you look like shit. You shouldn't have gotten beat up."
"Otherwise, how would Sanchez believe that I got caught by Dorothy? We'd be nabbed the first minute."
"You still shouldn't have had your face decorated," she shook her head disapprovingly.
"Calm down, I'm fine. It fits on my body with the other scars."
"I still have a bad feeling," Ophelia sighed. She knew Lyra's drawings would come true anyway, though the characters might change. The future would happen; which art could give her friend a glimpse of. That night, someone would fall to the ground. This realization rippled down her spine, leaving goosebumps on her skin that made her rub the exposed skin left by her leather jacket pulled up to her elbows.
"Trust yourself," the detective asked, and the gesture came so effortlessly that Ophelia was surprised. He touched her chin for a moment, then cleared his throat and stepped away. But before she could handcuff him, he threw his words to her:
"I do trust."
That didn't help Lia much. She felt like she would suffocate if something didn't happen. Nervously, she accepted the handcuffs and clicked them around his wrists as agreed.
"I never thought I'd have to handcuff you," Ophelia tried to relieve the tension with a very silly joke, and the detective smiled and commented:
"I would have imagined a more pleasant situation for the first handcuffing."
As Lia looked up at him, she saw a mixture of shock and desire in his eyes. She couldn't understand herself why she would make such a comment in such a situation, but she couldn't help it. And he took advantage of it. At least the failure of the operation wasn't on their minds.
"Here," the policewoman handed Ophelia a gun, which she almost dropped.
"I don't even know," she shook her head.
"It's not loaded," said Detective Parker, "which means it's blanks."
"That's reassuring," she sighed, as Dorothy took the gun from her.
"I'll do it," she took the initiative.
Ophelia felt like a screwed-up member of a screwed-up team. They got into a black car and drove a few yards to the meeting place. There, Sanchez was waiting for them with his two bouncers.
Dorothy pointed the gun at Detective Harper, who was pushed out of the car and ushered in front of Sanchez.
"This is phenomenal!" grinned the drug dealer after his two guards searched the women, but found no weapons or bugs on them. "Two kittens can take down a bear that size. You're awesome, girls," Sanchez said appreciatively. "Tell me, how did it happen?"
"He was alone and I learned to kick box," Ophelia shrugged as nonchalantly as possible, but her heart was pounding at a dizzying speed.
"Now let's see the drugs!"
"Ah, not so fast yet, girls. I'll finish with the detective first, then we can get down to business," the man pulled out a gun, which made Ophelia's stomach tighten to the size of a walnut. Sanchez pointed the barrel of the gun directly at the detective's forehead.
"On your knees!" he gave the order. Detective Harper disobeyed, and Dorothy pressed the barrel of the gun between his ribs.
"On the ground!" she ordered. Unwillingly, Detective Harper knelt before Sanchez, who pointed the gun at his forehead. Ophelia knew she had to do something, but it was too late.
"Boom," the dealer shouted, but didn't fire, just laughed loudly and lifted the gun from the man's forehead. He looked at the terrified Lia and spoke:
"You're going to shoot him. When you do, you'll get a warm welcome to the family," the man grinned, and handed the gun into Lia's trembling hands. She didn't even catch the words.
"I prefer my own gun," she glanced at the pistol in Dorothy's hand.
"This will do. Hurry up," he urged Lia.
Ophelia raised the pistol with a trembling hand and pointed it straight at Detective Harper's forehead. The man straightened his back, but Ophelia could see his forehead was shining with sweat.
"Bill Murdock sends his warmest regards from prison, to be delivered by the kitty," Sanchez said, glancing at Lia. "What's your last word, Detective?"
"Excuse me," he looked at her for a long moment.
Ophelia's eyes locked with his, and something happened that had never happened before. She heard his voice in her head:
"Do it!"
"Are you crazy?" she whispered silently. "What do you want? What are you doing here?"
"I have no idea," came the detective's voice. "Pull the trigger, deflect the bullet, I'll fall to the ground. It's dark enough that he can't see the wound, and we'll bust him."
"This is crazy!"
"You have no choice! Do it!"
"What if I shoot you?"
"Don't think about that. Pull the trigger."
The strange conversation was interrupted by Sanchez's voice. He was talking to his phone:
"Get the stuff," he ordered his men, as a big truck turned into the dark harbor nearby. Ophelia was relieved, but her joy was too early. Sanchez moved up behind her, laid his hand on her arm, put his finger on Lia's finger, and then unholstered the gun.
"It's not that hard, but since I like you, I'll help," he said. Lia felt his breath brush against her neck. Without thinking, he pressed down on her finger, causing her to pull the trigger.
The bullet left the barrel of the gun with a loud thud. Lia stared anxiously into the detective's eyes, knowing she would have to do anything to save him. In slow motion, the bullet raced through the air, torn apart by Lia's single movement. Bullet fragments went in all directions except the detective's.
Ophelia felt only the pain that slammed into her body and burned, as if all the wrath of hell had come down on her at once. She groaned, the world spun around her, then shrank, as if someone had drawn the blinds in front of her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Helplessly, she surrendered to the darkness, which quickly engulfed her.