Stolen (Episode Three: The Nightshade Cases)

By Patti Larsen

The Sonnicker family didn't stand a chance. But, is this a weird case, or just a distraction from the truth? While Kinsey continues to translate the artifacts that could lead to exposing paranormals to the world, Gerri uncovers a connection to an organization she thought destroyed by the fall of their broken leader...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Jun 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781927464670

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Stolen

The Nightshade Cases: Book Three

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen

Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/home

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com

Proofed by Jessica Bufkin

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Chapter One

Footsteps echoed softly on the asphalt, muffled as they crossed over on the dew-wet grass. The neighborhood stood quiet, sleepy in the middle of the night. Someone’s cat squealed its protest, skirting the edge of the house with a hiss, but the footsteps didn’t pause or slow.

A soft breeze ruffled the giant maple in the front yard, shivering its leaves toward the peaked roof of the two-story. They waved as though in greeting to the black clad visitor who kept to the shadows, circling the thick, manicured shrubs to the backyard.

The faintest sound, muffled and thick through the walls of the house, drifted down from the second floor. The upper left window faced the small, neat backyard. The footsteps finally paused, silent, a hooded head turned up toward the window. The flicker of candlelight from the other side of the partially pulled curtains, the litany of a chant, in the voice of a man and a woman in perfect harmony, came clear a moment before the wind died and carried the words away.

The back door lock gave easily under the pressure of the small pry bar, swinging inward to the touch of a black leather glove. The sound of chanting was louder inside. The stairs beckoned, boots making soft sounds on the hardwood floor, hooded head turning side to side, stride slowing. The gloved hand traced up the handrail of the stairs, ascending to the sound of voices growing louder. The dark hall was almost black, the faintest illumination from the streetlights outside reaching thin fingers through the windows, casting long, bright strands to flicker over legs and gloves and hood.

Boots paused on the landing, pivoting toward the door at the far end of the hall, toward the back of the house. The master suite’s double entry was closed. Faint, flickering light shone beneath the door, making the wood floor appear to be on fire. The chanting felt heavy here. It carried weight and strength, the words undecipherable and nothing close to English, older than any civilization on this continent.

A gloved hand reached for the knob, tightened around it. Turned it to the swelling sound of chanting.

Outside, a small, black cat skirted the back yard as the wind picked up again. Ears twitching, she froze, looked up, still and tense. The candlelight extinguished the moment a woman’s scream tore open the quiet darkness.

The cat ran.

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Chapter Two

Kinsey slipped out of her open car door, balancing a box of donuts in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other, her keys dangling from the side of her purse. She shuffled the ungainly box in an attempt to hook the paper bag of treats sitting on her seat, just nabbing it with questing fingers.

She grinned to herself as she kicked her door shut and headed for the front of the house. The quiet, suburban neighborhood felt like something out of a TV show. She’d grown up in a mansion back in Boston with her grandmother and rarely had the opportunity to visit with friends she made in school. Who was she kidding? Margot DanAllart kept such a tight rein on her all those years ago, Kinsey was lucky she was allowed to talk to other kids, let alone go to school or visit their homes.

Her sandals slipped a bit on the curb as she climbed the two steps to the walkway toward the front door. Two uniformed officers dodged past her, but didn’t give her a hard time, except to smile and wave a little. They were getting to know her face, it seemed. Kinsey wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. This would be her third official time assisting her friend, Detective Geraldine Meyers, on a case, and Kinsey had to admit to herself as she drew a happy breath of fresh, suburban air, it was a good thing. Not that someone died, but that she finally felt like all the years she spent in school, on digs around the world, was worth something besides passing that same education on to others.

She wouldn’t think about her other research right now. Not when she was about to see Gerri, of all people. And though the truths she was uncovering on an almost daily basis in the private lab set up for her by Simone Paris wouldn’t be denied much longer, Kinsey chose to forget, for the time being. Gerri’s resistance to all things weird as she called them—paranormal, in Kinsey’s estimation—made it difficult to talk to her. Kinsey knew the time was coming that they would have to have a conversation about the amazing things the anthropologist discovered. But not today.

Today was about murder.

Kinsey paused at the door, yellow tape bordering the walkway, and smiled her brightest at Officer Candice Mills. The young uniform grinned back, taking the box of donuts from Kinsey’s arm and handing it off to the three other officers in the front entry. Candice rolled her eyes at Kinsey, but she was still smiling when she spoke.

And I thought the cop/donut thing was an urban myth, she said. Imagine my surprise, first day out of academy, when my partner makes sure my tour includes all the best donut shops.

Kinsey laughed, shuffling her burdens into a more manageable grip, the bag of croissants and tray of coffee no longer threatening to crash to the floor. I recommend more refined fare. She handed the bag to Candice who peeked inside. And helped herself to a croissant. The scent of the still-warm buttery deliciousness made Kinsey’s mouth water.

Thanks, Candice took a big bite, rolling her eyes in delight. Detective Meyers is upstairs waiting for you. She made a face around her bite. You might want to eat first. No, make that after. She gulped and looked down at her croissant. Or never again.

Kinsey shrugged. I’ll take my chances. Thanks, Candice. The hallway was empty as she hurried forward, to the entry to the stairs, gaze sweeping over the living room and open concept kitchen. Nice place, a little dated, but certainly middle class. The stairs she took at a steady pace, platform sandals thudding on the carpet to the sound of her friend’s voice at the top, growing louder.

—finish that canvas. I want to know what the neighbors heard. Kinsey’s gaze cleared the edge of the railing, settling on the Amazonian redhead in the dark sport coat, hair flaming around her. Gerri’s green eyes flashed to Kinsey then back to the tall, handsome man she spoke to. When he turned to see what Gerri was looking at, Kinsey purposely looked away. Not because she cared what Detective Jackson Pierce thought of her. He’d made his dislike pretty clear in the few weeks he and Gerri had been partners. No, because she knew if she looked at him full on, she’d burst into laughter at his two black eyes and taped nose.

Gerri’s fist had excellent precision. And Jackson learned what hitting on his temperamental partner would get him. Sure did.

Jackson avoided Kinsey, too, stomping past her and down the stairs, feet thudding gracelessly as he glared through the rail at his partner on his way down. Gerri ignored him, nabbing the first cup of coffee from the tray without even saying hi or thank you. Instead, she downed a giant gulp of her double-double while Kinsey smirked.

Ruined it, she said, just for you. How anyone could destroy perfectly good coffee with contaminants like milk and sugar…

You’re a saint, Kinsey DanAllart. Gerri’s green eyes sparkled. Thanks for coming down.

You just wanted coffee. Kinsey couldn’t help it. She peeked around the doorway beside her and into the bedroom beyond. There were too many bodies moving around in there for her to catch a clear look at anything. But she did see blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Suddenly, Candice’s advice to never eat again sounded pretty good.

Gerri took the bag from her, sniffed inside before helping herself to two buttery crescents. She had one in her mouth and was chewing with an evil grin on her face when one of the people in the room rose from a crouch and turned toward Kinsey. The MEDICAL EXAMINER block letters in white across the back of her jacket was enough of a giveaway Kinsey knew who it was before Ray turned around.

Coffee. Her British accent always took Kinsey a bit by surprise, despite their long-standing friendship. Dr. Rachel Hunter joined the pair of friends and removed her order from the tray, sipping more delicately than Gerri had, gloved hands cradling the cardboard cup like it held something precious.

Kinsey discarded the tray, setting it on the top of the railing, her own black coffee to her nose as she inhaled the brew. Coffee and death she could handle. Let the girls eat the croissants. Another glimpse inside at the giant stain of darkening crimson on the pale cream carpet and even her usual java vice wasn’t sitting well with Kinsey.

Sorry to hear about Manny. The poor night guard at the morgue was found dead of a heart attack. Ray offered a short nod, a sad smile.

Thanks, she said. It was quick, from what I understand. Druit did the autopsy. Ray’s tone of voice always had the same depth and faint air of