A Bad Case

By Hollis Shiloh

Joe needs someone with the second sight to help him. He's on a case, a case that starts out as finding missing jewelry and soon entails a wicked and otherworldly element.

Helping him is the unearthly and beautiful Lee, who's attracted to him but shy about it. Hell, Joe understand that. It's 1955, after all. But even between dealing with a wicked fae and the obligation to his client, he's starting to fall for Lee. And Lee might just be falling for him back.

Now if only they can survive.

Heat level: low

Word count: 22,000 + words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spare Words Press
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498983495

Book preview

Joe needs someone with the second sight to help him. He's on a case, a case that starts out as finding missing jewelry and soon entails a wicked and otherworldly element.

Helping him is the unearthly and beautiful Lee, who's attracted to him but shy about it. Hell, Joe understand that. It's 1955, after all. But even between dealing with a wicked fae and the obligation to his client, he's starting to fall for Lee. And Lee might just be falling for him back.

Now if only they can survive.

HEAT LEVEL: LOW

Word count: 22,000 + words

A Bad Case

Hollis Shiloh

HE HAD A FACE THAT could stop a clock from sheer beauty, but it didn't stop me for more than a second.

I hesitated, then took a step over the threshold to the tiny office Lee Merrill rented, pushing through a faint resistance I felt at approaching somebody so damned gorgeous. I hadn't realized he'd look like this.

Hey. I leaned on his desk and looked down at him. He had a sharp face, almost too sharp, high cheekbones—and odd eyes, too large in his face, and slanted at an odd angle. They were brown, a light, beautiful, butternut brown that showed nearly as much light as blue eyes. He had fine, odd, rather rebellious pale hair of a blond coloring so pale it looked white in this light. He looked up at me, not saying a word, one pale eyebrow rising inquiringly.

You the psychic? I asked.

Um. He ran long fingers up and through his hair, scratching it into array and disarray at the same time. I tried not to be mesmerized by that. I'm a magician. Who did you say you were?

I didn't. I leaned on my knuckles on his desk. But I don't need a magician. I need a psychic.

He looked back at his typewriter, positioned his fingers over the battered keys, and tapped out two more words. Well, if you ever need a magician—card tricks, rabbits from hats—you know where to find me.

Great literary talent in your spare time? I moved around the desk and peered over his shoulder at the words he was creating, squinting a little. The ribbon was getting old; the print was pale. The machine had a distinctive h with a broken line in it, and the e rode up slightly above the other letters. I took in a paragraph.

He whirled in the street and fired his Colt. The other gunman fired too. Twin explosions of gunpowder filled the air and the street. Everyone gasped. For a moment, the onlookers couldn't see. Then, Jake stepped triumphant...

The writer/magician whipped around at the same time as he put his hands up over the paper. I focused on the long, slender strength of his elegant hands now instead of his words and pulled back, grinning. Westerns? I asked. That pay well?

About as good as being a magician. Don't look at it! Heat crept up his face. It surprised me that such an ethereal-looking man could blush.

I drew back, grinning, crossed my arms over my chest and looked him up and down. Well, if you can take a break from writing potboilers, I've got work for you.

What kind of work? His eyes narrowed like he was used to getting illegal propositions. And maybe he was. I sure wouldn't mind seeing him on his knees in front of me. I told my hormones to shut up and stick to business.

Relax. I'm a private detective. I showed him my license; if anything, he looked even more suspicious, and tenser around the shoulders. He stood up to face me, his face changing slightly. It became less expressive and more like a mask. He couldn't hide the wariness, even fear, in his eyes.

He had the kind of fine, pale skin that looked vulnerable to sun and wind. His mouth was a pink slash in his slim and sensual face. He had such big, pale brown eyes, beautiful eyes, and yet he looked out at the world from them as if from behind a shield, trusting no one and nothing.

The vulnerable look of his pale features was belied by his slender strength and firm chest and shoulders. He was tall, taller than average and whip-thin but strong-looking nevertheless. He crossed his arms over his chest; I could see the muscles there. He looked like something dreamed up, unreal, ethereal. But the anxiety in his eyes was all too real. W-what do you want with me?

I need help finding a silver and emerald necklace that was lost under...shall we say...unusual circumstances. My client is paying me enough to hire a consultant. I've asked around and you're the kind of guy I'm looking for. The kind of guy who deals with things that aren't always the way they seem.

His shoulders hardened, but I saw a moment of quivering vulnerability at his mouth. Oddly, the sight of it made me want to kiss him, to soothe his anxiety. I'm not normally that kind of guy.

I told you, I'm a magician. Rabbits from hats, card tricks—

Except you can do more than that, can't you? You describe it like that so nobody gets frightened and tries to chase you out of town—the way it went down in Vegas, and before that in New Orleans. And they can handle some crazy shit in N'awlins.

Who are you again? He reached out for my ID, snatching it from my fingers and holding it close to his face, squinting to read my name. Joe Lyrics. He snorted and looked up at me again, his gaze meeting mine more steadily now. Well, I guess you think you're a good detective, Joe, but I can tell you now I left for reasons entirely unconnected with...whatever you think I left for.

For being too good at magic, I said. I took my ID back from him carefully. I had him on the run, didn't want to scare him anymore. And I'm not a particularly good detective. The thing is, I just don't give up. I'm stubborn like that. Single-minded. Maybe even a little bit dim. I smiled at him, showing my one broken tooth. He didn't look like he believed me. I heard the rumors about you, and I have a friend in the police department. It wasn't hard to find out a little more.

His mouth tightened and he stopped breathing. For a moment, his eyes looked sick and afraid. If this is s-some kind of shakedown...

I blinked, appalled. For a second, I felt like I'd lost