47. Seraphina
47
Seraphina
The smell of bacon lures me awake, a salty punch that has my eyes blinking open and my arms stretching upward. Though I know I’m alone, I check both sides of the bed just to be sure that Lincoln didn’t slip back into bed after somehow making his apartment smell like a diner.
I receive my confirmation that I’m alone when the sound of metal on metal clangs from just beyond the closed bedroom door. Straightening my legs, I take a moment to look around Lincoln’s space, taking in the heavy brushstroke prints hanging on the wall opposite the bed and the sleek dark-brown dresser below. Turning my head, I see a large floor mirror in the corner of the room, right beside a window that lets in the early morning light. There’s a floor plant situated in the opposite corner, nightstands, and a bed. Aside from that, there’s not much else in the masculine yet comfortable room.
Shifting my eyes back to the door, I rise from the bed and grab the T-shirt that was thrown to the floor last night. I blush at the memory, how intense it was, despite the infinitesimal movements. I don’t doubt that sex was made more intense by the fire, the panic that seemed embedded in both of us.
Shrugging the fabric over my frame, I inch toward the door and twist the handle, pulling it open and giving me a view into the kitchen. On light feet, I walk in, surprised by the number of dishes laid out on the black island.
“Hungry, cierń?”
I pause mid-step and stare at Lincoln’s back. “How did you know I was here?”
“The door squeaked when you opened it.”
“Oh.” I walk the rest of the way to the island, sliding onto one of the stools and looking down at the spread he’s set up. Platters of French toast, home fries, and bacon line the counter, with a bowl of cut fruit and a carafe of orange juice beside it. “Wow,” I comment, unable to keep the awe from my tone.
“Don’t act so surprised, cierń.” He turns around, a playful smile on his face. “Cooking is quite literally my job. I know how to crisp up bacon.”
I grab a rasher of bacon and nibble on the end, surprised by the spicy-sweet flavor that erupts on my tongue. “Oh my god, that’s delicious.” I moan.
“Careful, cierń. We have plans today, and I don’t need you making those sounds and distracting me from what we need to do.”
I swallow my bite and flush, setting the bacon on my plate as I look at him. “What plans?”
“We’re going to Rafe’s. He called Grey last night and asked us all to come over.”
I nod at him, pushing from the island and moving to stand up. “Where are you going?”
“To steal a shirt and pants. You just said…” I trail off, looking at him quizzically.
“Food first.” He nods toward the island.
“Fine.” I sit back down, reaching for a piece of French toast with my fork and placing it on my plate.
“One more, Seraphina,” Lincoln comments.
I glare at him, frowning. “When did you get so bossy?”
“Always have been. Now eat.”
I roll my eyes, grateful for the momentary reprieve from the heavy thoughts that want to encroach on this moment. Focusing on my plate, I cut my food into even pieces and ask, “Do you know if Olivia is at Rafe’s?”
“I’m not sure. I know Bianca is there.” I sigh, stabbing a piece of French toast and putting it in my mouth. It’s unsurprisingly delicious, but I can’t seem to enjoy the taste. “We’ll call her as soon as we get to Rafe’s.” I nod, spearing another piece of French toast and shoving it into my mouth.
—
“You look cute in my clothes,” Lincoln comments as we walk up the front steps of Rafe’s apartment. “They’re a little big, but you still look adorable.”
“Shut up, Lincoln.” His deep chuckle reaches my ears, and I shake my head. I’m about to respond to him when a tall man appears, racing down the front steps of the building. I step to the side in a move to let him pass, but he surprises us by stopping.
I squint at his handsome face. There’s something about him that seems familiar, but it’s not until I hear his deep, unique voice that I’m able to place him. “Ms. Gregori,” he drawls, a slight accent in his deep baritone voice.
“Sergeant Maroaka.” I nod my head in greeting. I’ve met Sergeant Jack Maroaka twice, and each time, I was struck by how handsome he was—and how serious. Both interactions resulted in his scowl pulling into a sneer any time Bianca spoke. And while I’m not surprised that she evoked his ire, his extreme reaction to her was surprising.
“Did something happen? Are my sisters okay?” The worst-case scenarios run through my mind at why he could possibly be here.
He shakes his head, eyes on Lincoln as he responds, “I live in this building.”
“Oh,” I breathe out, shoulders relaxing.
“You.” He nods toward Lincoln. “You gave the tip about the black car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you for that. Unfortunately, Mitch is out of town, and there is no black vehicle registered to his name, or that of his parents.”
“No shit,” Lincoln comments, the surprise evident in his tone.
“See.” I turn to him, raising my brows. “I told you it was electric or some kind of accident. Not everything is a conspiracy.”
Sergeant Maroaka clears his throat, looking away at my response, and I furrow my brows at his behavior.
“Be careful,” he says before jogging down the remainder of the stairs. My head moves to follow his descent until he disappears around the corner of the block, removed from our view.
“Still think it’s not all connected?”
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly, shaking my head at the weird interaction. Looking back at Lincoln, I incline my head toward the entrance. “Let’s head up?”
He grabs my hand, following my lead as I walk toward the door. My brother lives on the first floor, and I wind through the hallway, tracing the steps to his front door. Lifting my knuckles, I rap twice and wait. Instead of Rafe, Bianca yanks the door open. “Thank God,” she squeals, pulling me in by my arm.
“Woah.” I fall inside, looking over my shoulder at Lincoln as Bianca drags me.
“Did you see the asshole? Infuriating, gorgeous dickhead.”
“Sergeant Maroaka?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Should you be calling him Jack?”
“I will call him any damn name I please.”
Shaking my head at Bianca, I look around, hunting for Liv.
“She’s at her coworker’s.”
“Bernadette?”
“Yes,” Rafe comments, eyes downcast. “She went there last night after her shift.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes.”
“And…?” I hedge, knowing that talking to my twin brother is sometimes like pulling teeth.
“She’s safe.”
I sigh, annoyance infiltrating my body. “Can you give me your phone?” I hold out my hand, waiting for him to deposit it. He knows why I want his device, and he doesn’t protest. Slapping it into my palm, he shakes his head and turns toward Lincoln, hand outstretched. With my back to them, I pull up Olivia’s contact information, press the call icon, and bring the phone to my ear.
“I told you to stop calling me, Rafael.”
“It’s me.”
“Oh. Are you okay?” Olivia’s tone changes instantly.
“Are you?”
“I mean, I’ll kill someone if they torched our shit, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Liv?” I ask, swallowing past the emotions clogging my throat. “Be safe, okay? Once I’m back in the apartment, I’ll call you to come home.”
“You too, Ser.” We say our goodbyes and hang up. Handing the phone back to my brother, I survey the room. I didn’t even realize Ava and Grey were here, sitting next to each other on the leather couch, while Bianca paces between Rafe and Lincoln.
“It was arson.”
“Wh-what?” My head turns sharply to my brother.
“They don’t know if it was a pyromaniac or a random arsonist, but they have reason to believe it was not an accident.”
“What’s their reason?” Lincoln asks, giving voice to the question we all have.
“A tarot card left by the site of the fire.”
“Fuck,” Grey groans. “What was the card?”
I furrow my brow, looking between Grey and Rafe. “Why does the card matter? I understand the reference to the psychic, but the card?”
Rafe clears his throat, “Because, Ser, the Hang Man MC uses a Hanged Man tarot card as their calling card.”
“The who?”
Bianca releases a sigh, and we all turn to her, the pallor of her face causing immediate alarm. “B?”
“The Hang Man MC is a motorcycle club, a gang, really. They found the same cards at the psychic murders.”
“Th-that wasn’t in the news.” Ava trembles. “Why wouldn’t that be public knowledge? They’re saying it’s a serial killer.”
“Because not every aspect of an investigation needs to be made public. You should know that; you all should,” Rafe admonishes, shaking his head as he looks at me and my sisters. He’s not wrong. We come from a family of lawyers, two of the most prominent ones in the country. We know that for all aspects of a case to be made public is one of the worst possible outcomes for both law enforcement and prosecutors.
So, no, it’s not a surprise that we don’t know about the cards.
What is a surprise is that Bianca seemingly does.
“B, how do you know about the cards found?”
She looks down, refusing to meet my eyes.
Rafe huffs, crossing his arms as we wait for Bianca to speak. “Because this isn’t the first card that’s been left, is it, B?”
She shoots a look at Rafe that would burn a lesser man. “I found one on my car last week. I gave it to the police with strict instructions,” she emphasizes the words, “not to say anything about it.”
“Goddammit, Bianca. When were you going to tell us we’re living in an Agatha Christie novel?” Ava shouts.
Grey grunts, his head shaking in disbelief.
I remain silent, absorbing the information in a dueling state of disbelief and shock.
“Still think the fire was a harmless accident?”
“Shut up, Lincoln,” I mutter, elbowing him in the stomach.
—
“I’m not dropping you off.”
“But I have to work, and so do you.”
“No, I don’t have to work today, so I’ll be sitting right next to you your entire shift. I’ll let Ms. Frizzle know that I’m not leaving.”
“Stop calling May that.”
“You’re stalling; let’s go.” Lincoln nods toward the library, grabbing my hand to pull me inside. In my borrowed clothes from Ava, I feel better than I did in Lincoln’s oversized sweats, but there’s still a loud discomfort. With my narrow frame and nonexistent hips, Ava’s clothes hang on my body loosely, and I feel like I have to constantly tug on the fabric of the T-shirt and jeans to keep them in place.
On Ava, an outfit like this would show off her feminine curves, hugging all the right places to show her hourglass figure. On me, I look like a kid playing dress-up with her mother’s old clothes. The only silver lining is that Lincoln and I will go to my parents’ house tonight to see them and grab some of the clothes I keep there.
“You can’t just shadow me for my entire shift,” I argue, letting him pull me along. “The university probably has a policy against this.”
“A policy against protection when a fucking arsonist is on the loose? I highly doubt that, cierń.”
“Fine, but you cannot bring any food or drinks into the archive room.”
“I’ve heard this before, Seraphina,” he quips, opening the door of the library and tugging me inside. “I won’t ruin your precious periodicals and journals.”
“That’s an interesting outfit, Sera,” May’s voice has my head whipping around to meet her curious eyes. If my outfit is interesting, May’s is a costume. Adorned in black cigarette pants, a black-and-white striped shirt with a red scarf around her neck, and a red beret, she looks like she’s about to go to a poetry open-mic night.
“My apartment had an accident last night,” I offer by way of explanation, tugging my hand from Lincoln’s grip.
“I see. And what is your beau doing here?”
“Beau?” Lincoln’s voice holds a laugh. “I’m here to watch over Seraphina while she works. I’ll be out of the way down in the basement.”
She surveys us for a minute, probably judging my hanging clothes and Lincoln’s stern expression. “Fine. But no liquids or fluids downstairs. And no food or drink.”
My mouth moves, emitting no sound as she walks away, turning her chic figure toward the rows of computers. “Did she just—”
“Insinuate that we’re going to fuck downstairs? Yeah.”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say nothing, cierń.” He grabs my hand again. “Let’s just get you to work.”
“I don’t understand the last twenty-four hours,” I murmur, leading Lincoln downstairs.