tight with anger it was little more than a harsh whisper. 'If you're not, stop asking me stupid questions, get off your fat arse, and start looking for the real damn killer. Because she hasn't finished yet.'
He raised the eyebrow again, seemingly unmoved by her hostility. 'She? What makes you think the murderer is a she?'
Kirby cursed silently, realizing then he was goading her intentionally. She sat back in her chair. Pain twinged down her spine, but she ignored it and regarded the detective stonily. 'I have a fifty percent chance of being right, haven't I?'
'Yes, you have,' he said. 'But we both know you know more than what you're saying. And you will tell me, Miss Brown. Eventually.'
'If you're going to lock me up, you owe me a damn phone call.' Who she'd call she wasn't entirely sure.
Doyle was missing, and she had no idea how to get in contact with his friends. Or even if they'd be willing to help her.
'I have no intention of locking you up. Not yet, anyway. I do, however, recommend police protection.'
She snorted. 'Fat lot of good it did me last time.' Besides, the last thing she needed right now was the weight of more deaths on her conscience.
'It's in the interest of your own safety.' He looked around as the door opened and a blue uniformed officer stepped in, handing him a sheet of paper. He read it quickly and looked up, his expression grim.
'Seems you have some high-powered friends somewhere, Miss Brown. I've been ordered to release you immediately.'
'Yeah, right,' she said, not believing him for an instant. The only person in power she knew was the janitor at the local municipal offices.
'You keep in contact and let us know where you're staying, or I'll have a warrant placed for your arrest and your arse back in this station so fast your head will spin.'
She blinked at the anger in his voice. 'Then I am free to go? You're not kidding?'
'Not in anything I'm saying,' he said, stony-faced. 'Officer Duncan will escort you to the front desk.
Collect your things and leave a contact number.'
She rose quickly, then hesitated. What if the person who arranged for her release was the killer? What if she was walking out into another trap? 'How will I keep in contact with you? Should I just ring the station?'
He handed her a business card. 'I want to know where you're staying, Miss Brown, and I want a number where I can reach you at any time.'
She nodded and followed the younger officer from the room. Five minutes later she was outside and blinking at the bright summer sunshine. It wasn't warm, not by a long shot, but at least the rain had finally cleared. Maybe summer would arrive back in Melbourne after all.
'About time they released you,' a sharp voice beside her said. 'This concrete gets a bit hard on old bones after a few hours, you know.'
Kirby jumped and spun, calling to the fire as she did so. Only the voice belonged to a woman she recognized—Doyle's friend, Camille. She was perched on the planter box at the base of the steps, silver hair gleaming in the summer sunshine, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity.
'Scared you, huh? I'm guessing from that play of energy across your fingers that you're the air elemental portion of the circle.'
She clenched her fists and extinguished the lightning. 'Did you arrange to get me released?'
Camille frowned. 'Hardly. Don't know enough people in this country of yours to apply that sort of pressure.' She hesitated, her sharp gaze darting around. 'We'd better get you out of here. Come along, dear.'
She hopped off her perch and marched down the street. Kirby glanced briefly at the police station and saw the brown-suited officer watching her from a window. She stared at him for a second, then turned and followed the old woman. Right now, she trusted the ability of Doyle's friends to keep her safe more than she trusted the police.
'Where are we going?' she asked once they were in Camille's beat-up van and driving toward the city.
'We ain't going anywhere,' Camille replied. 'I gotta hunch I might be tagged, so I'm going to create a few illusions and drop you off at the nearest car rental.'
'Why? I've got a car. I don't need another.'
'Yes you do. Your car's probably been alarmed, just like your handbag was. The killer certainly has had the time to do it. So you rent a car and go find Doyle.'
'He's safe?' she said, a huge sense of relief sweeping through her.
'Madder than hell, but yeah, he's safe.' Camille cast her a sly grin. 'You've got yourself a good man there, you know.'
'He's a thief,' she muttered. She pulled her gaze from Camille's, heat creeping across her cheeks. 'And he's not my anything. I barely even know the man.' And yet here she was, trusting him, and trusting his friends. Why? She wasn't entirely sure, and that scared her more than the heat that simmered between her and Doyle.
'What he may have been in his life ain't what he is, remember that,' Camille said. 'And sometimes you don't have to know someone to love them. Sometimes love is just predestined.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Yeah, right. Two souls fated to meet through time, and the ages, and all that crap.'
Camille's smile was wry. 'Not one ounce of crap involved, believe me. Especially in his family.'
She looked away from the old woman's knowing gaze. Part of her wanted to believe that such a thing as predestined love could exist, if only because it would mean that there might be someone out there for her, that she wasn't fated to spend the rest of her life alone—a fear that had been with her for as long as she could remember. A fear that even Helen's presence in her life hadn't eased.
But if she did let go, did take the chance and give in to the attraction she felt toward Doyle, she was more than a little certain she'd end up getting hurt. In some ways, he reminded her of Helen. He seemed to like walking the edge, courting danger. He didn't seem the type to want to settle down, and that was the one thing she wanted above anything else. Stability. A place to call her own. 'What's so special about his family?' she said eventually.
Camille laughed, a short, sharp sound of amusement. 'Ask him sometime about his dad and his granddad.' She glanced in the rearview mirror. 'There's a set of directions in the glove compartment, along with a map. Find Doyle, then hide somewhere safe for the night. Tell him to contact me when you're settled.'
Kirby opened the glove box and found both the map and directions. 'What about the woman we're supposed to be looking for? Shouldn't we be trying to find her before the murderer does?'
'For the moment, it looks like the murderer has set her sights on you. Me and Russell will continue the search tonight, and we'll see what happens after that.'
She tucked the two bits of paper into her pocket and noticed Camille looking in the rearview mirror again. Tension ran through her. 'Are we being followed?'
'Maybe. There's a large white car that appears to be mighty interested in where we're going.' The old woman's voice was vague, her attention on the mirror more than on the road. She reached into her pocket and withdrew what looked like a string of diamond-shaped beads. 'Take these.'
She did. They felt warm against her skin and pulsed slightly, as if alive. These were no ordinary beads, obviously. She frowned. 'What are they?'
'A shield, of sorts. Won't work for more than a couple of minutes, but that's all you're going to need.'
'Why do I need a shield?' She clenched her fingers around the string of beads and felt the sharp edges cut into her palm. An odd tingle of electricity ran through her.
'Because you're going to get out of the car and walk away as if you had all the time in the world.'
Her frown deepened. 'But isn't that a little dangerous? If we are being followed, they'll see me, plain as day.'
'Not with that shield, they won't. It'll warp your appearance long enough to fool whoever's following us.'
She glanced down at the beads clenched in her hands. Odd that something so incongruous could do magic powerful enough to change a person's appearance, if only for a few minutes. 'When am I going to do this?'
'I'm going to run the next red light, and do a quick left. I remember seeing a small cafe on my way to the police station. Walk down to there, get yourself a coffee and a seat, and don't move for a good ten minutes. By
