I headed back downstairs. As I passed the living room, the doorbell rang. I darted into the living room, dove behind an armchair, and cast a cover spell. As long as I didn't move, I'd be okay.
When Alastair opened the door, I recognized the visitor's voice. Tiffany Radu.
"I met your new girl in town," she said. "She gave me a coupon for a dozen cookies. Getting a little bold, aren't you? It would be much easier to call."
Alastair laughed. "I wish I could take the credit, but no, Megan must have given Amy those to hand out. A nice way to introduce herself. Come in, please."
Tiffany pushed the baby buggy into the living room and returned to the hall.
"So, do you want those cookies?" he asked.
"Is that the only thing on the menu?"
A chuckle. Then a crash, like a body hitting a wall. I jumped, startling the baby, who stared at me, her blue eyes wide. From the hall came a grunt, then the whir of a zipper. A groan. A sucking noise. Another groan.
Okay, no one was getting killed. And I would have been less surprised if someone was.
The baby craned her head, trying to see her mother. I really hoped she couldn't. Seeing Mom blowing a guy who isn't your dad really isn't an experience any kid needs imprinted on her young memory.
I slid from behind the chair and tugged the buggy toward me until I was certain the baby couldn't see Tiffany. It's a sad day when I'm more concerned for a child than her mother is.
The baby started whimpering now. There was no way Tiffany could hear her--Alastair was too vocal in his appreciation. When a baby isn't heard, though, a baby gets louder, and I didn't want them coming in here.
I murmured an incantation. A light ball appeared on my fingertips. The baby's eyes rounded. I tossed it to hover over her buggy and she giggled and crowed.
"Mama, Mama!" she said, bouncing as I made the light ball dance.
Tiffany really needed to work on her parenting skills if her kid adopted the first stranger who paid attention to her.
I went through a repertoire of simple tricks--lights, sparks, fog, all the ones kids love. I'd learned all the ways to keep Elena and Clay's twins amused when I baby-sat. Now that they're school age, they want to learn the tricks ... and get royally pissed off when they can't.
So I entertained the baby as Mom and the local cult dude moved to full-on screwing. When they started banging against the walls, the baby got concerned again. I did, too. The house was old and they were really going at it.
I picked up an ugly stuffed toy from the buggy and made it dance. The baby grabbed it and threw it. I knew this game. I picked it up and gave it back. She threw it, then chortled when the stupid grown-up fell for it again.
The toy looked homemade. Tiffany didn't seem the type to lovingly sew toys for her baby. It was definitely an amateur job, with weird stitching along the seams. An older sibling? Whatever they'd stuffed it with, it wasn't exactly soft and cuddly. It felt like ... dried herbs.
I caught a whiff of something that made my eyes fly open. I lifted the toy to my nose.
It was stuffed with blessed thistle. Most witches don't use herbs outside of rituals, but blessed thistle used to be stuffed into sachets for protection and health. I think Wiccans still used it. I glanced toward the front hall. Was Tiffany Wiccan?
I looked closer at the toy and noticed the stitching wasn't actually messy. It was symbolic. Special stitching for protection. Not Wiccan. Witch.
Now I knew why the baby had been calling me Mama when she saw the spells. Cody Radu wasn't the spellcaster in the family. Tiffany was.
sixteen
Tiffany wasn't the cuddles and cooing type. She got what she wanted and left with a box of cookies to excuse her visit. I suspected the Radu household ate a lot of cookies.
Was Tiffany punishing her husband for screwing around with girls like Ginny? Maybe. But whatever Cody's hang-ups, I bet there was a touch of the Madonna/whore complex going on. Ginny and her ilk were for wall-shaking sex and Tiffany was for making babies and adorning his arm at company dinners. Only it turned out that Tiffany liked her share of wall-shaking, too. Alastair was a safe outlet--an outsider who was unlikely to ask for any commitment while he had a houseful of young women offering the same goodies.
It was all a little too soap-opera confusing for my brain right now, so I zeroed in on the part that really piqued my interest--finding out that I wasn't the only witch in town.
BACK AT MY bike, I called Jesse to see if he had a maiden name for Tiffany. He did. Baker. Not exactly as uncommon as I hoped. I asked him to dig a little deeper and see where she was from, maybe get some family details.
"So you've got one witch," he said when I explained. "Presumably married to another supernatural if she's been showing him rituals. You've also got Santeria. Sounds like there's more to this town than it seems.
My next call was to Paige. I still wasn't telling her about the case, of course, but she'd be my best source of background on Tiffany.
"I have a local witch," I said. "But she's using outdated magic."
"Which suggests she's from a family that has slipped outside the network. Well, whatever network still exists for witches."
I could hear the regret in her voice. Paige works hard to get that network running again, but after the witch-hunts, most witches took a "never again" attitude and disassociated themselves from their magic.
"Maybe," I said. "But if it's nearly useless magic, that screams Coven."
Paige sighed. She'd grown up a Coven witch herself. She didn't argue, though. The Coven was the worst offender when it came to keeping witches in the Dark Ages of magic, only allowing its members to use old and simplistic spells, like the light ball.
"Her name was Baker," I said. "Tiffany Baker. She's a few years older than you, so even if her family left the Coven, you should remember her."
"I don't. I'll check the records, though."
If Paige didn't recognize the name, the Bakers hadn't been part of the Coven, so I told her not to bother. I could handle this one.
I ARRIVED AT the McDonald's twenty minutes late for my appointment. Cutting through the parking lot, I saw Cody Radu stalking out of the restaurant, another man hurrying along at his side, trying to talk to him.
Cody's SUV was nearby, so I cast a blur spell, zipped around it, then cast a cover one.
"Every shred of evidence was supposed to be concealed," Cody was saying as they approached. "That's your job, Tommy."
"Yes, and I've covered it. If this PI has dug up something, then we've got a leak. But that's why I'm here--to throw her off the trail."
"Then you'd better work fast. I can handle the bitch. She's going after Tiff, though, and I won't take that."
Had Tiffany told him I'd confronted her? I remembered what Cody had said about me being in town a few days. Only hours later, Tiffany had accused me of coming to her house. Was somebody stalking them? Or had Cody and Tiffany just been under Bruyn's magnifying glass too long?
"It'll end," Tommy said. "As your friend, I promise you it will. As your lawyer, I strongly suggest you get your ass back in that restaurant and wait for her."
"She's late."
"She's testing you. She's trying to make you sweat and it's working."
Cody snarled something I couldn't hear.
"Christ, buddy, cool it, okay? I know you're worried about the shipment tonight, but it's all under control. Just go back in that restaurant, and when we're done here, we'll hit Lula's place for a couple of hours." A chuckle. "That'll get your mind off things."
"I'm not going back in the restaurant," Cody said. "I do not give any smart-ass piece of pussy--"
"Hey, guys," I said walking around the front of the SUV. "Sorry I'm late. I didn't have a cell number to call." I held my hand out to Tommy, whom I recognized as the frat brother who'd posted the occult ritual pics on Facebook. "Savannah Levine."
He didn't respond right away, too busy ogling to notice my outstretched hand. Then he took it in a firm shake.
"Thompson Harris. Cody's lawyer."
I grinned. "So I'm already lawyer-worthy? Cool. Let's go inside then. I'm starving."
"HAVE YOU EVER done any modeling?" Tommy asked as I bit into my Big Mac.
It was a line I got a lot. I think every tall, thin, reasonably attractive woman does.
"Not eating like that, she doesn't," Cody muttered, waving a hand at my fries, burger, and milk shake.
"I eat this way because I still can," I said. "After a certain age, my metabolism will hit the brakes and I'll be stuck with that shit." I waved at Cody's salad.
Tommy laughed. "Cody was right. You are feisty."
"Feisty wasn't the word I heard him use. As for modeling, let's just say not in the traditional sense." I flashed a wicked grin. "But a girl's gotta pay the rent somehow."
I bullshitted like a pro, giving Tommy enough hints to send him looking for booty shots online when he should be doing a standard background check. I'm sure he'd tell himself it was business, digging up something to discredit me. Probably even bill Cody for the time he spent porn surfing.
Flirting also kept him distracted enough not to jump in with objections when I questioned Cody. Not that it helped much. Cody knew better than to incriminate himself and I didn't have enough details yet to ask about the fight with Claire. Instead we spent the time circling, each trying to get a peek at the other's cards.
Finally Cody got fed up and went to sulk in the bathroom. He was gone a while, doubtless hoping I'd give up and leave. I flirted some more with Tommy, which seemed to convince him I wasn't anything more than a pretty face. Screwing potential: high. Threat potential: zilch.
I'll admit to being a little nervous when we left. Maybe nervous isn't the right word. Cautious. The back road from here to Columbus was long and empty, and if Cody pulled out right behind me, I'd be tempted to take the highway, rather than play road warrior again with his SUV. But apparently he was taking Tommy up on his offer to visit Lula's. They left in separate vehicles, and headed for the highway.
I was zooming down the empty back road, the wind whistling past, when my bike did a little bump-bump. I glanced in my rearview mirror, thinking I'd hit a pothole. Another bump. Then the rear tire wobbled. I barely had time to think Oh, shit! and the tire blew with a deafening bang.
seventeen
The bike started veering toward the center line. I wrenched it the other way, desperately steering for the side of the road, hitting it, dust and gravel flying up. The bike went into a slide. I held on as tight as I could, bracing myself for that final bone-jarring topple.
I lay in the gravel at the side of the road, bike pinning my leg down, panic arcing through me. Then, slowly, I heaved the bike off me. I braced for a wave of pain, but it didn't come. I felt like I'd been thrown out of a van. Nothing screamed "I'm broken," though.
A clean lay-down, which is the most you can hope for. Still holding the bike up, I slid out from under it and rose, stretching and patting myself down. My leather jacket was scratched to shit. My jeans were studded with pebbles. I was okay, though, which is more than I could say for my bike.
I assessed the damage--dings and scrapes and twisted handlebars--and decided we'd both gotten away pretty damned good. Which wouldn't keep me from kicking Cody Radu's ass when I got hold of him. Sulking in the bathroom? No, he'd been sabotaging my bike and--
A silver vehicle crested the hill. I froze, but it was only a car. I let out a sigh of relief, then a string of curses as the stupid bitches in the front seat gawked at me, not even slowing to see if I needed help.
That made me realize Cody might have more in mind than just sabotaging my ride. I was now stranded on a very empty stretch of road.
I took out my cell phone. It had survived the fall, but it didn't matter. No service.
The back tire was blown, meaning the motorcycle was useless, and I was still two or three miles from town. I started pushing. My left leg seized up. Okay, not as uninjured as I'd thought. Shit.
Another vehicle came over the hill. A pickup this time. I took off my helmet, making it clear I was female, and waved at the wrecked bike. Too late I heard the scrape of the muffler. It was the skeevy guy who'd driven past the police station yesterday.
He stopped beside me. "Laid her down, huh?" He grinned. "That's why little girls shouldn't play with big-boy toys. I suppose you want a lift now."
"No, I'm good. I could use the exercise. Build up my muscles so I can handle her next time."
His grin faltered. "It's about five miles."
"Thanks, but I'm fine."
He hesitated, then sped off, steering into the gravel to dust me. I answered with an energy bolt to his back tire. Just a little one. A slow leak that would, if I was lucky, strand him on an empty road of his own in a day or two.
I looked at the hill, then at the truck speeding away. Five miles to town? I was sure he was exaggerating, but even half of that was too far to push a motorcycle.
I headed off the road. I set her down in the brush, too far from the road to be seen, then went back and cleaned up the signs of my lay-down. I was barely done when the top of another silver vehicle came over the hill.
Hiding in those bushes was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. Everything in me screamed that I should stand at the side of the road and wait for the bastard.
But I had a pretty good idea what Cody had in mind. This wasn't a guy who let women stand up to him. He had to bring me down and if I wasn't lying on the side of the road, he'd put me there.
I thought I could take him in a fight, even if I wasn't sure what kind of supernatural he was. But I was on a case. As tempting as it was to show up assholes like Cody Radu, I'd deal with him later, in a way that wouldn't run me any risk of being hauled off to jail for assault.
I hadn't done as good a job as I thought of disguising where I went off the road. He slowed there, put down his window, and squinted into the brush beyond. He didn't stop, though, just rolled along slowly, scanning the roadside for me.
Once he was gone, I set out again. I kept a watch on the horizon, in case he doubled back. He didn't. I'd gotten as far as the spot where I hid my bike when I heard the purr of a performance engine behind me. I turned to see a black BMW.
Michael Kennedy. My day was now complete.
I continued walking, expecting, hoping, he'd drive past with a honk and a wave, happy to see me suffering after I'd sent him on a wild-goose chase. Instead, he slowed and drove beside me in silence for a minute.
Finally he rolled down the window. "Are you okay?"
"Better than my bike," I said, gesturing to where I'd hidden it.
"One could say this is karma."
"Yeah, yeah. So how was your visit to Cougar?"
"A wasted morning, which I completely deserved. I promised I wouldn't fish for leads, and that's exactly what I did."
"Because that's exactly why you asked me out."
"What? No. I wouldn't--"
He met my gaze and the denial dried up. He swore, blushing, and pulled ahead onto the shoulder and got out.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I was a jerk and my only excuse--"
"--is that you want to find your sister's killer. I get that. But I'm not competing with you, Detective Kennedy. If you'd asked what I'd found, I would have told you. I just don't like being played."
He nodded, walked over, and handed me the keys. "Drive her back. I'll walk the bike and meet you at the garage. There's one just off Main."
I'd seen it--the former town gas station, now just a garage. I took the keys, got in his car, and waited for his reaction. Offering to take my bike was a nice gesture, but it was just that--a gesture. He didn't expect me to take him up on it.
I started the engine. He retrieved my bike and began walking. I rolled the car up beside him.
"You're okay with this?"
"I offered, didn't I? Just be careful. Driving without a license ... I hate to sound like a cop, but you could get in a lot of trouble."
I stopped the ca
r. "You're right. You should--"
"No, I was just saying to take it easy." When I hesitated, he waved me on. "Go. You're slowing me down."
I reached into my pocket and held up a card. My driver's license.
"I thought you said--"
"Implied, never said."
He laughed and waved me on again. I drove a quarter mile, then circled back and came up beside him again.
"You're serious, aren't you?" I said.
"Uh, yeah. I'm serious about the apology, too. I was a jerk."
"You're a cop. You're supposed to be a jerk."
"I don't think that's in the code."
"Read the fine print. It's there." I parked and got out. "I'm not leaving you to walk my bike two miles."
We argued for a minute. Then he gave me my bike and started walking ... south, away from his car.
"they!" I called. "Where--?"
He flagged down an approaching pickup. The old guy stopped, which probably had something to do with the badge Michael was waving. He explained that we needed a lift. The guy assumed it was police business and grumbled, but didn't argue. Michael and I loaded the bike into the back, then he waved me to his car.
"I'll go with him." He held up a hand against my protest. "I'm protecting the old guy, not you. Pretty girl in the passenger seat, he might not be able to help himself, and I don't think he wants to spend the rest of the day in the hospital." He walked to the truck. "See you in town."
NOT SURPRISINGLY, THE garage didn't carry my tires. There wasn't even a mechanic on duty, just a kid fresh out of high school who "knew a lot about cars." He liked my bike, though. Liked Michael's car even better, and declared that he was definitely moving to Portland or Seattle next year, as if life in a big city came with keys to a sweet ride.
He called two other garages trying to get me a tire. Neither had one, but they recommended a bike shop in Vancouver. He called and they had one in stock and would hold it for me until they closed at seven.
"I'll give you a lift," Michael said as we drove off, leaving my bike behind the shop.
"You really are sorry, aren't you? No. We both have a case to work and you've already spent most of the day on a wild-goose chase."