“Sixteen hours?”
“Give or take an hour. I wasn’t watching the clock too closely, to tell you the truth.”
Bradley was dumbfounded. “You mean you just met him yesterday and already you’re sleeping with him? Are you crazy?”
She paused, the teacup halfway to her mouth, and just looked at him, not speaking.
“I don’t believe this,” he continued, oblivious to her sudden stillness. “You must be out of your mind.”
“But then, you’ve always wondered about that, haven’t you?” she asked, keeping her voice perfectly even.
He frowned. “Wondered about what?”
“Whether or not I was crazy. That’s why the thought of going to bed with me creeped you out, remember?”
He grimaced. “Damn it, Raine, don’t put words in my mouth.”
“The word creep came out of your mouth, not mine.”
“Look, you don’t hear voices.” His mouth thinned. “You just think you do. What you have is a natural gift for observing things at a crime scene that other people miss, that’s all.”
“I hear voices, Bradley,” she said flatly. “In some circles that’s a working definition of crazy.”
“That guy I found you with upstairs—”
“His name is Zack. Zack Jones.”
“Jones. You really told him that you hear voices?”
“Yes.”
Bradley looked at her with patent disbelief. “And he doesn’t have a problem with that?”
“Says it turns him on.”
“Something’s wrong with this picture.”
“Good-bye, Bradley. Good luck with the book.”
She hitched her purse over her shoulder and started to rise.
“Please.” The word sounded as if it had been ground out of him. “I need your help. This book is very important to me. If it works, I’ll be able to use it to leverage myself straight into the chief’s office. Hell, maybe I’ll go private.”
“Good luck,” she said, meaning it.
“You owe me,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He leaned a little farther toward her.
“I did you a favor a year and a half ago when you came to me with that wild story about a woman who was kidnapped and murdered by her husband, remember?” he said, his tone low and forceful. “Nobody else in the department was willing to give you the time of day. But I went into the old files and found one that matched the details you provided. I got the chief to authorize the DNA work. I tracked down the husband and got the confession.”
“And you got all the credit for closing the first in the long string of cold cases that will soon make you famous. I’d say we’re even, Bradley.”
“Shit. We should have kept the relationship professional. Why did you try to make it personal?”
She flinched a little and then managed to rally. “My mistake. I thought we were more than colleagues. I thought you understood—” She broke off. “Never mind. I take full responsibility for the failure to communicate. Now, I’ve got to go. Chief Langdon said the detectives from Portland and Seattle may want to interview me this morning. As soon as that’s over, I’m going back to Oriana. I’ve got a business to run.”
He reached up and grabbed her wrist. “Damn it, Raine, we’re a team.”
Zack materialized in the doorway. He started toward the table. She could feel the dangerous vibes from halfway across the room.
She looked pointedly at her captured wrist. “I think you’d better let me go,” she said quietly. “Now.”
Bradley finally noticed Zack coming toward him. Hastily he released her. His expression hardened.
“Wise up, Raine,” he said. “I don’t care if Jones knocked your socks off in bed. He didn’t just appear out of thin air. Whoever he is, he wants something from you, too, doesn’t he? And it isn’t just hot, sweaty sex.”
“That’s none of your business.”
Bradley was in full interrogation mode now.
“I can’t believe you met him yesterday,” he said. “What’s his connection to you?”
“I guess you could say he’s an old friend of the family.”
Fifteen
An hour later Zack leaned a shoulder against the inn room wall, folded his arms and watched Raine place a toiletries kit into her small overnight suitcase. She had looked different after that conversation in the dining room, he thought. She was back inside her safe zone.
“The interview with the detectives didn’t last long,” he said.
“Mostly because they weren’t interested in talking to me.” She zipped the small suitcase closed. “They’re too busy working the crime scene. Also, I got the feeling that Chief Langdon had warned them that I wasn’t quite right in the head.”
“Did he tell you when you could get back inside the house?”
“No, but it will probably be several days, at least.” She made a face. “For all the good it will do me to put it on the market now.”
“You never know. You might get some wack job of a buyer who will get a little thrill out of owning a genuine house of horror.”
“In Shelbyville?” She made a small, derisive sound. “Fat chance.”
“Well, at least you did a good job staying out of the limelight. This place is filled with reporters and camera crews. I counted two more news vans in the parking lot this morning. But no one is paying any attention to you.”
“Thank goodness.”
“According to the local morning paper, Spicer is getting the credit for rescuing the girl.”
“He’s welcome to it. Langdon probably finessed things to throw the spotlight his way.”
“What are you going to do about Mitchell?”
“Nothing, at least not right away.” She put on her raincoat.
“He’s not going to give up.”
“Probably not.” She took a last look around the room, checking to see if she had missed anything. “He thinks that the book Cutler wants to write will make his career.”
“He’s going to have a hard time maintaining his glittering track record without your help.”
“Bradley solved a lot of cases before he met me,” she said quietly. “He’s a good cop.”
“What did he say to you this morning that made you go back behind your barricades?”
She looked at him, eyes widening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He said nothing, waiting.
She gripped the handle of the suitcase very tightly. “Okay, he pointed out that my relationship with you had gone from zero to sixty in a very short length of time. He seemed to think that I had allowed myself to be seduced and that you probably wanted something from me other than hot, sweaty sex.”
He whistled softly. “Had a feeling that might be it. A comment like that would definitely account for the dimming of the postcoital glow.”
She flushed and stalked toward the door, suitcase in tow. “I’m leaving now. See you in Oriana.”
“You’ll see me in your rearview mirror.” He dropped his arms and straightened away from the wall. “I’ll be right behind you. Couple things before you leave.”
She paused at the door and regarded him with steady suspicion. “What?”
He moved closer and caught her chin on the edge of his hand.
“Mitchell was right,” he said. “I do want something from you.”
“I know.” She lifted her chin free of his hand. “But it’s okay because I’ve got an agenda, too.”
“You want to find out if your aunt was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“In other words, when it comes to using each other, we’re even,” he said.
“Right,” she agreed.
“The other thing you should remember,” he said deliberately, “is that the hot, sweaty sex came after we made our deal.”
She blinked twice, watching him cautiously through her dark lashes.
“So?” she said, her voice laced with subtle challenge.
/> “I didn’t go to bed with you in order to get you to cooperate. You had already agreed to help me because there was something in it for you. I went to bed with you because I wanted to have hot, sweaty sex with you. I was under the impression that you wanted to have hot, sweaty sex with me. Was I wrong?”
“No,” she said, cornered and defiant. “You’re not wrong. The hot, sweaty sex had nothing to do with our business arrangement.”
He kissed her quickly, before she could pull away.
“Glad we got that settled,” he said.
She stepped back, opened the door and moved out into the hall.
“But the more I think about it,” she said, speaking over her shoulder as she walked toward the stairs, “the more I agree with the old advice on the subject of mixing business with pleasure. It’s never a good idea.”
“Shows how much you know,” he said softly.
She pretended she hadn’t heard him and went down the stairs. But he knew she’d heard every word.
Sixteen
The witch hunter let himself into the room with the electronic lock pick. There was no real security at the Shelbyville B and B. No need for any. Until today the town had enjoyed a reputation for an almost imperceptible crime rate. It was one of the reasons he had chosen Shelbyville as home base for his most recent round of witch hunts.
The first time he saw the remote, tree-shrouded Tallentyre house at the end of the long, lonely lane he knew it was perfect for his purposes. It had belonged to a genuine witch. It was only fitting that it be used to destroy others of her kind. He had spent months making certain that it was safe for him to use. It had taken several more weeks to select the first witch to be punished in it. Now all his work had been wasted.
Like aunt, like niece. Clearly Raine Tallentyre had inherited her aunt’s dark powers. She, too, was a witch, the most powerful one he had yet encountered.
Rage poured through him, swamping every other sensation. In the blink of an eye the Tallentyre witch had ruined everything he had worked so hard to establish in Shelbyville. Now he would be forced to find a new location for his work.
But first he had to learn more about what he was up against. Raine Tallentyre was a threat he had never anticipated. She had to be destroyed but he must move cautiously. She was clearly very dangerous.
Fortunately, the girl he had put in the storage locker never saw his face. He always wore a ski mask when he went about his work. But the very fact that she had been found before her punishment was complete had jolted him badly. He assured himself again that she would not be able to tell the cops anything that would lead them to him. Nevertheless, for the first time in his career as a witch hunter, he was very worried. In the past he had always been able to count on the purifying effects of fire to destroy all the evidence.
After a long, sleepless night, however, he had finally understood. This was a test set by the demon.
He comprehended that his work would no longer be as easy as it had been in the past. He was moving to a new level of power and he would be hunting more powerful witches. He must be ready.
It was clear that Raine Tallentyre’s arrival in Shelbyville and her discovery of the captured witch was no accident. If he wanted to survive and grow stronger, he would have to prove to the demon that he was more powerful than Raine. He would have to hunt her and destroy her, just as he had hunted and destroyed all the lesser witches he had punished.
He stood quietly, looking around the small space. It had been a risk coming here today before the room had been cleaned but he needed something personal, an object that she would recognize when he began to hunt her. It was important that a witch knew fear before he came for her. He had discovered that satisfaction early on in his work. He sometimes spent weeks and months stalking them in order to make them afraid.
He prowled the room, searching for what he needed. He considered one of the pillowcases for a moment and then rejected it. He wanted something more interesting.
There was a damp washcloth on the towel rack in the bathroom, but it was a very ordinary white washcloth. There was nothing distinctive about it. She might not even recognize it. That wouldn’t do.
He hurried out of the bathroom. His eyes fell on the tea tray.
He reached down and picked up the delicately painted cup.
Perfect.
Later that afternoon he discovered to his horror just how much progress Langdon and the detectives from Portland and Seattle were making on the case. At the post office there were rumors of DNA and hair samples and even his precious photos. The stupid girl was remembering all sorts of things, things that could come back to haunt him.
Panic and rage roared through him. This was all the fault of the Tallentyre witch. He picked up the teacup and hurled it at the wall. The fragile china shattered.
Shaking, he went down on one knee to pick up the pieces.
Burn, witch…
Seventeen
I can’t believe you’re working on a case with someone from Jones & Jones,” Andrew said. He opened the oven door to check the paella.
“It’s not like I had much choice,” Raine said. “Not after he told me how that Arcane Society researcher showed up here in Oriana the same day that Aunt Vella died.”
The kitchen had been remodeled recently. It gleamed with the latest in high-tech appliances. The old countertops had been replaced with green granite and the cabinet doors were fitted with sparkling glass fronts.
No amount of superficial change could alter the feeling Raine got whenever she walked into the room. This was home. Although, growing up, she and Vella had lived across the street, the truth was that she had spent most of her time here, wrapping herself in the security and warmth that Andrew and Gordon provided. She had done her homework and learned to bake cookies in this kitchen.
She and Zack had arrived in Oriana a few hours before. The invitation to dinner had come as soon as she called Gordon to tell him what was going on.
“Bring him over for dinner tonight,” Gordon said.
“But you two are busy packing for that travel convention,” she reminded him. “You have to leave for the airport at five in the morning. You don’t want to entertain us tonight.”
“If you think we’re leaving town without checking out your Mr. Jones, think again.”
Zack had taken the summons to dinner with surprising equanimity. “They want to get a look at me. That’s what families do.”
Raine had experienced a little rush of pride and satisfaction when he said that. She had a family, just like he did. True, hers consisted of only two people, neither of whom shared any of her DNA, but that didn’t matter. The three of them were linked together with other kinds of bonds. Tonight her clan was circling the wagons, gathering protectively around her, sending a not-so-subtle message to Zack. Andrew and Gordon were making sure he knew that she was not alone, not vulnerable.
The saffron-scented aroma of the paella wafted out of the open oven. Raine sniffed appreciatively.
“Smells great,” she said.
“It’s coming along nicely.” Andrew closed the oven door. “The rice is almost done. Another ten minutes and I’ll toss in the shrimp and clams.”
In his late fifties, with a receding hairline, he was a neatly made man, trim and distinguished.
“I can’t believe that after all these years, J&J is suddenly interested in you,” he said.
“It’s not me they’re interested in,” she said. “All they care about is their missing researcher. They’re trying to track him down.”
“The way they tracked down your father?” Andrew said, his face grim.
“Yes.” She opened a drawer and took out a whisk. “They gave me a file to read. I have to admit that it does look like Dad was involved in some potentially dangerous research.”
“Doesn’t matter, Raine. J&J isn’t the FBI. It’s nothing more than a private investigation firm. It doesn’t have the legal authority to invade a man’s private property and destroy it.”
/>
“I know.”
“I just can’t see any way Vella’s death could be connected to that missing researcher. Not after all these years.”
“You have to admit it’s a little weird that he was here in town on that day.”
Andrew’s eyes tightened with disapproval and concern. “I don’t like any of this, Raine. Jones makes me very uneasy.”
“You don’t like him?” she asked, paying close attention because, although Andrew claimed no psychic gifts, he was an excellent judge of people.
“To be honest, I’m not sure what to make of him.” Andrew picked up the wineglass on the counter and took a sip of the expensive cabernet. He lowered the glass. “He’s not anything like Bradley, though, is he?”
“No.”
“I could tell that much just meeting him tonight. With Bradley, everything is on the surface. But Zack is a thousand miles deep. You only see what he wants you to see.” Andrew looked at her. “He’s a lot like you in that regard.”
Raine focused on whisking the rich balsamic vinegar into the pricey olive oil that Andrew insisted on using for everything from cooking to salad dressings.
“If I was a bad guy,” she said, thinking about it, “I wouldn’t want either one of them on my trail.”
“But of the two of them, which one would you worry about the most?”
Raine stopped whisking. “Okay, now that’s a strange question.”
“Got an answer?”
She shrugged. “I’d worry more about Zack.”
“Why?”
She tapped the whisk lightly against the bowl. “Probably because I know he wouldn’t quit, even if the trail went cold on him. Bradley would be more pragmatic. He’d cut his losses and go look for some other bad guy.”
“I got the same impression.” Andrew exhaled slowly. “I’ll tell you something, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Even though I’m suspicious of Zack’s reasons for contacting you, I must admit I think we all owe him.”