Heart of the Witch (23 page)

Nick stood, ready to leave. "Maybe it'll come to you later," he said. But he didn't believe it. He couldn't deny she had some kind of weird ability, but the psychic voodoo bullshit was a bit much.

He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out his keys. When he did, a baggie fell to the ground. Inside was the capsule he'd found at the cabin the first time he went. "Ah, hell. Forgot about that."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. A thought occurred to him. "There's a pharmacy inside, right? On the ground floor?"

Ravyn nodded.

"Come on."

They went back inside, and this time Nick didn't feel any sickening sensations. The pharmacy sat in the lobby area, far away from the rooms where people went to die.

A pretty young woman with copper-colored hair smiled from behind the high counter. "Can I help you?"

Nick handed her the baggie. "Can you tell me what this is? What it's prescribed for?"

She studied the pill through the plastic. "I'll be right back."

She stepped behind a row of shelves, and Nick heard her voice, along with the deep rumble of a man. In a few moments, she reappeared.

"This is Neoral. It's a form of cyclosporine. The most common use is in treatment after a kidney, liver or heart transplant to prevent tissue rejection. It's also used to treat the symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis or psoriasis." She handed the pill back to Nick, who took it and thanked her.

"Where did it come from?" Ravyn asked as they stepped outside once more.

"I believe it came from the killer." It wasn't a huge lead, but it was something. They could deduce that he had arthritis, psoriasis, or someone else's organs.

About six feet beyond the hospital doors, Ravyn felt an inexplicable pull and looked down at the ground. A child's baseball cap lay on the sidewalk, and she knelt to pick it up. As soon as she touched the brim, a tremor of electricity moved through her body. She gripped the hat so tightly in her hands that she nearly crushed the bill.

Not the boy's father
, she heard—no,
felt
. Images flashed, slamming into her consciousness. She squeezed her eyes closed and let them come.

The hospital lobby
—
she could see it as clearly as she had a few moments ago, when she'd been inside. A man striding past the information desk, carrying a small boy. She couldn't so much see the man as she could sense him. But she could see the child in heart-pounding clarity. He was maybe four or five years old. His round cheeks were mottled and wet with tears. His pudgy hands shoved against the man's shoulders, his up' per body straining to push himself away. An Atlanta Braves ball cap sat askew on his thick blond hair
.

"I want my mommy!" The boy's wails were punctuated by breathless gasps as he struggled.

"Mommy's at work, son. We're going to pick her up now." The man cast a long-suffering look at the receptionist, and she responded with an empathetic smile. The cap lost its precarious perch just after the pair exited the hospital.

"Not his father," Ravyn choked out, her voice strangled, her throat raw.

"What?"

Nick had spoken, but his words barely cut through the vision that had her firmly in its grip. The last of the images assailing Ravyn was a black, extended-cab Tacoma truck with tinted windows exiting the parking lot. Her gaze snapped to Nick. "Let's go."

"Where? What the hell—?"

She wasn't listening. She rushed toward his Mustang, not bothering to see if Nick followed.

Two patrol cars pulled into the parking lot. Had someone called about a kidnapping? If she went to them, explained what she'd seen, they either wouldn't believe her or would keep her here too long, asking questions, further prolonging the time the boy was in danger. She couldn't take that risk.

Nick caught up to her and took hold of her arm, turning her to face him. His gaze locked onto hers, trapping her with that inscrutable blue intensity. "What's going on?" he demanded.

She felt fear in the back of her throat but spoke past it. "I can't explain. Please, if I take the time, it will break my connection. Please, just trust me. A child's in trouble."

Confusion, then skepticism, flickered across his features. "Look, this is…" He stopped. Perhaps something in her expression convinced him. He shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh. His grip on her arm loosened, and his hand slid down to so he could grasp her fingers. "Come on," he ground out between gritted teeth. Then, tugging on her hand, he led her to his car.

Sorry motherfucker
. Jay slammed a fist into his thigh. He'd been watching them—watching her and had seen
him
. Too many times. And now he'd seen them together at the hospital. His hospital. Not the one where he worked, but his just the same. He watched from inside his car as the asshole opened the door for Ravyn, then climbed in on the driver's side.

The Mustang exited the parking lot, but Jay remained where he was. No need to follow them. He'd already checked around, and he knew who the man was. Knew what he was up to, too. It was Nick Lassiter, PI. Helping a damsel in distress.

The sonofabitch had come closer than the stupid-ass cops ever would, and he couldn't have that. Lassiter was good—or he had been at one time. Yes, Jay had found out everything he could about Superhero Lassiter. The pig had sported an impressive record while on the force. Of course, he'd turned to shit since then, so why did Lassiter think he could bring him down? He was the Tin Man. He was invincible.

But something had to be done. Lassiter was getting too close. He was also spending way too much time with Ravyn. Anyone who knew a damn thing about any of this should know that Ravyn belonged to
him
.

Still, the thought of bringing Lassiter down made Jay nervous. Not only had he never killed a man, he'd never even had a physical confrontation with one.

Nervous, my ass, you little fairy. You're
afraid.
You're the same little chicken-shit mouse you always were
.

Jay sucked in a quick breath and clamped his hands over his ears. "Go away!" he shouted, his eyes tightly closed as he rocked back and forth.

He was so busy shutting out his mother's voice that he almost missed the other: the voice he'd grown to count on. The voice that would bring him all his greatest desires, bring him power and glory.

You don't have to get close in order to kill him
, it suggested.

"I don't?" Haleck's words squeaked out of him as if he were the mouse his mother accused him of being.

You can do a lot of damage and be nowhere close to your victim, my friend.

Jay took the voice's meaning. He sat up straight and gripped the steering wheel of his car, excitement and apprehension battling inside him. "Explosives? I don't know anything about explosives."

I'll help you.

Jay smiled and wiped away his tears. "Yes, you will," he realized in a whisper. "Yes, you will."

Ravyn's method of giving him directions was kind of creeping Nick out. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes squeezed shut, hands clasped in her lap, knuckles white with the effort. She would say things like "Turn right at the next stop sign." And "You need to speed up a little, or we'll get caught by a train." Just seconds after the Mustang crossed a set of railroad tracks, the arms lowered for the approaching train.

Not long after that, she said, "Slow down, there's a cop a few miles up the road."

When they cruised past the patrol car, going a few miles under the speed limit, Nick said, "When are you going to—?"

She held up her left hand like a traffic cop, effectively silencing his words.

She directed him to a middle-class neighborhood and instructed him to stop in front of a brick house with white siding. A black, extended-cab truck was parked in the driveway. Before Nick could shut off the ignition, Ravyn was jerking the door open and bolting from the car.

He didn't know why they were here or what she was getting him into, but he must have trusted her, because he followed, catching up just before she reached the door. He expected her to knock, but instead she twisted the knob. Locked.

"Do you really think you should—?" Nick began.

She shushed him again, and he wondered if he was going to be able to complete even one sentence today. He opened his mouth to try once more but stopped when he heard crying coming from inside the house. A child.

She vigorously jiggled the knob. Even though Nick was certain it had been locked, now the door swung open. Not knowing what else to do, he followed her inside.

The deserted living room was neat and clean—not a sign of anything amiss. But the cries of a child could be heard, growing louder until a man holding a squirming and crying little boy beneath one arm approached from a hallway off the side.

"What the hell are you doing?" the man demanded. He was in his early thirties, with short, well-groomed hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.

"Release the child," Ravyn said.

"Who are you? What do you think you're doing in my home? Get out now, before I call the police."

"Ravyn," Nick whispered. "I don't know what you're doing, but—"

"I said, release the child," Ravyn demanded, her gaze on the man, not acknowledging Nick. "We both know you're not going to call the police."

The man's confident expression wavered. He reached behind him with his right hand, retrieved a .38 from his waistband. He swung it around and held it against the boy's head. Nick tensed, knowing he didn't have time to pull his own weapon without further endangering the child.

Ravyn remained calm. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You should drop the gun and release the boy."

The man laughed, his eyes now wild with fear or insanity. Or both. "I'll waste him, I promise. Get the fuck—"

A blue flash lit the room, and Nick felt a jolt of electricity. Shock held him immobile, suspended for a moment in disbelief, his mind trying to assimilate what was happening. Before he could, the kidnapper emitted a pain-filled, feminine shriek. He released his gun, which clattered to the floor, and the hand that had held it bent outward at an unnatural angle.

The man let the child slide to the ground and dropped to his knees, cradling his hand. His face was contorted in pain, and he gave a keening, high-pitched wail. "What did you do to me?" he screeched.

Ravyn ignored him, moving instead to pick up the child.

Nick grabbed the man's gun, feeling a surreal wonder, still not sure what had taken place.

"Call the police," Ravyn instructed him. She kept cooing and stroking the child's head until his sobs subsided.

Nick could barely contain himself while the police questioned him and Ravyn. Although he was anxious to ask Ravyn a few questions of his own, it took hours before the police were satisfied and let them leave.

As it turned out, the mother had been visiting a friend at the hospital. She'd left her son in the waiting area "for only a minute" while she'd gone to the ladies' room. When she returned, he'd vanished. The man who had taken him was Victor Worburton, a registered sex offender who'd served time for sexual battery with injury of a child under twelve. He'd been released from prison six months earlier.