Night of the Raven (12 page)

After a last look around the property, McVey secured the manor and they headed back to Hannah’s wing.

“Power’s out,” he noted halfway across the yard. “All the lights on the lower floor were burning when we left.”

“I didn’t see a generator in any of the sheds,” Brigham shouted forward.

“There was nothing in the barn, either,” Amara called back.

Leaning into the house, McVey tried the light switches. When nothing happened, he flipped his jacket collar up and came back out. “With our mystery man still at large, this could turn into a hell of a long night.”

“We’ve got gens.” Brigham’s surly tone told Amara quite clearly that he didn’t want to take them anywhere near the raven tamers’ camp. “I’ll need some assurances first, though, McVey.”

“Only assurance you’re getting is that I’m not Ty.”

Brigham’s teeth appeared, but not in the form of a smile. “Makes two of us. Grab your gear and let’s roll. Camp’s a fair hike away.”

They walked single file with Amara in the middle. Lightning continued to flicker. Thunder rumbled behind it and the rain just kept on falling.

Amara knew she should be worried about Willy Sparks, but all she could think about was Hannah’s vacuous expression, her glassy eyes and, of course, the dried blood.

Whether he’d let it show or not, Uncle Lazarus would be upset. She was upset, and she hadn’t known the woman.

The north woods went on forever. Although she worked out five days a week at a New Orleans fitness center, negotiating rocky paths that climbed, dipped, tilted and often vanished altogether made Amara’s legs feel like rubber bands. Wherever they were going, she figured they would have crossed at least one state border before they arrived.

Gradually a sprinkling of lights came into view. As they descended into an odd-shaped clearing, trailers of various sizes, ages and states of disrepair took shape. If any permanent structures existed, Amara couldn’t see them. Prepared for the worst, and with McVey close behind her, she trailed Brigham to an outlying RV.

“Mine,” he said, yanking the battered door open. “Go in, stay in. I’ll come for you in the morning. Door locks. I’d use it. Your cell phones’ll probably work. We pirate three satellite television stations. Best one plays old movies 24/7. There’s food in the cupboards. Sorry about Hannah, Amara. Sleep well.”

When he was gone, Amara looked around. Man space, she decided. Single man’s space, with clothes and dishes scattered, furniture duct taped and every surface dusty, except for a forty-year-old television that still had a channel dial and a chair with raven-wing arms that sat directly in front of it.

“Not bad,” McVey remarked over her shoulder. “Good, actually, as it’s off the beaten path.”

“Way off, McVey, and a lot more beaten than any of the paths we took to get here. The word
dump
springs to mind.”

He moved past her. “As long as the word
grateful
is close behind it.”

“Oh, I’m grateful. Not entirely sure we’ll be allowed to leave, but happy not to be spending the night with no power and the prospect of a run-in with the homicidal hit man who apparently followed us across Bellam Bridge.”

“Always good to think positive, Red.”

She touched a set of raven wind chimes above the TV and offered him a smile. “Also, I’m related to these people and theoretically safe from harm—on the off chance that the tales about the raven tamers turn out to be true.”

McVey stowed their packs next to a lopsided sofa. “I’ll have to hope my badge will be enough to get me out in one piece. And the fact that, while I did shoot Brigham, I didn’t kill him.”

Amara hung their rain gear on a wobbly rack, looked at the kitchen and decided she was hungry enough to check it out.

“How did Hannah die, McVey?”

“I don’t think Willy Sparks had anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re asking. Beyond that, her death will have to be investigated.”

“Along with that second bag of coffee beans you mentioned this morning?”

“I had Jake send both bags and the brewed sample off to the county lab for analysis. Bases covered, Amara.”

She opened a cupboard and, standing back, stared in astonishment. “Seriously. Brigham has soup. In cans.”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Well, duh, McVey. Look around—metaphorically speaking. Not a store in sight. I’d expect people living in such a remote area to grow herbs and vegetables, raise chickens—you know, make homemade soups, pickles and other off-the-beaten-path things.”

“Maybe they’re too busy teaching ravens to do tricks to worry about pickling and preserving. Anyway, I like food that comes in cans.”

“That’s very sad.” She opened the fridge. “Okay, now, this is more what I expected. Self-bottled beer, mason jars with not-sure-what inside, and something that looks like brownies.”

“Ones that’ll give you a wicked case of the munchies.”

Laughing, Amara closed the door and leaned back against it. “When I was a kid, Nana and my aunt—Uncle Lazarus’s sister, Maureen—used to encourage me to get in touch with my Bellam side. I don’t mean cast spells or brew potions...”

“Although your uncle Lazarus could present a case for the casting of spells.”

“I doubt he actually thought I’d bewitched him. He just found the coincidence funny. Anyway, the point is, I got as far as being able to sense things. I’m not sure how to say this so I don’t come out sounding crazy, but sometimes I could sense life, or the lack of it, in a place.”

“You’re talking about Bellam Manor and Hannah, aren’t you?”

“There was no life inside the house, McVey. Not anywhere. Spiders don’t count. Human-wise, the whole place felt—dead.”

He crouched to rummage through a metal container. “You don’t have to sell me on your Bellam ancestry, Red. I’m open to a fair number of beliefs. And lifestyles for that matter.”

“Right. Because you weren’t always a cop.”

He met her questioning gaze with an unfathomable one of his own. “Were you always a doctor?”

“No, but I always wanted to be one.”

“So you could make people prettier?”

“In a way.” Just not the one he thought. “Talk to me about how you knew the knife guy in the days before you were a cop, McVey.”

“I knew a lot of people in those days.” He pulled a bottle from the container, blew off a layer of dust. “Raven’s blood wine?”

“I don’t see a label, so probably. How did you know him?”

He met her eyes again. “If I said the truth might shake your faith in me, would you let it go?”

A smile tugged on her lips. Circling around behind him, she set her hands on his shoulders and bent to whisper in his ear, “I’m in an RV that belongs to a raven tamer, McVey. There are stories about raven tamers that would send squeamish people like Jake’s brother, Jimbo, under their beds for a week. Brigham’s the only tamer I know, and I suspect he’s considered affable. Hannah’s dead, this storm’s not moving on and we all saw someone creeping around the manor. Someone who, like us, could be stranded on this side of Bellam Bridge. There’s a better than excellent chance that person is Willy Sparks. I believe you can and will deal with him, because dealing with criminals is your job. So, really, short of telling me you used to be a mass murderer, there’s not a whole lot you can say about your past that’ll shake my faith in you.”

He turned his head just enough for her to see his expression. She couldn’t read it, of course, but that was nothing new.

“I told you I was a foundling, Amara. What I didn’t tell you is that the people who took me in were part of a smuggling operation.”

“Part of a— Really?” She leaned farther around him. “Are you serious?”

“It was a small business, salvage items and minor artifacts from Central America. No drugs or weapons. My father had an antiques shop. My mother was his bookkeeper. I harangued them into letting me be their go-between. Everything was fine until my mother died. I was seventeen at the time. Two years later my father’s heart gave out. He knew he wasn’t going to make it, so he wrangled a promise from me. He wanted me to give up the life and get out before the business got out of hand. I told him I would, and I kept my word.”

“You became a cop.”

“Yep.”

“And then?”

A smile ghosted over his mouth. “Still wearing a badge here, Red.”

“Yes, but it’s a Raven’s Cove badge.”

“What, you want me to quit and let Jake take over?”

And now they were back to evasion.

“At the risk of sounding repetitive, where does the guy with the knife enter the picture?”

He considered for a moment while lightning flickered and fading peals of thunder echoed through the woods. “His name’s Westor Hall,” he said at length. “After my mother died, my father let himself be talked into expanding the business. Stakes got higher, more people got involved. Westor’s sister, his father and two uncles were part of the expansion. Westor’s sister died a few months ago. He thinks I turned her in. He wants to get even with me.”

“So why was he holding a knife on me?”

“He saw us together. He won’t hurt you, Amara. He likes to threaten, even role-play to some extent, but he’s no killer. All he really wants to do is tell you about my sordid past.”

“Ah. So he thinks...?” She moved a finger between them.

“It’s how his mind works. You’re a beautiful woman, you’re with me, you must care.”

A laugh tickled her throat. “What an intriguing line of reasoning.” Unable to resist, she angled herself toward him. Close up, in a close space, with rain drumming on the metal roof and the windows of the RV steaming up, she suddenly found herself wanting to touch.

Somewhere inside, she knew she’d been struggling with these feelings since he’d tackled her in her grandmother’s kitchen. Now here they were, all alone—well, more or less alone—in the mysterious north woods, and that struggle had become an all-out war.

She skimmed a suggestive finger over his jaw. “Tell me, McVey, just how perceptive is Westor?”

He curled the fingers of both hands lightly around her arms. “You don’t want to start something with me, Amara. I can handle being a cop, but in every other way that matters, I’m a crappy risk.”

The heat inside her cooled a little, but she held on to her smile. “Oh, good. So the wedding’s off. Because right at the top of my to-do list was the task of seducing the new Raven’s Cove police chief. Seduce, have sex, plan a relationship with, then ensnare for a lifelong commitment. After all, McVey, we’ve known each other a whole twenty-four hours now.”

“Amara...”

“I’m not angry.” But she was something, and seduction no longer played into it. She pushed at one of his hands. “I’m not upset either, or not very, which surprises me because I have a temper. Insulted, though. I’m definitely that. And I promise you, in about five seconds, if you don’t let go of me, I’ll work my way up to slapping your face.”

“Look, you’ve been through a lot...”

“Yes, I have.” Now she plucked his hands free one at a time. “So much so that, using typical male logic, you’ve decided I’m scared. Worse, you think I’m on the verge of throwing myself into your arms, and when I do, you’ll feel obliged to protect me, because...well, hey, helpless female.” Her eyes chilled. “I’m not Yolanda, McVey. And, yes, I know that sounds catty. It
is
catty, which must mean I’m more upset than I realized. So my mistake for starting this, and now is really not a good time to touch me.”

His expression took on a suspicious edge. “Are you hysterical?”

She closed her eyes before giving in to a humorless laugh. “I’d say I have every right to be, but I’m not. I’m—” she spread her fingers “—no idea, actually. Irritated, I suppose. Frustrated.”

“Mentally, emotionally or sexually?”

Her next laugh was genuine. “Okay, we are not having this conversation, right? Because, honest to God, it’s way too zigzaggy for me. You say we can’t start anything, yet you want to know if I’m sexually frustrated. If I say yes or even maybe—square one. So I guess no would be the appropriate— What are you doing?”

“Something I don’t often do, Red.” He slid the fingers of his right hand from the side around to the back of her neck. Keeping his eyes on hers, he pulled her slowly forward. “I’m changing my mind.”

She refused to be tempted. Or amused. But she did meet his eyes and fist the front of his shirt. “What you said before was valid, McVey. This shouldn’t happen. I have stuff, too. A past. Baggage. An ex who expected me to fall in line with his plans.”

“I don’t expect.” As he eased in closer, anticipation pulsed through her. “All I want is for you to do the same.”

“I never expect.” Because his mouth was almost on hers and, hello, this was what she’d wanted all along, Amara relaxed. It was only a kiss after all.

His thumb stroked the sensitive skin below her ear. Then suddenly his hand was in her hair, his mouth was covering hers and everything inside her flipped upside down.

A single word flashed in her head.
Trouble.
It repeated, over and over again, the same word.

And it had nothing to do with Jimmy Sparks’s hit man.

* * *

M
C
V
EY HADN’T MEANT
to start anything, but now that he had, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think beyond the raging force of his needs.

One taste of her and he was hungry for more. Hell, he was ravenous. One touch and his brain shut down. He hadn’t given up this much control since he was sixteen—more than half a lifetime ago. He’d grown jaded with time, cynical with experience—and rock hard in every possible way.

Her lips and hands yanked him right to the edge of his restraint. All he could think about was more. Of her. Of everything.

His tongue ravaged her mouth while his fingers teased the curve of her breasts.

“McVey...” She said his name as his lips slid over her jaw.

“Busy here, Red.”

“I hear—music, I think.”

He heard blood pounding in his head. And rain. Maybe thunder.

The pounding grew more insistent. From within it came a voice. And finally he heard the music, too.

Grasping her arms, he dragged his mouth free, swore and held them both still. “That’s your phone, isn’t it?”