Raven's Cove - Jenna Ryan (18 page)

Jasmine slid her arms around his neck. “Costello said you were attracted to me at the safe house. Why did he know that and I didn’t?”

“Because he’s a guy, and you’re not.”

“Yes, well, as happy as I am that you noticed the difference, what does being a guy have to do with my question?”

“Not going to give me another break here, are you?”

“Limit of one per day. Sorry.”

“He saw me watching Dukes watching you.”

A regretful sigh escaped. “I used to love teddy bears.”

“I love horses. Doesn’t mean one of them won’t kick you in the face from time to time. Or want to.”

“Dukes was out in the toolshed when Wainwright’s men attacked the safe house. He emptied two ammunition clips before they got to him.”

“A guy can drool over a woman and still be a good cop, Jasmine. I’m living proof.”

“Thank you—I think.” Frustration colored her tone. “Really, though, how is it possible I missed so much?”

“I figured, and Dukes probably did, too, that you might still be in love with your ex.”

An incredulous laugh bubbled up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I got there, eventually. It also crossed my mind that we were a bunch of sex-deprived men, spending all our days and nights looking at, but not being able to touch, a beautiful woman. Costello could handle it, the rest of us had a bit more trouble. I know for a fact that Victor took cold showers morning and night.”

“Now, how would you know that for a fact?”

“Carla told me.”

“If Carla told you, it’s because Carla wanted you, and any kind of inane conversation worked as a jumping-off—and I mean that literally—point.”

A smile ghosted around the corners of his mouth. “Interesting how we managed to know what everyone else wanted, but never let each other see what we wanted.”

She moved her hips against him. “That was a confusing statement, Lieutenant, so I’ll come back at you with this. Why are we standing outside a smoking building talking about sex when we could be back at Blume House having it?”

His glinting gaze dropped to her lips then rose up. “No idea. But if you need a comeback for your comeback, pretty sure I’ve got one that’ll work for both of us.”

* * *

T
HEY MADE LOVE IN THE
claw-foot tub. Which led to making love against the bathroom wall, and finally in the tangled sheets of Rogan’s bed.

Was it possible to make sound emotional decisions with so many hormones bouncing around inside her? Jasmine wondered. She didn’t want to love Rogan, but she did. She always would. The question was, should she tell him about it?

Dressed in fresh jeans and a deep rose cami, she was studying her reflection at the vanity when Rogan appeared behind her. Setting his cheek next to hers, he regarded her via a century-old mirror. “You look very cat with a canary right now. Should I be worried?”

“No more than I am about you looking very cop with a bone.” She widened her eyes. “Intense, Rogan. Like your body’s here, but your mind’s somewhere else. Or is it that your mind has the capacity to be in ten different places at once, and I’m too distracted to notice that when we’re having incredible sex.”

“Only incredible?”

She gave his too-long hair a flick with her brush. “Sounds like you’ve got the canary
and
the bone.”

But when his dark eyes sparkled and his lips grazed the side of her neck, she tipped her head to the side and savored the slow slide from flowing warmth to searing heat.

The sound of something scratching started at the periphery of her brain. It might have matched her heartbeat for a moment. Eventually, however, it took on a life of its own and had both of them looking at the door.

Her bedroom door, Jasmine thought, and felt desire turn into dread.

With his shirt untucked, Rogan slipped his gun from the back of his jeans, shook his head for quiet and, crossing the floor, set a hand on the lever.

As if cued, the scratching stopped.

Rogan didn’t hesitate. Drawing his gun, he opened the door, glanced right and took off.

Jasmine ran to the threshold in time to see him disappear around the corner. “It’s like being with Batman,” she muttered.

Tapping a restless hand against the jamb, she glanced into her room. And, to her shock, spied not one but two black feathers attached to the outside of the door.

They were the last things she saw before everything around her went black.

Chapter Fourteen

There was someone ahead of him. Rogan could hear him running, but there was always another corner, which meant another chance for the runner to escape.

He’d have called it a farce if a thought hadn’t slammed into him at the sixth corner and brought him to a full, swearing stop.

Boris! He was still with Costello. Jasmine had insisted on it until such time as the older cop agreed to abandon his woodland campsite.

Cursing out loud now, Rogan swung back. He’d barely made the first turn when the lights went out.

Damn old houses to hell and back. Now he’d have to feel his way through the maze.

He called to Jasmine before he reached the last corner. When she didn’t respond, he hoped—prayed, actually—that she’d locked herself in her room and hadn’t followed him or gone looking for Boxman.

He called to her again, heard something ahead and raised his gun.

He didn’t expect to walk right into someone, or for that someone to take a swing at him.

“It’s me.” He blocked a set of fingernails with his forearm before they gouged his face. “Riese, it’s me—Rogan.”

Fortunately, the lights chose that moment to flutter back on. Riese collapsed weakly against the wall, a hand pressed to her stomach. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“You know you gave Jasmine and me rooms up here, right?” He bypassed her, moving to Jasmine’s door. When his eyes landed on the feathers, his stomach muscles cinched.

“I came looking for my—” Riese halted. “Those are feathers. Two of them. On Jasmine’s door.”

Rogan shoved it open, searched, set Riese aside and ran back into the corridor.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow his emotions to screw him up. He needed to stay a cop and think, reason it out. Had she been taken, or had she seen the feathers and taken off?

He barely noticed Riese running along behind him. “What’s going on, Rogan? The raven’s tale is a legend. At the very least, it’s ancient history. My Hezekiah’s not the real deal.”

“I know. Quiet.”

She closed her mouth, but got a hand on his shirt.

He heard something, a small sound, coming from a point to his right.

“What’s behind those doors?” he asked Riese.

“A ton of cobwebs mostly. That section of the house has been closed up since before I was born. I was told the rooms are small and— What are you doing? The doors are locked. You won’t… You will. You did.” Her finger crooked back. “But you shouldn’t have been able to.” She crept forward. “Did someone break the lock?”

“Picked it.” He let one of the doors creak open and his eyes adjust. “Any light switches nearby?”

She gave her head a bemused shake before catching hold of him again.

Behind them, the lights flared and faded to half power.

“Wesley screwed up the main,” she whispered. “My cousin’s looking at the panel in the cellar.” Her grip tightened. “God, this area’s ickier than the old house. But there’s a switch.” She clicked it and one of three overheads actually lit.

Crouching, Rogan examined several long streaks on the dusty floor. He listened and heard a faint but discernible creak.

Riese leaned in deeper. “Floor or door?”

Rogan shook his head, pushed his senses forward.

The corridor forked numerous times. Luckily, Riese found more switches. Only a few of the overheads worked, but he wasn’t prepared to return for a flashlight.

He’d kick himself over mistakes made when he had Jasmine back. Right now he needed to find her before the murderer did what three black feathers promised he would.

If he hurt her, Rogan thought darkly, only one promise would matter. The one he’d already made to himself involving the killer’s body and how many pieces it would be in.

* * *

J
ASMINE SURFACED FROM A SEA
of nothing to a semi-aware state where she seemed to be floating outside her own body. Very weird.

Wings flapped all around her, while ravens—it could only be ravens—croaked hoarsely overhead.

Then, as if it was all a dream, the sound receded, her mind tilted and blessed silence slipped back in to consume her.

The next time she woke, there was no sound at all. No light, either, she realized, and absolutely no indication of where she might be or how long she’d been there.

Some kind of scratchy fabric covered her, and she felt a plank floor below. But why was she was lying on it, and how had she gotten here?

The lights had gone out, she remembered that. Then someone had slapped a cloth to her face and—nothing.

“Jasmine…” The creepy voice came from her right and momentarily stalled her breathing. But sliding under again wouldn’t get her out of here, so she controlled her fear and experimented with her arm. When she found she could move it, she very carefully tested her other limbs.

“Wake up, sleeping Jasmine, and talk to me.”

Part of her knew she should be much more frightened than she was, but for some reason, it was relatively easy to beat back the terror. Her mind kept hazing over, and she couldn’t seem to hold a thought, good or bad.

“Where am I?” was the raspy best she could manage.

“Impressive,” the voice congratulated. “You’ve regained consciousness very quickly. Now, be a smart girl and don’t move anything except your right hand. Feel the cloth bag next to you? Your phone’s inside. Well, not your phone, but
a
phone. Do you have it?”

“Yes.” She worked through the haze, endeavored to get her bearings. Another minute and she might be able to push herself up.

“Did you see the gift I left on your door?”

The fear sneaked in a little further. “Yes, I saw it.”

“Do you also remember that I said you were going to suffer?”

Her heart started to pound. “I remember.” The haze was evaporating rapidly now, taking with it her false sense of calm.

“You sound more alert. Are you?”

“Not— No,” she lied.

Gathering her strength, she made it to her knees. The scratchy thing covering her was a blanket. She let the edges fall back and tried to see. But all she encountered was more blackness. Why was everything always black?

“If you’re moving around, Jasmine, I really wouldn’t. Abrupt motion could startle your roommates, and should that happen, you might find yourself bleeding rather profusely.”

Her chest constricted into a ball of dread. But she took the murderer’s advice and stopped moving.

She had to think. Shove the nightmare away and make her mind work. She’d heard birds the first time she’d woken up. Pretty sure she had. In Raven’s Cove, birds equaled ravens. The murderer wanted her to suffer. Would scaring her half to death by locking her in a room with five or six big black birds qualify as suffering?

If they attacked her with beaks and claws, yes, it definitely would.

She breathed through the panic.
Escape first,
she told herself.
Then panic.

“You’ve gone quiet,” the voice taunted. “Are you wondering how you got into such a predicament? Should I explain, or let you keep looking in the wrong direction?”

“You’re not Cyrus.”

“That would be the easy answer. It would also be the wrong one. Cyrus is alive. I’ve told you several times, I’m not. I’m a dead man, Jasmine.”

Okay, he had to be talking metaphorically.

“You said I’d see you very soon,” she continued with care. “Have I seen you?”

“In one sense, yes. In another, no. Certainly you haven’t seen the real me.”

The word
monster
sprang to mind. “The face at the window. The mask. That’s what it represented, isn’t it? The you you keep hidden from the world. Your inner face.”

“I’ve gotten very good at hiding it, too, because as you see, I’ve managed to confound more than one quite excellent cop.”

“What did I do to you?” she whispered. “What did any of the people you’ve killed do to you? What did Daniel do?”

“Daniel!” Even computer-altered, the tone had a venomous bite. “He started it, Jasmine. His interference led to you and me having this conversation. It led to you being here and to me fighting for my life.”

“What does that mean?”

The voice tensed. “It means,” he snapped, “that one of us is going to die, and I promise you, it won’t be me. Three feathers, Jasmine, as per the raven’s tale.” A laugh gurgled out. “I hope you don’t mind a few birds.”

She heard a pop behind her, like a firecracker, followed by a ticking sound. She thought, bomb, threw off the blanket and climbed dizzily to her feet.

A second later, the room exploded.

* * *

“
J
ASMINE!”

She barely heard Rogan calling her name above the frantic flapping of wings and the raucous cries of birds.

She hated to think how long it would have taken her to find the door or what might have happened if it hadn’t burst open, letting light and air and Rogan inside.

She launched herself at him with sufficient force to knock most men off their feet. Rogan merely absorbed the blow, swung her into the corridor and dragged the door closed.

“Ravens!” She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “He locked me in a room full of ravens.” She shook off the sensation of wings batting her, but only until Rogan’s arms tightened, and she realized the ordeal was over.

“You’re all right,” he promised. “They’re gone.”

A kiss helped. An encore of angry ravens didn’t.

“Sorry.” Riese closed the door she’d inched back open. “Hezekiah and his brothers, they’re my pets. I want to make sure some homicidal dick brain isn’t using them to—you know.”

Jasmine slipped into the shirt Rogan stripped off and draped over her. To her amazement, she had only a handful of nicks on her arms and none of them were deep. She grabbed Rogan’s wrist when he started toward the room.