Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (6 page)

The lake was just as empty as it had been when I discovered it, the surface still as glass.

Almost as if I’d imagined the whole thing.

Gulping down breaths, I shook my head and leaned my hands on my knees for a moment to get my bearings, hoping I hadn’t somehow lost my mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw one of the tree shadows waver a little over the lake. Laughter began to echo across the water.

“Go ahead, try to run, Silver Spoon,” a voice called from somewhere in the twilight. “Where the hell do you think you’re gonna hide?”

My feet drummed beneath me in the dark woods, and even though I’d thrown on my freezing cold and wet Pinnacle uniform in a rush, I still felt like my lungs had caught on fire. All around me were crooked silhouettes cast by the moonlight that I swear looked like those creepy trees from
T
h
e
W
i
z
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r
d
o
f
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. I half expected flying monkeys to zip by, when suddenly I heard an owl’s hoot that scared me so badly I had to stop in my tracks to keep from tripping. Regaining my balance, I swiveled on my heels and glanced up to search the evening sky. Where, oh where, was that outside light for Turtle Shores? Just minutes ago it was shining as bright as daylight above the trees. What kind of total idiot would turn it off at night? Unless—

Unless—

Stalker Guy shot it out on purpose with a slingshot . . . or something deadlier?

All of a sudden, my mind began swimming with horror film images, picturing my body strewn in pieces on the forest floor . . .

Stop it, Robin! I ordered myself. Don’t cave in to fear. If that guy wanted to kill you, he probably would’ve done it by now. So why didn’t he, what does he want?

To scare the crap out of me?

Check. He aced that one.

To make me run in circles so he can laugh his ass off?

Check, he’s got that covered, too.

To follow me around and play mind games till he figures out how I got the money from the bank?

Bingo!

Pardon the pun, bingo lady, I thought, resuming my brisk pace through the woods. But if I have any brains whatsoever, I’d face the fact that Stalker Guy is probably watching me right now. Watching me and waiting patiently so that he can . . .

Light my way home?

What the—

To my astonishment, I’d stumbled upon a clearing where there was a long row of illuminated, white paper sacks. Each one had a little candle in it, creating a warm glow that struck me as . . .

Enchanting.

I gasped, my hands rising to my cheeks like a little girl, as if I’d discovered a secret fairy glen. The lanterns were so simple, yet lovely, that I felt goose bumps alight on my skin. In the stillness of the forest, with only the sounds of crickets for company, the sight seemed almost—

Sacred.

Each soft light reminded me of the pretty votives that flickered beneath the gothic angel statues in the chapel back at Pinnacle. A bit wary, I took a couple of steps closer, only to realize that the lanterns had been strategically placed to shed light on where the TNT Twins’ traps were, so I wouldn’t fall in. If I followed them, I might find my way back to my trailer in no time.

Or, Stalker Guy could be there waiting for me at the end of the line.

Don’t be stupid! I scolded myself. You don’t know what this guy’s up to, and you don't want to lead him anywhere near your dad, so you’d better
n
o
t
do what he expects.

Swallowing a deep breath, I took a hard left away from the clearing and started to run again. All right, so maybe I can’t see very well out here, I thought, but unless he’s got infra-red goggles, he can’t either. And at least that makes us even. I dodged half a dozen tree trunks in the moonlight, when I skidded in a patch of mud and found myself crashing into something very big and hard and black.

Ouch. Christ almighty—

I slumped to the moist ground, my head ringing.

Crap. Just after I’d gotten cleaned up, too. Leaning forward, I rested my arms on my dirty knees for a second and rubbed my sore forehead.

“For crying out loud,” I groaned in the darkness, “why can’t somebody just shoot me already?”

Frustrated, I stretched out my muddy hand to feel what I’d run into, my fingers detecting a smooth, wooden panel. Then I brushed up against a long, thin arc with spindle-style spokes like a . . .

A wagon wheel?

To my surprise, a strange, orange glow hovered above me, almost like a firefly. It swiftly disappeared, and I could smell smoke—rich and musky and a little bit sweet, like my dad’s favorite brand of cigars.

“I see you met Creek,” a rocky voice commented from the shadows.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

How I leaped to my feet in less than a hundredth of a second defied the laws of physics. But as soon I was standing, I felt something hard hook around my neck, applying a sharp yank to keep me from bolting.

“Hold on there, missy!” A woman’s voice cackled with a laugh.

The more I struggled, the more I choked on the smooth curve of wood that kept me anchored in place, like a . . . a . . .

Shepherd’s crook?

What was this, some sicko fairy tale?

When I grabbed at my neck to try and pull away, the woman gave me another jerk just to show she meant business. She tweaked my ear hard for good measure.

“Ow! Ow—okay, okay!” I yelped, afraid she was about to clap me upside the head.

“So, you fixin’ to mud wrestle with me all night out here?” the woman growled. “Or are you gonna come inside my wagon for a warm cup of tea?”

I stiffened for a moment.

Hmm . . . ear tweaking, or tea with Crazy Lady?

For a split-second, I considered trying to kick myself free—if only I wasn’t still gagging on Loony Bo Peep’s hold around my neck. With that thought, she gave my ear another mean twist.

“Ow—Tea! Tea!!” I cried.

The woman cackled as if she were accustomed to such outbursts, which weirded me out even more. Thankfully, she released my ear and unhooked my neck, then wrapped her arm tight around my shoulders to guide me forward.

Swell. There’s nothing like taking a little stroll in the middle of the night with a freaky stranger to keep your heart pumping. And just my luck, it was too dark to spot an escape route, let alone to see Stalker Guy any more.

“Don’t you worry ’bout a thing, missy,” the woman said, as if she’d heard my thoughts. “Creek ain’t gonna hurt you so long as you’re with me.”

I sighed, exasperated. “Who the hell is Creek? And can you please tell me why I should care?”

The woman fell silent.

I could hear her open a heavy door with a squeaky hinge, presumably to her wagon.

“Well, I reckon them ain’t quite the right questions,” she said rather mysteriously.

The orange glow lit up again and filled the night air with spicy smoke. To my surprise, the woman set a heavy hand on my shoulder and gave me jiggle, as if to wake me from a deep sleep.

“What you really oughta be askin’ by now is—who in tarnation are
y
o
u
?
”

“I’m
R
o
b
i
n
,” I said defiantly, though the strange woman gave me a scrunched stare like she didn’t believe me. She puffed on her cigar, and I tried to wave away the smoke.

“I see,” she replied, her lips curving into a smile.

She set down her shepherd’s crook in a corner of her cramped, gypsy wagon that was filled with hanging herbs, dusty books, and jars of icky things like lizard’s feet and entrails. I watched as her black lace-gloved fingers skimmed a crystal ball on a shelf, and for the life of me, I thought I saw it cloud over. She turned to stare at me.

Her eyes resembled a timberwolf’s. Their color was a peculiar, translucent gray with yellow in the middle, and they turned up slightly at the edges, as if caught in a permanent, predator’s glare. At this point, I was beginning to think stepping inside her wagon might have been the biggest mistake of my whole life.

“Here, take one,” she insisted, picking up a deck of scuffed cards and handing them to me. She motioned for me to sit down at her rustic table while she did the same. I had to push aside a candelabra she’d lit with blood-red candles to make room for my elbows, paying special attention to avoid the flames with my hair.

“I’m Granny Tinker, by the way,” she said, her voice a mixture of warmth and gravel.

I’d noticed nobody used their last names around Turtle Shores, so her words gave me a start. The woman caught the look in my eyes and winked.

So that must not be her
r
e
a
l
name, I realized. And she’s probably no grandma, either. Come to think of it, in the warm light of the candles, she looked more like a beautiful, aging rock star. Her thick, salt and pepper hair spilled luxuriously to her shoulders, and she wore a burgundy top hat with a peacock feather in it. Her black-velvet dress was held together by a long row of pearl buttons from her neck all the way down to her cinched waist. Overall, her appearance screamed boho—including the crimson granny boots she had on that laced up nearly to her knees.

“It’s all right, Dooley,” she said, stealing a glance at the card I’d picked out and set face down on a paisley scarf on the table. “You can come join us now.”

To my astonishment, a tow-headed little boy peeked from behind an old trunk. He had to brush aside several embroidered pillows to clear a path to stand to his feet, and that’s when I sucked air.

Oh. My. God.

He looked just like—

Stalker Guy!

Same messy blonde hair, same piercing blue eyes.

Holy Christ, he even had a matching snake tattoo on his forearm.

I couldn’t help it—I jumped to my feet. This had to be some kind of wacked-out circus act I’d wandered into.

Before I could make a run for it, Granny Tinker grabbed me by the sleeve and gave me the coldest stare I’d ever seen in my life, so mesmerizing it was as if she’d clutched me by the throat and squeezed. Every fiber in her being seemed to say:
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.

Stunned, I gulped several breaths and found myself settling back down in front of her table before I knew what hit me. The silence in the wagon was so thick now that I feared I might somehow drown in it. Nevertheless, the little boy took a timid step towards us.

“W-Which card did she take, Granny?” the little boy asked, his eyes as pure as an angel’s, in a way that Stalker Guy’s would never be.

The woman flashed him a generous smile, removing her cigar. For the first time, I noticed that one of her front teeth was gold.

“Hmm, the Wheel of Fortune,” Granny said without even taking a look. She glanced over at me. “Ain’t that so, sweetheart?”

I turned the card over, feeling my fingers tingle.

Whoa, she was right! There was a large wheel on the front, the kind you see at carnivals, surrounding a beautiful, blindfolded woman. People appeared to cling to the wheel, while at the top sat a perfectly peaceful angel. The edges of the card were decorated with a striking gold.

But how did Granny Tinker know—were the cards marked?

“No, honey,” she said, as if she’d already read my mind. “It’s your
s
o
u
l
that’s marked.”

My heart began to race.

What was that supposed to mean?

“Pick another card, sweetie, and I’ll tell you.”

My forehead broke into a sweat. The little boy sat down on a wooden stool next to me and stared eagerly at the deck. I had no idea why he was so invested in my choice, but by this time I was afraid to refuse this scary woman. Biting my lip, I spread the cards out a little on the silk scarf and picked another one at random.

“Ah, The Lovers,” Granny smiled, her gold tooth really shining now. She nodded. “History shore has a way of repeatin’ itself, don’t it?”

“W-What do you mean?” I asked.

Turning over the card, my heart leaped to my throat—on it was a young man and a young woman holding hands and staring with dreamy fascination into each other’s eyes.