Stranger on Raven's Ridge (5 page)

Steven grumbled his way into sight. “Easy job, no stress. Two, maybe three years, and I’d be ready to jump back into the shark tank.” He raised his voice. “You listen to a damn thing Rooney says, Raven, and you’ll wind up loonier six months on than you were when you got to this crazy bird town. I caught someone, Aidan—for about thirty seconds. Got kicked in the crotch, almost lost the use of my right arm, and if my nose isn’t broken, it’s only because, when I foolishly attempted to teach my nine-year-old sister and Raven to kickbox, I was forced to learn the fine art of ducking fast.”

Aidan scanned the surrounding area. “Was it George?”

Raven brought her head around. “You think George was inside Blume House?”

“Fergus here saw him climb through one of the windows.”

“And you trust Fergus here to be telling the truth? No offense,” she added with a glance at the big man.

“None taken. But I did see him. The guy riding with you in the white truck went into the house through a window.”

“Call it another link in an increasingly bizarre chain of events,” Aidan suggested, “and try not to dwell on it.”

“As a non-cop, I’ll do my best.” She turned to her cousin. “Are you sure it was George?”

“Hell no. Fergus here saw him, not me. I was shadowboxing.” Reaching into his vest pocket, Steven pulled out a cell phone and tossed it to Aidan. “He dropped this. It’ll probably fill in the name gap.”

Tucking away his gun, Aidan took the device and immediately looked at Raven.

“What?”

He indicated himself, then her. “Techno-spaz, supergeek.”

She shot him a smile that didn’t bode well for their future alone time. But she held out her palm. “Okay, give it.”

He watched her play for a moment before a flicker of lightning diverted him. He’d seen the same thing earlier in the vicinity of the Ravenspell campsite. “We need to get into the house.”

“No way.” Fergus Smith was adamant. “That place is spooked. Lights on, lights off, everything creaking and groaning and wailing. How do we know there aren’t ghosts in the walls?”

“We don’t.” Aidan tracked a strange gust of wind as the sky lit up yet again. “But believe me when I tell you, there are worse things in this world than a ghost or two.... Something?” he asked Raven, who was pondering the on-screen display.

“Not sure.” She scrolled forward, then back. “It is George’s phone. It looks like he made a call while I was talking to Grandpa in the cottage. There’s no name or number, but someone called him back a few minutes later.”

“What’s the name on the incoming?”

“All it says is Gort. Outgoing was placed at 5:53 p.m. Reply, I assume, came at 5:56.” She looked up into his shielded eyes and narrowed her own. “That is not a happy expression, Aidan. Who’s Gort?”

His gaze shifted to Blume House. “Police tag for Demars is Spaceman, but George thought Gort was a better fit. Deadly robot, no face.”

“Like in that black-and-white movie where all the machines stopped working.” Fergus Smith gave a sheepish shrug. “My ma watches old space movies.”

“So does George.” Raven paged sideways. “The communication from Gort lasted four and a half minutes. Shortly after that, George returned to Blume House—not sure how—and climbed through a window. I wonder what or who he was hoping to find?”

The resentment in her voice was obvious, but under it was a strong sense of disappointment. In George and in him, but mostly, Aidan sensed, in herself for misjudging a trusted friend’s character.

“It’s done, Raven. There’s no way back. Demars knows I’m alive and in the Cove.”

Her eyes shot to his. “Then you have to leave. Now. Tonight.”

Everything inside him hardened. “Not an option. Demars wants to finish this, and so do I. And it can’t be finished on the run.”

Exasperation replaced fear. “So you’re going to take him on in Raven’s Cove?” She walked away and straight back. “That’s suicide, pure and simple. Demars will send the best he’s got to kill you. Do you have any idea what the best he’s got looks like?”

“No, but I know what George looks like, so I have a starting point.”

“If George is smart, he’ll have hitched a ride to Portland by now and be on a homebound plane by the time Demars’s hit man shows up.”

Aidan’s eyes glinted in the next fork of lightning. “You’re not factoring in Demars’s mindset, Raven. George won’t be going anywhere before that hit man shows. And it’ll be a toss-up what happens when he does.”

A false smile came and went from Steven’s lips. “I knew I should have stayed in San Francisco, just knew it.”

“And I shoulda used a porta-john,” Smith mumbled.

Raven poked a finger into Aidan’s stomach. “You can’t fight Demars alone. You know that, or you should. At least let Beckett in on what’s happening, where George is and what he’s... Oh, God, what’s that look about? What are you planning to do?”

“What you probably expect,” he replied, and couldn’t quite keep the gleam of anticipation out of his eyes. “What I should have done two years ago. I’m going to off his hit man, then hunt the faceless bastard down and end this nightmare once and for all.”

As he spoke, the wind whipped up and over the walls of Blume House. And for a single freakish moment, Aidan thought it resembled a man’s mad laughter.

* * *

I
T
WAS
DONE
. F
OR
BETTER
or worse—and his stomach strongly suggested worse—he’d placed the call and gotten the expected response.

Alone, on the side of the road that led to Raven’s Cove, he waited. Three hours, Demars had told him in a computer-altered voice that made George’s blood run cold. Someone would be there in three short hours.

A clap of thunder sent fresh chill blades down his spine. He stood in the wind, nervous fingers snapping, his glasses askew, with tears streaming over his cheeks. He knew why he’d done it, he just didn’t know why he hadn’t thought it through better first.

When the thunder came again, he squeezed his eyes closed. But he couldn’t block the sound of Demars’s distorted voice.

“Keep her there!”

“Keep Raven here?” George had repeated, baffled. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

The reply had been swift, the distortion a shrill and horrible sound.

Keep her there!

More tears spilled. What if Demars sent the big guy? Killing was a thing he did for money. Torment and torture were his ultimate goals. And women, particularly beautiful women like Raven, provided him with the most enjoyment.

Or worse, maybe he’d send Weasel, the one with the knife. Weasel liked to cut people up, and attractive women were his favorite kind of people. Turning his face skyward, George breathed out in rapid whooshes. Until a pair of headlights cut through the gloom and he stopped breathing altogether.

The big guy drove a four-by-four, didn’t he? But Weasel might, too. Either way, the truck with the smoke-black windows and superbright headlights had pulled to a stop five feet in front of him.

Demars’s words echoed in his head.
Keep her there!
And now, here was one of his twisted hit men, come to Raven’s Cove to take out the man who’d killed his son.

An eye for an eye, George thought as the driver of the four-by-four waited for him to approach. He’d heard the expression recently but couldn’t remember where. Didn’t care.

He didn’t lift his head until the window opened—and a gleaming 9 mm semiautomatic gun came out to greet him.

Chapter Five

“My mother was right about Raven’s Cove.” Feeling a little as if she’d been hit with a stun gun, Raven looked over her shoulder at the fog that had begun to slither in from the ocean. “You come for a visit and bam, five minutes later, the town jumps into a rabbit hole and takes you with it.” When Aidan stopped moving, she bumped into his back. Rubbing her nose, she said, “I don’t think this is the best place for us to talk.”

“Alone in a crowd, angel.” Keeping her firmly behind him, he pushed his way into a shabby seaside bar called Two Toes Joe’s. “Unfortunately, this isn’t your typical Tuesday night crowd.”

“No?” She dodged a man with big feet and an even bigger drunk on. “Interesting that you’d know that.”

“Being a ghost is thirsty work.” He sent her a quick grin. “I’ve come here three times in two years, Raven, and never as myself.”

“Meaning you have an alter ego here in the Cove.”

“Your great-grandfather’s sitting next to the dartboard.”

She waved at a cloud of thick, mostly illegal smoke. “I saw him, and, large crowd notwithstanding, I guarantee he’s seen us right back.”

“No one’s eyes are that good.” When two fishermen vacated a corner booth, Aidan nabbed it and waited while she slid onto the worn wooden bench.

The music was a raspy fiddle-hornpipe combo, the air a sticky, gray miasma, and unless she’d gone color-blind, the beer she’d just glimpsed had been green. Lovely.

Unconcerned, Aidan went with a mug of tap ale. Raven regarded a passing pitcher and opted for club soda. When a puffy-faced male server appeared to take their order, he stared so long and hard she brushed her cheek.

“Am I smudged or something?”

“Or something,” Aidan agreed. But it was an absent reply. His eyes hadn’t stopped moving since they’d entered.

She tracked them now to the bar. “Are we meeting someone?”

“No, just looking. I haven’t been out much lately.”

Resignation slipped in. “And here we go. Straight to the crux of a conversation I never in my wildest dreams expected to have. Except—oh, no, wait—I haven’t actually had what you’d call dreams since Gaitor told me you’d been blown into a million unidentifiable—should have clued in right there—pieces. My life became a full-scale nightmare at that point, and the scary thing is, it doesn’t feel done. In fact, I feel like I’m about to jump from a nightmare straight into a night terror.”

He waited until the server deposited their drinks before turning his dark gaze on her. “How long are you planning to stay pissed at me?”

A glimmer of unlikely amusement blossomed into a laugh. “Well, duh.” Propping her elbows, she moved a finger between them. “Two years’ worth of mourning wasted, pal. And I’ll tell you something you probably don’t know. Every six months your grandmother calls me up and tells me I have to come to New York for an anniversary wake. I go, we cry, she makes sure I’m not seeing anyone, then she drags me to Mass and gets a priest to bless me just in case the evil Blume thing has any merit. Afterward, she makes me promise to phone her every Sunday at 9:00 p.m. sharp so she’ll know I’m all right.”

“Hey, you marry into an Irish family, you’re in it for life.”

“I thought that very thing when we said ‘I do.’ In for life, for better or worse, till death—as in the real deal—do us part.”

“Us do part,” he corrected, and caused her temper to spike.

“You had no right to do what you did to me, Aidan. I knew before I married you that nothing about being a cop’s wife would be easy. I also knew before you decided to pull a Houdini that Johnny Demars was vindictive as hell.”

“Not vindictive, Raven, vicious. There’s a difference.”

“You wind up dead either way.”

“Except in the second scenario, you beg for it. And begging is merely a prelude to his idea of fun and games.”

She spotted a dusty, red-eyed raven tangled in the old fishing net that hung on the wall beside him. “I can’t believe you faked your own death, put me and your family through hell and spent two years—with the prospect of countless more—living like a phantom in Raven’s Cove, all because you were too afraid of what Johnny Demars might do to you to face it like the cop I know you are.”

“The cop you thought I was. Same verb, different tense. Some people can and often do disappoint their loved ones. I can’t change what I did any more than George can take back the call we both know he made. We make our choices and whatever the fallout might be, that’s what we’re left to face. Forced to face, in my case and in yours.”

The faintest trace of Irish left over from his early childhood slipped through as he leaned in on his forearms to make his point. He wanted her to believe him, desperately wanted it. But she couldn’t.

Bubbles rose and burst in her cloudy glass. Watching them, she said, “The guy who served us just now has a goiter. It’s making his neck swell. His voice could be hoarse from all the smoke in here, but I doubt it. His face is puffy, and his skin looks dry. I saw him for less than thirty seconds, Aidan, and I’d stake my medical reputation on the fact that he’s hypothyroid.”

Aidan’s dark brows came together. “That’s not fatal, is it?”

“Only if there’s a tumor involved, which in most cases, there isn’t. Point is, the server needs medical treatment, and you need a big reality check if you think I’m going to believe, even for a minute, that you’re afraid of Johnny Demars.”

Sitting back, he took a drink of the greenish beer. “I’d be a fool if I wasn’t.”

“You’d be a fool to underestimate him, but you’ve never been afraid of risking your life.”

“If you believe that, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.” He cast her a sideways look. “You want to make me into a superhero, and that’s not what I am. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but it’s the truth. Johnny Demars scares the hell out of me. There’s no walking away from a man like that. Screw with him, whether intentionally or not, and you’re going to die. At some point, and in whatever manner he dictates—usually long and painful—you will die.”

“But you’ll go after him now,” Raven countered. “Take out his hit man and set your sights on him now.” The crowd noise swelled a little as the dim lights of the waterfront bar flickered. “What you’re saying isn’t you, Aidan. What I said before, that’s you.”

He rolled the unappealing contents of his mug. “I have no choice now. Two years ago, I did. Simple as that.”

Nothing about him had ever been simple, she reflected. As for her feelings? Someday, someone might invent a word to describe them. Or him.

Long and lean, a little haunted, a lot more haunting, Aidan possessed a rather frightening ability to captivate. One look at his face and she’d tumbled—over the edge and straight down the slippery slope into love. Even after he’d “died,” she hadn’t climbed out.

Sighing, she tucked a leg underneath her on the bench. “Gaitor said you were the best he’d ever worked with.”

“You haven’t met his former partners.”

She studied his unrevealing features before asking softly, “Why are you doing this? Trying so hard to downplay your abilities and disillusion me?”

“I’m not,” he began, then raised his eyes as the lights winked off and on.

Unsure, Raven copied the move. “What? Electrical storms cause power flutters everywhere.”

“Still a positive thinker, huh?”

Another double zap, and the crowd murmurs grew. Ignoring the shiver that chased itself over her skin, Raven glanced at the dusty bird next to her head. “They probably think Hezekiah’s parasitic evil spirit is behind this.”

Aidan smiled. “That’s what they’d like to think, but Steven figures most of them are actually quite well educated.”

“Mmm. Like people who hunt for vampires in graveyards.”

“You’re never going to buy in, are you?”

“To the man-transforms-into-bird thing, not all the way in, no. To the suggestion that you’re a coward, not at all.”

“Raven, being stubborn about this won’t change—”

A sizzling snap cut him off and sent a collective gasp through the suddenly pitch-black room.

“Hang on to your feathers,” the owner called out. “We’ve got a generator...three, two, one, there she goes.”

Less than a quarter of the lights sputtered back on. Grotesque shadows fell in all directions. Raven suspected it was a quiet order from the bartender that made the fiddle player pick up his bow and slide into a mournful East Coast lament.

“Old Joe knows how to create an atmosphere, I’ll give him that.” Twitching off a secondary shiver, Raven eased closer to Aidan. “Maybe we should leave.”

A woman screamed. First one, then another, and another. Within seconds, a loud clatter of feet erupted, tables and chairs scraped across the floor, and people began to shout.

Raven’s first instinct was to pinpoint the source of the commotion, but Aidan’s hand on her neck prevented her from standing.

“I just want to see...” She swallowed the rest of that thought when two large, black shadows swooped down from the rafters.

The commotion swiftly bumped up to a full-scale panic.

“Under the table.” Aidan took her there with him. “Do not leave this spot,” he told her, and was gone before she could respond.

More fascinated than frightened, Raven watched several winged shadows move across the ceiling. “What is with the birds in this town?” she demanded of no one. “And that’s not a raven, it’s a crow.”

A man running past tripped and sprawled on the bench she’d just vacated. A moment later, someone shoved a woman in leather sandals to the floor.

The fallen man scrambled to his feet and bolted. Raven crawled out from under the table to help the dazed woman. Blood oozed from a cut on her forehead, and she seemed disoriented.

Pressing a napkin to the wound, Raven asked, “How did this happen?”

In response, two pairs of stubby fingernails began to swipe the air between them. “He said they were possessed, and he was right.”

“Who...? Ouch!” A heavy body slammed into Raven’s shoulder. She heard flapping and saw a net fly into the air. There was a loud caw, and finally, the inevitable gunshot.

“We’re damned.” The woman, a shorn platinum-blonde, hiccuped. “Reverend Alley says we’re going to burn in hell for our curiosity.”

Of course there’d be a zealot in the mix. Keeping the woman low, Raven examined her forehead. “Cut’s not deep.” She caught the swiping hand before it scratched her face. “I promise, the birds won’t hurt you if you stay right here.”

“The evil needs a new host.” Seriously drunk, the woman tipped sideways. “They never mentioned that in the brochure.”

“Evil can be a bastard,” Raven agreed. “Just stay here, okay, and that new host won’t be you.”

As another bullet discharged, she stood and attempted to locate Aidan and Rooney. A bullet could strike a human as easily as a bird. Aidan hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d head straight for whoever had. And while Rooney wouldn’t charge in, he’d be riveted enough by the spectacle not to leave.

Determined to get her great grandfather out, she started for the dartboard. And rammed straight into a man wearing a muscle shirt, biker gloves and a wicked leer.

“My, my, my,” he drawled. “Ain’t you just about the prettiest thing I’ve seen since that prison door swung open last month. What do you think, blondie? Is your friend here pretty enough to eat or what?”

The woman under the table launched into a sloppy hymn.

Firming his grip on Raven’s wrists, the man let his leer widen. “I love these freako events. There’s always some sugar begging to be sampled.” He yanked her closer. “What say you and me step outside where we can be private with no birds to disturb us?”

His hold on her was painful and he smelled strongly of sweat and whiskey. At six-two, two hundred pounds, he wasn’t as large as Fergus Smith, but right then, he seemed a great deal more menacing.

While she struggled, one of the ravens dived. The man ignored it and cinched her wrists tighter. Then he swore and swung her around beside him, into a one-armed throat lock that had her seeing spots.

“Take your holy book and beat it, preacher.”

When her head cleared, Raven saw a second man standing placidly in front of them. A little bent and a lot scruffy, he sported a chest-length beard, thick glasses and a hat pulled low over his forehead.

“You leave her alone.” The threat was clear even if his reedy voice barely carried over the confusion.

“Don’t see a weapon anywhere.” The arm around her throat flexed, making it impossible for her to swallow. “You gonna hit me with your book if I don’t obey?”

“It’s an option,” a smoother voice inserted from behind. “But I like my way better.”

Aidan...

The man beside her made a sudden strangled sound. The bearded reverend melted quietly into the shadows.

“Let her go,” Aidan advised her captor. “You’ve got two seconds before I drop you and let a bunch of panicking people use you as a floor mat.”

“Bas—” The man choked, flexed his arm briefly, then released her with a shove.

Still behind him, Aidan tightened his sleeper hold on the biker. “You’ve got a lot of mean in you, pal.” Dark eyes glinting, he snugged his forearm until the man’s head lolled.

Raven massaged her abused windpipe. “Aidan.”

“Bullies piss me off,” he said, but shoved his prisoner into the wall and let go.

The man dropped to the floor.

“Are you hurt?” Aidan asked.

“No...bird,” she cautioned, and dipped to avoid it.

Taking her hand, he drew her toward an as yet undiscovered side door. Raven grabbed the blonde under the table.

“It’s a sign,” the woman warbled. “The evil infected two people in the past, and it’s ready to pestitilate...pestilent...Reverend Alley says it’s gonna get someone again.”

“Reverend Alley?” Aidan kept them moving.

“Fanatic,” Raven told him. “Gotta be here for Ravenspell. He tried to help me.”

“And there they are.” Pausing, Aidan indicated three young men who were helping themselves to the money in the bar owner’s cash drawer. “The instigators of tonight’s bird drama.”

Raven peered at the trio. “They look kind of...tough.”

“They look it,” he agreed. “Let’s see if they act it.”