Raven's Hollow

скачать книгу бесплатно


“I know.” She went back to pushing on her temples. “Freaking myself out again. I need to refocus, and lucky me, I see a light in Molly’s window. I can distract myself by reading her the riot act for turning off her phone.”

“Isn’t shouting at Molly a bit like kicking a puppy?”

“I said read, not shout. All I really want to do is make sure she’s safe. Because I don’t believe, and neither do you, that there’s a copycat at work here. It’s twenty years later, Eli, and somebody’s doing to me almost exactly what he did to Laura. But who’s to say that after such a long hiatus, this person doesn’t have a different plan in mind? How do we know I’m the only Bellam he intends to threaten? Or kill?”

* * *

HESATINthe dark, with the storm shrieking around him, and he breathed. In and out, in and out.

It was all about making the right moves at the right time. He wanted Sadie. He needed Sadie to know he wanted her. But he also needed her to know she’d hurt him.

Love and fear and anger fought a bitter, three-way battle in his head these days. Twenty years ago, he’d discovered that a sleeping monster lived deep inside him. What if the monster woke up and consumed him? He might kill Sadie the way he’d killed Laura.

Would he, though? Could he? He loved Sadie so very, very much. He saw himself spending the rest of his life with her. Was it possible this newer, deeper love might stop the monster from clawing its way out?

Possibly, but one thing he’d learned tonight was that accidents could happen when you carried a gun.

The raven should have been a symbol of his love. He hadn’t meant to kill it, but at least the bullet hadn’t wound up in Sadie’s head. He could take comfort in that.

When he started to shake, he dropped his face into his hands. He was tired, so damnably tired. Should he try to sleep? Did he dare? Or would the monster know and seize the opportunity to go on a rampage?

To go on a witch-hunt?

Chapter Seven

“The battery in her cell phone died.”

Twenty minutes after they walked through her cousin’s front door. Sadie returned to the thickly shadowed room Molly called a parlor.

“She stayed in town to have dinner with a friend who’s afraid of thunderstorms. Neat, tidy, logical. Mystery solved, Lieutenant.”

“One mystery, anyway.” Eli held up and examined a double-edged dagger. “Any reason she collects and displays lethal weapons?”

“Witch’s tools,” Sadie corrected. “That dagger you’re holding is an athame. Its white-handled counterpart is a boline.” She swept a hand along the sideboard. “Chalice, ritual candles, tarot cards, protective crystals—dog.”

Eli regarded the tiny, ratlike creature at the far end. Its pointy ears quivered as the animal stared back.

“His name’s Solomon.” Sadie bit back most of a smile. “He and Cocoa don’t get along. Seeing as Molly’s coming with us to my place, it should be a lively gathering.”

“Especially if Cocoa’s in the mood for a midnight snack.”

“I’ll make sure she’s well fed. By the way, you might want to put that dagger down before Molly sees you. She’s proprietorial about family heirlooms.”

“Seriously? These things belonged to your ancestor?”

“Most of them did. Molly’s a buff. She’s searched the manor from subcellar to tower peak. If you look closely, you’ll see Nola Bellam’s initials inscribed on the larger items.”

“So Hezekiah Blume really did marry a witch.”

“Depends on how you look at it. Nola possessed the implements of a witch, but then Molly currently possesses those same implements, and no one’s ever accused her of witchcraft.”

“I’ll let that one pass.”

“And I’ll light a metaphorical fire under my cousin.” But Sadie paused in the doorway. “Do you have any ideas, theories, even vague thoughts on tonight’s intruder?”

“Having seen this house, I’d say he doesn’t believe in curses.”

“Oh, well, if that’s true, you can take almost every male in both towns out of the running.”

“There you go. Should be an easy solve.”

“Five minutes.” Giving the molding a double tap, she left Eli alone with the lash of rain and wind outside and a tangle of thoughts in his head.

He was a cop, he reminded himself. Solid facts and cold, hard evidence were his life. What was screwing it all up for him at the moment was his inability to slam a mental door on the welter of Sadie-related emotions he didn’t want to feel.

She’d been a beautiful child, with her wild mass of red-brown hair and her amazing storm-gray eyes. Fortunately, back then—kid. Unfortunately, now—woman.

His own eyes shifted as wind whipped through cracks in the ceiling and rattled the window glass.

“No one’s going to rob you, Molly.” Sadie returned a few minutes later with her cousin in tow. “And the more people under one roof tonight, the better.”

Yes, no, maybe. Eli managed not to grind his teeth as he watched Sadie bend to pick up her black trench coat. “Could you bring Solomon?” Her expression solemn, Molly dragged her Bellam red hair into a ponytail. “He doesn’t bite.”

Did he even have teeth? But Eli tucked the dog under his arm and followed the women into the storm.

Confusion reigned from the moment they entered Sadie’s plant-filled home. As predicted, Cocoa chased the Chihuahua under a tall cabinet. The lights flared and died three times, and in spite of the fact that he’d draped a sheet over the sinister message, on one of his trips through the foyer, he found Molly easing a corner up for a look.

“Morbid curiosity?” he inquired from the shadows.

She jumped back a full foot before finding him in the dark. “I was just—I wanted to see. It’s not that I don’t believe what Sadie said, I’m only surprised anyone would come into Bellam Manor to do it. A lot of people are afraid of this place.”

“But not you.”

“No. I mean—why would I be?” She touched her ponytail. “The house wouldn’t turn on one of its own.”

Okay, that was weird. But, as he recalled, so was Molly. Or had been back when he’d lived in the Cove.

With a small smile, she and her flickering candle more or less melted into the darkness. Unsure what to make of her, Eli checked the writing behind the sheet, listened to the storm for another moment, then made his way to the kitchen.

He saw Cocoa sitting calmly on the windowsill while Sadie rummaged in a high cupboard. “No offense,” he said genially, “but your cousin hasn’t gotten any less strange with time.”

“I’ve heard that before. Yet people keep coming into the pharmacy to have their prescriptions filled. Not to worry, her plan for the rest of the night is to lock herself in my guest room with her tarot cards, her laptop and, I’m pretty sure, since it appears to be missing, my grandmother’s carving knife.”

Eli straddled a hard chair while she continued to rummage. “Am I responsible for that, or does Molly generally sleep with knives?”

“I think you unsettle her.”

“Makes us even.”

Sadie laughed, and the sound of it was a punch of pure lust in his gut. “You are not afraid of my cousin, Eli.”

“No? I heard a story in my junior year. A girl who humiliated her wound up with a bad case of warts.”

“Where do you get this stuff? Never mind.” She held up a hand. “Rooney. Ah, good, found them.” She set a taper and three pillar candles on the table. “Your great-grandfather is leaning as heavily on our witchy legend as he is on the Raven’s Tale in order to entice tourists to visit your town.”

Warily fascinated, Eli tracked her movements. “Nola Bellam married Hezekiah Blume, Sadie. That’s a fact. The legends are intertwined and fair game for anyone wanting to use them as an enticement.”

She aimed the taper at him. “This is why my great-grandfather went to live in the north woods.”

Sadie had a hypnotic way of moving, Eli noted. By the glow of a single taper, she appeared to float around the kitchen. Her still-damp tank top and skirt clung to her in a way that made his lower body burn and brought him right to the edge of begging.

Common sense and a hard slap of memory would keep those reactions in check, but it would still take every scrap of restraint he possessed not to jump her.

When he realized she was watching him, he shrugged off her last remark. “You want to talk fear factor, your great-grandfather’s got it all over Rooney. What is he now, ninety-five?”

“Ninety-nine.” Sweeping around behind him, she ran a teasing finger over his hair. “Hot on Rooney’s colorful heels.”

With a silent curse, Eli caught her hand. Coming smoothly to his feet, he murmured, “This sleepover thing actually might not be such a good idea. We’re standing here talking about weird cousins and Hezekiah, a man people think is a ghost, and what I’m really wondering is why the hell we’re talking at all.”

She resisted ever so slightly as he drew her toward him. “We agreed back at your truck not to do this.”

“I remember the conversation.” He held her gaze. “And you can stop me any time. We both know there’s nowhere for it to go. Cops and relationships don’t work. Trust me, I’ve been there and back again.”

With his thumb and fingers, he captured her chin, tipping her head up until he saw the glimmer in her eyes. He recognized the challenge in them, but right then he didn’t care. He wanted his mouth on hers, and screw the consequences. The moment for any last chance objections came and went as he brought her lips slowly up to meet his.

He’d keep it brief, he promised himself, hot and fast, a flash of desire satisfied.

It would have worked if she’d been another woman. Any woman other than the one he’d met and danced with in Boston.

Her fingers curled into his hair, and she moved against him in a kind of sinuous samba. He let his hands roam over her ribs, then around them so his palms cupped her breasts. He breathed in the scent of her while his tongue explored her mouth. She smelled like wild roses. She tasted like sin. She felt like the answer to a prayer.

If there were answers.

If he’d had prayers.

Easing back a tempting inch, she regarded him through her lashes. “I can feel the conflict in you, Eli. I know what it’s like to want but know you can’t or shouldn’t have. I think.”

“That’s part of our problem, isn’t it?” His eyes traveled over her face. “We’re always thinking.”

Her smile widened. “Not sure I’d say that, Lieutenant.” And yanking his mouth back down onto hers, she blasted everything that didn’t have its roots in need from his head.

It might have been lightning or the glow from the taper that caused the darkness to shift. Whatever the source, when he spotted a shadow that shouldn’t be there, his body stilled.

Sensing the change, Sadie drew back. “What is it?”

“Not sure.” He scanned the spread of black rocks that led to the edge of the cliff. “No, don’t look.” He held her in place when she started to turn. “Pretend we’re talking.”

“We are talking.” But she gave the ends of his hair a playful flick with one hand, and skimmed the fingers of her other across his cheek. “What do you see?”

He kissed her forehead. “Unless Molly’s taking a late night stroll, someone’s out there.”

“Wonderful. Can you tell if ‘someone’s’ carrying a gun?”

“I’ll need more than a glimpse for that. The light’s pretty much nonexistent.”

“I am so getting a generator.”

Ten seconds ticked by. “There it is.” He drew his own gun from the back of his jeans. “Considering its remote location, Bellam Manor’s a busy place tonight. Is there a side door?”

“Through the pantry. Eli, are you sure...?”

“Dead raven,” he reminded her, and she held up her hands in surrender.

A feeble streak of lightning flashed as the storm limped grudgingly out to sea. With his gun pointed skyward, and his eyes alert, Eli inched the pantry door open, waited a beat, then stepped out into the gusting rain.

“Come on,” he muttered to the shadowy caller. “Give me a target.”

He got one ten seconds later in the form of a barely there movement that indicated the caller was creeping along the back of the house.

Whoever it was wore a long coat and had one hand pressed to the outer wall. The other hand—he couldn’t tell. Might be carrying a weapon, might be holding something else. Like another dead bird?

Able to just make out the flat rocks ahead, he jammed the gun in his waistband and went for a takedown. When the shadow lost its balance on the slippery ground, Eli knew it was over.

One solid tackle was all it took. Surprised by the ease of the capture, rather than plant a knee, he flipped his quarry over. And found himself face-to-face with a writhing, swearing female.

Even fully pinned, she bucked, thrashed and squirmed, twisting her head from side to side. At length, she settled for spitting at him.

“Stop fighting me,” he shouted above the wind. “I don’t want to hurt you.”