by Bailey Cates
“Obviously he wasn’t there, or you’d have him in custody,” Declan said from the sofa.
“He wasn’t,” Quinn said. “The place had been tossed pretty thoroughly, however. And, Katie, I confirmed with the CSI folks that they had not gone back to Georgia Wild to reinvestigate. So I think you’re right that Normandy had been there looking for something—presumably that ring, but perhaps something else as well.”
The sure knowledge that he’d been in there was an effective curb to my appetite.
“We found a few prints that match his—they’re in the system, so it was easy to check—but that doesn’t prove anything. He no doubt spent some time in her apartment if he had a key.”
I sank down on the arm of the sofa, and Declan put his arm around my waist. “Well, heck,” I said.
“My point is that he’s still out there, and he could be very dangerous. I want all of you to be extra careful. And, Katie? You especially. If he did steal Logan Seward’s SUV and try to run you down, he could be capable of anything.”
Including murder.
• • •
I called Wren to fill her in on what Quinn had told us. She said both of her grandparents were home and that she had no intention of leaving the house. Soon after I hung up with her, Mama came back, bubbling over the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist and the house where Juliette Gordon Low, founder of the Girl Scouts, had been born. She was also thrilled to have seen Mercer House. “It was just like in the movie,” she said.
Declan caught my eye and shook his head. Still, “the book,” as Savannahians had come to call Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt, had been instrumental in bringing countless tourists—and dollars—to the city.
When I told her Declan wanted to make her a real Low Country supper, she laughed with delight. “Grits? Good heavens, I’ve never had grits in my life.”
“You’ll love them,” Declan said. He was leaning against the coffee counter, writing out a shopping list. “If you two will pick this stuff up on the way home, I’ll do all the cooking. Try to get the collards as young and tender as possible. We don’t have all day like we’d need to cook up the big tough ones.”
“We’ll meet you at the carriage house, then?” I asked.
“Yep—and then I can give your mother a ride to Lucy’s after dinner.” He waggled his eyebrows in a terrible Groucho Marx impression, but I got the gist: He’d drop Mama off and then come back on his own.
“Sounds good,” I said with a smile.
“First I need to swing by my house for a secret ingredient,” he said.
“Can’t I pick it up with the rest of these items?” I waved at the growing list.
“Then it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”
I pushed his shoulder playfully. “Fine. See you there. Come on, Mama. Let’s pack up Mungo and that coconut cake and get going.”
Chapter 22
The grocery store didn’t take long, and soon we were pulling into my driveway. The clouds had scattered, and the setting sun painted the sky with a pastel brush as I got out and retrieved the mail before returning to help Mama with the grocery bags.
Mungo bounced to the driveway and trotted over to attend to business on the lawn. Finished, he stared, frozen, at the carriage house as if he were on point.
My heart sank. Now what? Maybe Declan had arrived before us. He had his own key, but his truck was nowhere to be seen.
Sure enough, my familiar suddenly charged the porch, barking harsh and low in his throat much as he had when the folded bat had been slipped under the door.
My mother’s eyebrows knitted. “What’s going on?”
Mungo reared onto his hind legs and pawed frantically at the door. I dropped my grocery bag and tote on the lawn and ran to him. He looked back at me over his shoulder, blinking rapidly.
Someone was inside, and it wasn’t Declan.
I turned the knob.
“Katie!” Mama cried.
I pushed the door open but didn’t go inside. Mungo did, though, scampering to the bottom of the narrow stairs that led to the loft. Soft light shone down from above. Someone had turned on my reading lamp.
Then I saw with alarm that my secretary desk was open, my altar exposed. Not only that, but even from the open doorway I could tell the items on it had been rearranged.
How dare someone enter my home? How dare someone mess with my altar? Anger flooded through me, prickling every follicle on my scalp.
“Who’s there?” I yelled, flipping the light switch on the wall by the door. The floor lamp by the fainting couch clicked on.
Behind me, Mama tugged on my arm. I pulled back but remained on the threshold.
A soft, gliding sound reached my ears. I recognized it as one of the storage drawers built into the wall of the loft. Whoever was up there had been going through my personal belongings. My anger turned to red-hot fury.
“Control yourself,” Mama hissed.
“But—”
“Come on.” She pulled on my arm again. “Let’s just call the police.”
Hunter Normandy’s head appeared above the loft railing. “No. Please don’t do that.”
My eyes blazed. “The hell I won’t. You’re wanted for murder, buddy, not to mention breaking and entering. You think we’re going to just let you go?”
He’d blanched at the word murder. “I didn’t kill her!”
Mungo lunged at the bottom step, lips pulled back to show his fierce, if small, fangs.
Hunter eyed him. “I only want the ring. Give me the ring and I’ll go. You’ll never see me again.”
“Declan’s here,” Mama said. I heard her rapid steps as she ran down the sidewalk.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her hurry up to Declan as he got out of his truck. She gestured toward me, nodded, and hastened toward my tote bag, which I’d dropped near the sack of groceries. She was going for my cell phone.
In the brief time I’d looked away, Hunter had made it halfway down the steps.
“Don’t you move,” I threatened. “Not one more inch. I don’t have your ring. I gave it to the police, and they were happy to get it. Stealing from a dead body. Disgusting.”
Panic infused his features, overcoming his fear of Mungo. He clattered down the last of the stairs. Mungo struck with his teeth, clamping down on the denim of Hunter’s jeans. Hunter’s foot moved, and Mungo caught air. He yelped but landed on his feet, quivering with indignation.
I started toward him, enraged, but Declan’s hands closed around my arms, yanking me back and spinning me around. “Leave this to me.”
“Put me down!” I cried, though he hadn’t, technically, picked me up.
Hunter, now at the bottom of the stairs, was cornered too near my bedroom to access the back door. His eyes cut left and right, looking for a way out.
Declan moved toward him, slowly, hands raised. “Now, come on. You know the police are on their way.”
“Let me go,” Hunter panted. “I thought she had the ring. I never hurt anyone. Let me go.”
“Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. Just settle down. They’ll be here soon.” Declan spoke with the smooth tone he’d used to soothe me after the hit-and-run the day before.
Unfortunately, the effect was lost on Hunter. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a Swiss army knife and quickly unfolded the largest blade.
The guy was actually pointing a knife at my boyfriend. I shuddered. I hated knives as much—or more—than I hated snakes.
Declan stepped forward, and this time when he spoke his voice held real warning. “Drop it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Hunter said.
“I don’t know if you killed anyone or not. That’s for a court to decide. Same for that ring Katie told me about. But right now, even if you haven’t taken a thing from this hou
se, you’re upping a charge for breaking and entering to assault with a deadly weapon. And you know what? That’s not a good move.”
A frisson of desire thrilled through me as I watched Declan, all calm and cool, reasoning with this jerk who had invaded my home, this jerk who was holding a knife pointed right at his solar plexus.
However, Hunter wasn’t interested in reason anymore. Waves of frantic desperation rolled off him.
“He’s not listening,” I warned. Mungo ran outside.
Good boy.
Hunter thrust the blade at Declan. My man was fast, dodging to the left, but that gave Hunter a slight opening. He rushed past Declan, heading straight for me, still holding the knife.
I spun out of the doorway, into the room so he could escape and no one would get hurt, but Declan grabbed Hunter’s coat from behind, turned him around, and slammed his back into the wall. The whole carriage house vibrated. Something crashed to the floor in the kitchen. Hunter fell to one knee. He stayed down for a few panting breaths, then came up again with vengeance in his eyes. He drew his hand back, and I knew with all my heart he meant to stab Declan.
“Stop.”
The tableau in front of me froze as if I’d hit the pause button on a DVD.
Taken aback, I stared at the two men, unmoving, for a long moment.
Mama appeared in the doorway. “What on earth . . . Katie! What did you do?”
“I—I used my Voice. I didn’t mean to, not like that—”
She took me by the shoulders and shook me. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Stop.’”
My mother ran to Declan, and my eyes widened as she put her ear to his chest. “He isn’t breathing.”
“What?” Terror gabbled in the back of my mind. Oh, good goddess, what had I done?
She glanced at the other man. “Neither is he. Their hearts have stopped, too.” She grabbed the knife out of Hunter’s hand.
“Commence!” Mama yelled with her own Voice.
Nothing happened.
“Katie—you have to reverse it! Commence.”
Scared out of my wits, I screamed the word, throwing everything I had into it.
In a flash the men moved again, catching themselves and gasping, shock on both their faces. They stared at my mother, then at me. Tires skidded to stop in the street out front, but neither one seemed to hear. Blue and red lights flashed through the gloaming outside. The police had arrived faster than I could have imagined.
“What the . . . ?” Hunter breathed.
Declan looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
“What the hell was that?” Hunter managed to get out. The whites of his eyes were bright. I saw them flick up to my altar, still open in the loft. “What are you?”
I ran to Declan and put my arms around him. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”
His arms remained at his sides. I looked up at him, and he met my eyes with a mix of wonder and horror.
“Are you okay?” I whispered around the tightness in my throat. “Tell me you’re okay.”
A single, slow nod was his response, and his hand went to my shoulder. Relief gusted through me, and I buried my face in his chest.
Two officers appeared in the still-open doorway, Margie hovering behind them.
Mama marched over to them. She pointed at Hunter Normandy, who seemed to have lost all desire to escape. “We came home to find this man had broken in and was going through my daughter’s things. He is also wanted for murder and theft. Please arrest him now.”
Defeat slumped his shoulders, but he still didn’t look away from me. The officers looked somewhat amused at my mother’s imperious demand, at least until she added, “He had a knife.” She held out the Swiss army knife, still open, to the nearer officer, the woman. It looked small against her palm, a paltry excuse for a weapon. Declan was a trained firefighter. He would have been able to handle Hunter Normandy with no help from me, twenty-twenty hindsight and all.
“He gave it to you?” the policewoman’s partner asked, approaching Hunter with what looked like a giant plastic zip-tie.
My mother and I looked at Declan. He still hadn’t said a word, and his face had gone an odd shade of gray.
“No,” Mama said. “He dropped it.”
“Declan? Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again, afraid that I’d really hurt him. He seemed to have caught his breath, though.
Hunter shook his head as the police officers pushed him toward the porch. “There’s something wrong with her,” he said. One of them began reading him his Miranda rights. He tossed one last baffled look over his shoulder as he stumbled out to their patrol car.
Margie stood aside to let him pass, her expression marked with curiosity. Then she came up and peered in at us. “Is everyone okay? I heard a ruckus over here and called 911.”
That explained how quickly the police had arrived. I went over and gave her a hug. “Thank you, neighbor. You saved the day.”
“Why, Katie, you’re shaking like a leaf. What in creation happened?” She was right. I was shaking right down to the tips of my chartreuse high-tops. But I didn’t want Declan to know how scared I was—not of Hunter Normandy, but of him getting hurt. And of me being the one who caused it.
Makes it sound kind of dangerous to hang around you. His words from the night before flooded back, and I hugged Margie a little tighter before releasing her.
“That man thought I had something of his, and he was trying to get it back,” I said. “I didn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop him from looking.”
Margie frowned in confusion, looking at my mother for an explanation.
“He broke in before we came home,” Mama said.
My neighbor’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, heavens. I didn’t see a thing.”
“You can’t be expected to see everything,” I said gently. Like whoever had slipped that bat under my door—when we were home. Had it been Hunter Normandy?
Quinn showed up then, and Declan came out of his daze long enough to haltingly relate what he’d found when he arrived shortly after Mama and I had gotten there. Mama confirmed his story and added how I’d come inside to find Hunter going through my possessions.
“He was looking for the ring,” I called down to Quinn from the loft. As soon as I could, I’d hightailed it up there to close the secretary desk and hide my altar. “He left Georgia Wild before I could tell him I’d already given it to you. It doesn’t look like he took anything else, though.”
“Have you checked your room?” my mother asked.
“I guess I’d better.” I clambered down the stairs and went into the bedroom, disturbed more than I wanted to admit by the notion that Hunter Normandy had spent any time in there. Declan followed me.
Flipping on the light, I took a quick survey. “Nothing looks out of place.”
“Katie.” Declan stood by the window. The lamplight cast his eyes into shadow. “What did you do to me?”
Did he remember? I didn’t know because others’ Voices had never worked on me. Did he have a blank for the time he was out, or had he been aware the whole time? Either way, I had to tell him the truth. Guilt arrowed through me, so strong my knees felt weak.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Everything all right in there?” my mother called.
I put my hand on Declan’s arm. “We’ll talk.”
Quinn appeared in the doorway.
“I don’t think Hunter got this far in his search for the ring,” I said.
“Are you sure that’s all he was here for?” Quinn asked.
“That’s what he said. You think he was here to harm me?”
He stroked his chin with thumb and forefinger. “I think he killed Autumn Boles and threatened you and Ms. Knowles with those bats, bu
t I don’t know if he actually planned to hurt you today. The bats seem more like misdirection. If we’re lucky, he’ll confess and we’ll finally learn the truth.”
“Will you tell me what you find out?” I asked as the three of us returned to the living room.
“If it pertains to you, of course.” Quinn smiled.
I considered asking him to stay for supper again, but I refrained. It would only be putting off the inevitable conversation with Declan. At least Mama was here to defuse the situation.
A week ago I’d never have believed she’d be the one to help me.
She’d saved Declan’s life, too.
The thought made me start shaking all over again, so I was glad when Quinn took his leave.
Chapter 23
It turned out Declan had been only vaguely aware that I’d yelled something and his world had stopped—including his breathing and his heart. His heart. I’d stopped the heart of the man I loved.
But he’d seen Mama moving, heard voices, so he knew something had happened. When he came back, he’d felt disoriented and confused, and, though it was hard for him to admit, afraid. This was not the effect I wanted to have on Declan. Ever.
Or on anyone else for that matter.
We’d settled into the living room, Declan and I on opposite ends of the couch with Mungo in between us. Mama sat on one of the wingbacks. She had explained to him what a Voice was, and how some people have it and some don’t. She was very direct and down-to-earth on the surface, but I could tell that even talking about it made her uncomfortable. Nonetheless, she plunged on—as much for my sake as Declan’s, I suspected.
“Mine isn’t very strong,” she said. “That’s why I couldn’t reverse what Katie Commanded. Do you know anyone else with a Voice?” she asked me in a bright tone.
“Cookie, but it doesn’t last very long,” I admitted. “Heinrich tried to use his on me. So did Steve.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “What did he try to make you do?”
I looked ceilingward and shook my head. “Nothing improper, if that’s what you’re thinking. Besides, it doesn’t work on me. I’m immune, at least so far.”
