Overhead, a half-moon rode the star-specked sky, reminding him he had five days, tops.
He felt the first hint of the fog long before he saw it. Small patches of dampness brushed past his face, ghostlike as spiderwebs. But the moment he turned down Waterfront Avenue, the mist moved in as thick as wet concrete, obliterating everything, forcing him to pull over, park his bike and walk the rest of the way.
Might as well just get it over with. He reached under the left side of his leather jacket for the reassuring feel of his .38 nestled in the shoulder holster. Snug as a bug. Too bad what he feared most couldn’t be killed with a bullet. Not even a silver one.
He made his way along the brick sidewalk toward the faint beat of the neon bar sign at the end of the street, unable to throw off the ominous feeling he’d gotten at just the sight of the town’s sign.
Nor had he realized how late it was until he noticed that the shops were all dark, locked up for the night. Of course, it wasn’t Memorial Day yet. That’s when the tiny Massachusetts town would come alive with tourists, especially this year, with Moriah’s Landing celebrating its 350th anniversary.
Tourists would flock here for the beach—and the witch folklore, bringing a morbid fascination for the town’s dark, witch-hanging past.
Tonight, though, the small township lay cloaked in a fog of obscurity, silent as McFarland Leary’s grave, as if waiting for something to happen. Unfortunately, Jonah feared he knew what that something was.
“Hey!” A voice came out of the darkness from the end of the street near the blurred, flashing bar sign for the Wharf Rat. Jonah could barely make out the form, but instantly recognized it, just as the man coming out of the bar had recognized him.
“Hey.” The man staggered forward, then stopped, clearly jarred momentarily from his drunken state.
Jonah reached blindly for the first door next to him, grabbed the handle and turned, praying it wouldn’t be locked, but prepared to use whatever it took to get in. He shoved with his shoulder as he turned the handle, losing his balance in surprise as the door fell open and he stumbled in, closing it behind him.
“You’re late,” a female voice admonished.
He froze, his back to the dark room. From beyond it, a narrow path of light ran across the carpet to his feet. He turned slowly, comforted by the feel of the .38.
She stood behind a large antique desk, one hand on her hip, her head cocked to the side so her long mane of raven’s-wing-black hair hung down past her shoulder like a wave. He could feel her gaze, dark and searching, long before he stepped close enough to really see her face.
“Sorry,” he said without thinking. He had plenty to be sorry about so he didn’t mind.
Her eyes narrowed. “I guess you didn’t get my last e-mail.”
He shook his head. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten any of her e-mails.
“Are you ready?” she asked, sounding a little unsure of herself. He sensed this was new territory for her.
Ready? He watched her pick up her purse and jacket and then hesitate. He couldn’t help but stare at her. She had the most interesting face he’d ever seen. Wide-set dark navy-blue eyes with dense lashes, a full, almost pouty, mouth and high cheekbones, all put together in a way that startled and interested him at the same time.
“Yes?” she asked, eyeing him, definitely not sure now. “Is there a problem?”
Not unless being totally confused was a problem. He started to tell her that she was making a mistake. But then she came around the corner of the desk and he got the full effect of her little black dress.
Wow. It was a knockout on her, formfitting against the warm olive glow of her skin. Silver glittered on her wrist, dangled from the lobes of her ears and swept the curve of her neck and throat. Nestled in the hollow between her breasts hung a small silver lighthouse charm.
“Did you have some spot in mind?” she asked. The tap of her heels drew his attention back up to her face as she moved toward him.
He had lots of spots in mind. But she’d caught him on a night when he was already off-kilter and she was the last thing he’d expected to run across. So it took him longer than it should have to realize she thought he was her date—an online blind date, it seemed. Even worse. And from the way she was dressed, they were going out for a drink. Maybe a late supper.
Unfortunately, her “real” date would probably be along any minute. Jonah realized he’d be damn disappointed when that happened. The problem was, leaving here right now wasn’t an option.
At least not out the front door where he feared the man he’d seen would be looking for him.
Past her, he saw a way out—literally. A back exit and a chance to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
“How about the Moriah’s Landing Inn?” he asked, realizing he had a better chance with her than alone if he hoped to avoid the man he’d just seen in the street. The hotel was only a few doors up on Main Street and had a very nice restaurant. And it was easy to get to since he figured he was probably supposed to be driving a car. Which he wasn’t. More important, they could get to it quickly by going down the narrow alley out back, therefore cutting down the chance of an ugly confrontation with his past.
“Great,” she said, sounding a little surprised.
Probably because of the way he looked. “I apologize for the way I’m dressed,” he said, glancing down at the jeans, biking boots and the laundry-worn blue chambray shirt he wore underneath his old brown leather jacket. He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw, then raked it on up through his hair. Not exactly hot-date material.
She looked down at her dress. It hit about thigh-high on her legs. Black platform sandals gave her a few more inches in height, putting them on about the same level. Her eyes came back to him, a tantalizing flush to her cheeks. “Is the dress too—”
“It’s perfect,” he said, meaning it. “You look sensational.” Meaning that, too.
She quirked a smile at him and ducked her head. “Thanks.”
Yes, definitely new territory for her. This was a woman who didn’t often feel vulnerable. But she did right now. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Even if he hadn’t had to make a quick getaway, her vulnerability made him all the more anxious to get her out of here before her real date arrived.
He glanced out the front window toward the street, the fog dense as chowder. No sign of the dark figure he’d seen earlier. “Why don’t we go out the back? It’s closer that way.”
She lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. He helped her with her jacket, wondering how much she knew about her real date, and opened the back door, glancing down the quaint brick alley to make sure no one was waiting for him.
As they left, he noticed the small sign hanging over the back door. Ridgemont Detective Agency. She worked for a private investigator? Just his luck.
He could hear music and the faint murmur of voices traveling on the sea breeze coming up from Raven’s Cove. His heart picked up the beat of her heels tapping the brick as they walked closer to the wharf, wrapped in the dense cloak of the fog, making what was already an unimaginable night surreal.
He told himself he’d just stolen someone else’s date. That alone could explain his uneasiness. Also he was home again, back in a town he’d vowed never to return to. Unfortunately, he knew only too well all the things that could be lurking in Moriah’s Landing.
She took his arm, the dark alley almost intimate as the foghorn groaned out past the cove. He breathed in her scent and tried to relax. He was safe with her. But he knew relaxing would be impossible as long as he was in Moriah’s Landing. And dangerous.
The apparition came out of the mist so unexpectedly Jonah didn’t even have time to reach for his weapon, let alone sense the presence. Suddenly a dark figure appeared in front of them, her black hooded cloak blowing out in the breeze like the wings of a vulture.
He started at the sight of the old crone, her gray hair a silver aura sticking out from under her black hood, her eyes bottomless holes in her w
rinkled face.
Reflexively he stepped between his date and the old woman as the crone reached clawlike gnarled fingers toward them.
“It’s just Arabella,” his date whispered. “She’s harmless.”
How little she knew.
The old woman’s gaze locked with his for an instant, then she stumbled back as if she’d seen a ghost. Or something worse. “Katherine,” she cried, fear contorting her face as she gasped for breath and reached around him, trying to pluck at the fabric of his date’s jacket sleeve.
“Danger comes in with the fog,” the crone croaked, her gaze on Jonah. “Danger and death.” Then the old woman stumbled back into the mist, leaving Jonah shaken. If he couldn’t even sense an old woman coming in the fog, how did he plan to protect himself from the real trouble here?
Katherine must have seen his expression. “Arabella’s just local color,” she said with a laugh, and pulled him toward the Moriah’s Landing Inn. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the town council paid her to freak out visitors as part of our witch-folklore ambience.”
Jonah looked over his shoulder. The old woman was gone. But like him, she’d sensed something had come in with the fog, unleashing evil in Moriah’s Landing.
They walked past one of the “witch” shops along the narrow alley that peddled magic, from herbs and oils to tarot cards and crystals.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about all this foolishness?” his date asked as she glanced into the shop window, then at him.
“What foolishness?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know and that he wasn’t still shaken by their run-in with Arabella.
“Witches, the supernatural, all the hype that comes with Moriah’s Landing,” she said with a laugh. “According to local legend, early resident McFarland Leary was a consort to a witch.”
They crossed Main Street to the entrance of the Moriah’s Landing Inn. He opened the door for her, anxious to get inside. Because of the hour, the hotel lobby and the restaurant were nearly empty. A young waiter showed them to a table by the window facing the cove—farthest away from the door and Main Street.
“When they started burning witches at the stake in Salem, many of the witches fled to Moriah’s Landing where they were hidden by McFarland Leary and his consort, a witch named Seama,” she said, and nervously plucked up her cloth napkin from the table. “Seama and her secret coven give the town its supernatural ambience.”
She glanced at him, then out at the foggy darkness as if there was nothing to fear beyond the window. “McFarland Leary is our resident ghost, cursed by the witch he betrayed.” She swung her gaze back to him. Definitely nervous, making him pretty sure she didn’t know much about him. “Seama was carrying Leary’s child when she caught him cheating on her with a mortal and she damned him for eternity. Then she disappeared with her unborn baby. Some people swear she later returned to town and her descendants live among us.” She smiled at that. “The town accused Leary of being a warlock and sentenced him to die. Warlocks were used for kindling around the stakes to get the fire going hot enough to burn the witches. But Moriah’s Landing likes to be different. The town hung Leary from a big oak tree on the town green and buried him in St. John’s Cemetery as a warning to others who might want to consort with witches. Now Leary rises from his grave every five years to seek revenge on the town. Or at least that’s what the chamber of commerce wants you to believe.”
She took a breath as she finished her story and let out a little tense laugh. “Welcome to Moriah’s Landing.”
Obviously, her real date wasn’t from town. He smiled, gazing intently into her dark blue eyes, anxious to change the subject, no matter what it took, even if it meant flirting with a beautiful woman. “I like it already, Katherine.” At least Arabella had provided him with his date’s name.
“Kat.” She dropped her gaze, a faint blush rising in her cheeks, making her even more appealing, as if she wasn’t already. “Everyone just calls me Kat.”
Except for Arabella. He glanced toward Waterfront Avenue, the fog too thick to know if the man he’d seen was still out there looking for him. “You sound as if you don’t like the town,” he said, not sure how much he was supposed to know about her but determined to keep her talking about herself so she didn’t start questioning him. “What makes you stay?”
She seemed surprised and he feared he’d already messed up. He wasn’t ready to go back out on the street. Even if it had been safe, he found his “date” intriguing. Maybe too intriguing.
She took a sip from her water glass, then picked up her menu. “I’ve never even thought about leaving. Can you believe it? I didn’t even leave to go away to college.”
So she went to the all-girl Heathrow College at the edge of town.
“I’m eighth generation,” she said as if that explained it. “In Massachusetts you aren’t considered a native unless you have at least eight generations buried in the local cemetery.”
A local girl. Just his luck.
“Your ancestors must have been fishermen,” he guessed, opening his own menu, although he wasn’t in the least bit hungry.
“Seventh generation,” she said. “Dad died at sea when I was a sophomore in college.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded and peered at him over her menu, her wide blue eyes magnetic. “Commercial fishing,” she said, then dropped her gaze again behind the menu.
He nodded to himself, more than aware that the sea had always taken men from small fishing villages like Moriah’s Landing and would continue to as long as men went to sea. And men would always be drawn to the sea. Some forces in nature pulled at you with a witchery that Jonah understood better than most.
“What about your mother?” he asked, hoping his question was general enough.
“My mother—” he heard the catch in her throat, the hesitation in her voice “—died when I was three. I can’t remember her.” She closed her menu, clearly closing the subject.
“I’m sorry. I hope that isn’t all the family you have here,” he said, doing a little fishing of his own.
“There’s my half sister, Emily. She’s seventeen and a real handful, but I love her. She’s all the family I have left and she graduates from high school next week. Tell me more about you.”
More about him. He studied his menu wondering about the man she was supposed to be having dinner with tonight. He could only guess that they met online, considering her comment about getting her e-mail, and that they obviously hadn’t met face-to-face—until tonight. He knew nothing about online dating. But it was pretty clear that she didn’t know her date very well—nor he her. “There isn’t much to tell.”
“Your father wasn’t a fisherman, I’ll bet.”
Far from it. He shook his head and smiled as he lowered his menu. Fortunately, the waiter saved him. “I have to have lobster,” Jonah told her. “How about you?”
“I don’t eat seafood.” She shook her head. “Not because of any moral stand or because of my father. I’ve just never liked it. I’ll take the chicken,” she said to the waiter.
“Kat,” Jonah said, trying out the name. He liked it. It fit her. “You must know practically everyone in town.” Cause for concern.
“Everyone,” she said, and laughed.
She would know his family. The thought left him cold.
“It’s one of the problems of living in a small town,” she said. “Everyone knows everything about you. And you them.” She shrugged. “But it’s home, you know?”
He didn’t know. He glanced out the window toward the wharf. The neon from the bars at the end of Waterfront gave the fog an eerie glow.
“You can’t even see the lighthouse tonight the fog is so thick,” Kat said, following his gaze to the night, sounding worried about fishermen who might be trying to get to safe harbor.
Jonah looked out past Raven’s Cove, where he knew the lighthouse loomed up from a jagged island outcropping of rock, then back at her as the waiter brought their salads. He couldn’
t stop thinking about Arabella’s warning. Or his own uneasiness. He told himself it was just the fog. Just being back here.
“So tell me about your work,” Kat said.
He watched her take a bite of her salad, captivated by her mouth. “My work?”
“Computers. What is it exactly that you do?”
He let out a laugh. So he was supposed to be a computer nerd? Great. “It’s too boring for words. I’m sure your job is much more interesting.”
She shook her head, smiling. “You aren’t one of those people who thinks the private-eye business is like on TV?” She had a great smile. He felt heat as his gaze locked with hers.
“You mean it’s not?” he asked, trying to sound disappointed as he looked deep into all that blue. It was like looking down into the sea. Bottomless and full of mysteries.
She licked her lips, her cheeks flushing again, and dropped her gaze to her salad, her fork poised above a piece of endive. “It actually consists of tedious, time-consuming hours spent digging up facts. But I started the business because I wanted to help people, so I don’t mind.” She shrugged and let her gaze lift to his again.
He didn’t know if the jolt he felt came from her look—or the realization that she was the P.I. of Ridgemont Detective Agency. Bad news. But although he was more than a little attracted to her, he wouldn’t be seeing her again after tonight. In fact, he planned to be out of Moriah’s Landing as quickly as possible. As soon as he finished what he’d come here to do.
He managed to steer the conversation away from himself throughout the rest of their dinner date, careful not to give anything away—or let on that he wasn’t her real date. He even got her to relax a little.
“I had a nice time,” she said shyly outside the restaurant after dinner, sounding surprised. Why did he get the feeling that she didn’t date much?
“I had a nice time, too,” he said, realizing it was true. He hadn’t meant for the date to last this long. He could no longer pretend he was just buying time. And yet he felt off balance again out here in the fog, being with this woman who should have been with someone else. “Can I walk you home?”
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