Witch Way to Beauty and the Beach

by Jane Hinchey

  “Way to kill the mood.” He winked at her and she smiled back, handed him a pamphlet on head injuries and things to look out for, and was then ushering us out the door, declaring she had other patients that needed her attention.

  “Your place or mine?” Jackson rested his hand on the nape of my neck as we headed toward my car in the parking lot.

  “I thought for sure you’d play the tough guy and insist on working,” I admitted.

  “Police regulations. I’m not cleared for duty until”—he glanced at a slip of paper I hadn’t noticed before—“eight a.m. tomorrow.”

  “Oh.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be working.” He rubbed his thumb up and down the side of my neck, distracting me. “I’ll just be doing it with you in the comfort of your home. Or mine. I’m easy. In fact, I think I will enjoy this enforced sick leave.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We ended up back at my place because of Archie. I’d left him at home this morning and if my day had panned out the way I’d expected it to, I’d been intending to drop in at lunchtime and take him back to the Dusty Attic with me. Of course none of that had happened so now it was midafternoon and I was worried about the state of my house from a bored and neglected feline. I needn’t have worried. Archie was curled up on my bed asleep and had most likely been there the entire day.

  With a long stretch and arch of his back, he jumped down and headed downstairs, no doubt keen to greet Jackson, who had made himself comfortable on my sofa.

  “Hey, Archie, how you doing, boy?” Jackson’s voice drifted up the stairs.

  Heading back downstairs, I passed through the living room to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Are you hungry?”

  “Actually, I’m starving,” he admitted. “And I’d kill for a coffee.”

  “No need to go to those extremes. I’ll fix you something. Sandwich okay?”

  “Anything would be fine.” He was fussing Archie who had climbed onto his lap and sprawled himself across Jackson’s chest, his head resting under his chin. I could hear his purr from the kitchen. Turning on the coffee pot, I quickly whipped up a couple of sandwiches, wincing at the state of my refrigerator. I badly needed to do a grocery shop.

  “Do you think I could borrow your phone?” Jackson called out.

  “Oh. Sure.” I’d forgotten someone had stolen his. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I dug around in my bag for my phone and carried it over to him.

  Back in the kitchen I heard him talking, but his voice was low and I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Not that it was any of my business, I scolded myself. I carried in a plate with two ham and cheese sandwiches and set it on the coffee table. Archie’s head immediately swiveled, and his nose sniffed the air.

  “Not for you,” I warned, eyeballing my cat who’d been known to steal food the second you took your eyes off it.

  Meow, he complained, as if he hadn’t been fed in days. I chuckled, heading back to the kitchen to get the coffees.

  Curling up in an armchair, I nibbled on my sandwich, watching Jackson for any signs he wasn’t feeling well. This was his first meal since his concussion and I remembered from experience the nausea that could ensue.

  “Stop staring. I’m fine.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  “Sorry. I’m a worrier,” I admitted, dropping my gaze. Then I had a thought. “Do you remember Remy, the girl I told you about in Australia?”

  “The one who works for B.O.R.D?”

  “Yeah, the Bureau. Well, Jenna’s sort of been keeping in touch, since she and Mick are kinda dating.”

  “That’s one hell of a long-distance relationship.” He winced, and I thought of Jenna, how difficult it must be for her.

  “Yeah. It’s tough. I don’t know how that will work long term. I mean, if it develops into something more… one of them will have to move.”

  “And you don’t want it to be Jenna?” Jackson guessed.

  I played with my coffee cup, turning it in my hands. “It’s selfish of me to think like that.” I sighed. “But actually that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Jenna has been doing her usual thing—”

  “Investigating,” he deadpanned. I nodded.

  “She’s been looking into the Griffin family, and let’s face it, they seem to be at the crux of Emily’s murder. Either Jacob did it, or he’s being framed.”

  “That’s a leap, but go on.”

  “She found a donation to Daniel’s mayoral campaign from Richards, Jones & Tennant…”

  “Ah, the law firm where your beau is a partner. So you’re thinking? What? That Tennant paid him off?”

  I ignored his dig that Blake was my beau. “What? No! No, while she followed that lead she discovered that Blake was here on other business, not just to represent Gran.”

  “And what business was that?” Leaning forward, Jackson placed his plate back on the coffee table, the sandwiches demolished. He’d definitely been hungry.

  “That’s just it. We don’t know. But Remy said it was entirely possible he was on a clandestine case for the Bureau of Occult Research and Defense. Even though he doesn’t openly work for them, his family has strong ties to the organization.”

  “And you’re wondering if it’s all tied in to Emily’s murder?” He leaned back and absently stroked Archie’s fur. The purring practically rattled the windows. Traitor cat.

  I shrugged. “When I think of teenage pregnancy, I think murder is an extreme reaction. Don’t you?” I just couldn’t get my head around Jacob, or even Hannah or Sarah, killing Emily. Yes, a baby was life changing, but bad enough to kill the expectant mother over? And so far I had nothing tying Ethan or Ryan to her death.

  “There were no paranormal elements in Emily’s death.” Jackson was talking to himself more than me, but I listened intently regardless. “And as for her lineage, she was a hybrid, part witch, part human.”

  “Exactly. What if… what if the father of Emily’s baby had a problem with their offspring being a half-breed? Or less than that if he himself was a hybrid.”

  “That rules out the Griffins, doesn’t it? Jacob is a hybrid, his magic comes from his mom. So it wouldn’t be like the baby was diluting the family line.”

  “Meaning his dad and his uncle are human.”

  “We’re going around in circles.” Jackson ran a hand through his hair, his brows pulling together in a frown. “We should get the results from the phone records soon—that may shed some light. In the meantime we need to find out who Tennant was investigating and why. B.O.R.D. doesn’t launch an investigation willy nilly. They’d have good reason behind it.”

  “That’s just it—Whitefall Cove Police weren’t made aware, were they? Otherwise you’d have known about it, surely. Because you have jurisdiction here?”

  “Not if it was clandestine, like you suggest. And whoever he was investigating? Nothing came of it. Or nothing we know of,” he amended.

  A car pulled up outside, and I glanced out the window.

  “That’ll be Philips,” Jackson said, rising from the sofa. “I asked him to drop off my laptop and a new phone.”

  I nodded, staying in my curled-up position in the armchair. Jackson greeted the young officer at the door, assured him he was fine and he’d be back on the clock in the morning but in the meantime to keep him updated with any new developments.

  Settling back onto the sofa with his laptop open, Jackson was soon engrossed, his fingers occasionally picking out the keys as he typed in something. I soon became bored, flicking on the television, eventually dozing off to a daytime soap.

  The harsh tone of my phone ringing woke me. Blindly reaching for it, I rubbed my eyes and peered at the screen. Jenna.

  “Hey,” I croaked, answering the call. It was dim in the living room; the sun was setting. How long had I been asleep? Jackson was sprawled on the sofa, laptop open on the coffee table, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. How he’d slept through my phone ringing I didn’t know, but the stea
dy rise and fall of his chest showed he was in a deep sleep. I frowned, wondering if I should be worried. Didn’t they say you shouldn’t sleep when you had a concussion? But the nurse hadn’t said anything. Had she? She’d given a pamphlet to Jackson, but I hadn’t even looked at it. I sat up, my neck cracking from the awkward position I’d fallen asleep in.

  “I found out who made that donation to Griffin’s mayoral campaign,” Jenna said, reminding me she was still on the other end of the line.

  “Oh?” Keeping my voice low, I eased myself out of the chair and headed upstairs so I wouldn’t disturb Jackson.

  “Yeah. Relax, it wasn’t Blake. It was David Richards, one of the other partners.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure if I should feel elated or deflated. Jenna plowed on, regardless. “Turns out one of Richards’s favorite pastimes is getting involved in small town politics. He’s supported several politicians in their efforts to gain power.”

  “Well, that’s interesting, sure. But a dead end regarding Emily’s murder.”

  Jenna sighed. “Pretty much. But I’m still looking into Blake. That man is too much of a mystery. I want to know who he was investigating.”

  “That’s funny. Jackson and I were just talking about that this afternoon.”

  “How is he?” Jenna asked. I spent a few minutes filling her in on Jackson, and that Jacob Griffin had submitted to a DNA test.

  A doorbell rang in the distance, interrupting us. “That’s me. Gotta go. I’m covering the mayoral campaign and fundraising dinner tonight,” Jenna said in a rush.

  “Have a good time. Call me if anything interesting happens.”

  After saying our goodbyes, I hung up and headed back downstairs. Jackson was still on the sofa, but now his eyes were open. They zeroed in on me.

  “Hey, you’re awake.” My eyes traveled over him. “Feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He stretched, his shirt pulling taut across his chest.

  “Sorry if I woke you.” I was finding it exceedingly difficult to look away, mesmerized by the way the fabric of his shirt clung to his muscles.

  “All good.” He swung his legs to the floor and sat up. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom? I could use a shower to freshen up. I think I still have dried blood in my hair. Damn, I hope I didn’t get any on your cushions.” He turned to check, muttered under his breath in relief when there were no bloody stains.

  “Go ahead. I’ll fix us dinner. Towels are in the linen closet upstairs.”

  I watched him go, my eyes glued to his denim-clad rear as he climbed the stairs.

  “I can feel you watching, Jones,” he called down and my cheeks heated with embarrassment until he added, “And I like it.”

  With a snort I turned my attention to the kitchen cupboards—empty. Followed by the fridge. Also empty. I’d used the last of the bread on the sandwiches. I had one slice of ham left and no cheese.

  I really needed to grocery shop. I’d gotten spoiled living with Gran. The pantry was always full, as was the refrigerator, but now, living on my own, all of that was down to me. And I was failing!

  Pulling out my phone, I ordered takeout. Again. While I waited for the pizza delivery, I fed Archie and cleaned away our plates and cups from lunch, forgetting that Jackson was using the shower so when I turned on the tap to wash the dishes a bellow coincided from upstairs and I quickly flicked the taps off again.

  “Sorry!” I shouted, cringing at the icy blast Jackson had just received. I waited by the sink, gazing out the window and listening with half an ear for the shower to turn off. When it did, I quickly filled the sink with sudsy water and washed the dishes, leaving them to drain on the sink.

  I heard Jackson on the staircase.

  “Sorry about that. I forgot you were in the shower before I turned on the tap.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He looked fresh, his hair wet and sticking up where he’d finger-combed it. His feet were bare and he dropped his shoes by the end of the sofa. He sniffed the air, then cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “I’m not smelling anything cooking.”

  “Observant.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I’ve ordered a pizza which should be here any second.”

  “Don’t like to cook?”

  I shrugged. “Nah, I don’t mind it. Just lacking in ingredients right now.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded sagely. Silence stretched between us and for the first time since meeting him, I felt awkward. That awkwardness was shattered when he burst out laughing. “You should see your face,” he chortled, bending over and holding his middle. “Priceless!”

  “What?” I grumbled, not enjoying being laughed at. He straightened up, took several moments to contain his mirth before reaching out to cup my cheek. “Relax, Harper. I’m not going to bite.” He paused, sobering, his eyes darkening as he moved in closer. “Not without an invitation.”

  I swayed toward him, all thoughts of pique that he’d laughed at me forgotten. One thing that always was, and I imagined always would be, the magnetism between us was undeniable.

  A sudden pounding at the door had us jumping apart. Archie meowed and trotted to the front door, waiting for someone to open it so he could greet whoever was on the other side. I’d been so engrossed in Jackson I hadn’t heard anyone approach.

  “That’ll be the pizza,” I squeaked, scuttling to the door and flinging it wide.

  “One family-sized super supreme,” the pimply-faced teenager announced. “A garlic bread, and a two-liter bottle of Coke.”

  I took the food from him and passed it back to Jackson who’d approached behind me. Archie wound his way through the teenager’s ankles, sniffing him with interest.

  “Hold on, I’ll just get my purse.” My purse was in my bag sitting on the hallway table by the front door. A quick stretch to my left, I pulled it free, paid the boy, and called Archie back inside. Closing the door I dropped my purse back in my bag and looked up, my breath hitching in my throat.

  Jackson had never looked so darn sexy standing barefoot in my dining room holding a pizza. It would be a long night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’d offered to take the sofa for the night, but Jackson had refused, insisting he’d be fine. I’d been half expecting him to join me upstairs, but he’d kissed me goodnight and whispered against my mouth he’d see me in the morning. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and I didn’t know what to think about that. So I’d spent a fitful night tossing and turning knowing he was in my house, on my sofa, all I had to do was go to him.

  In the morning I padded cautiously downstairs in my pajamas, careful not to wake him. I needn’t have bothered. The sofa was empty. The pillow and blanket I’d given him neatly folded.

  “Oh good, you’re up.” He greeted me from the dining room table where he sat with his laptop and a steaming cup of coffee. My nose sniffed the air appreciatively. “Coffee’s on.” He nodded toward the kitchen and I numbly followed my nose, pouring myself a cup before sliding into a chair opposite him.

  “Good news,” he said, his attention on the screen of his laptop, “Phone records are in for Emily.”

  “Oh?” I took a sip of the hot java, closing my eyes and savoring the caffeine hit.

  “Mmmhmm. And she was exchanging a lot—and I mean a lot—of texts with someone.”

  “Hardly surprising,” I mumbled. “She’s a teenage girl.”

  “No, I mean someone who is not in her circle of friends.” He flipped the screen around so I could see.

  I looked at the spreadsheet with colored lines and frowned. “I don’t know what any of that is.”

  Jackson swung the laptop back and grinned at me. “Not a morning person, I see.”

  I took another sip of coffee and eyeballed him over the rim of my cup. How could he look so bright and fresh after a night on my sofa? I’d had the luxurious comfort of my bed and I felt like a tired, drained, haggard, mess.

  He studied me for another moment, seemed to weigh up his options, and opted to not mention my
current state. Wise man.

  “So we’ve extrapolated her calls—or texts—to her friends and family and have found one number that doesn’t match up.”

  “Mrm.” Another sip, keeping the cup raised and half hiding my face behind it.

  “An unknown number. From a burner phone.”

  That caught my attention. My cup hit the table with a thud and coffee sloshed over the side. “Darn it.” I cursed, beginning to rise to grab some paper towels.

  “Sit. I’ll take care of it.” Jackson was up and in the kitchen in the blink of an eye, two seconds later he was mopping up the spilled coffee before tossing the soggy paper towels in the trash.

  “Are you Superman?” I peered at him through bleary eyes. That was the only explanation I had for him moving so fast and being so refreshed. I knew he was a necromancer, but I thought that just meant he could see and communicate with ghosts. I hadn’t considered he might have extra powers.

  He laughed. “No. You didn’t sleep well?” He cocked his head as he sat back down.

  “Apparently you did.” I didn’t mean for it to sound so bitchy, but it did. I blushed and apologized. “Sorry.”

  He closed his laptop and studied me across the table. “Tell you what. Finish your coffee, get dressed, and I’ll take you into town for breakfast. You weren’t wrong when you said you had an ingredient problem. When was the last time you shopped?”

  My face darkened and I could feel the heat in my cheeks, scorching. Pushing back my chair I went to stand up, but his fingers clamping around my wrist held me in place.

  “Hey! That wasn’t a criticism. Just an observation. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say, just looked at him and he smiled, a soft tender smile that did funny things to my insides.

  He let go of my wrist and nudged my coffee toward me. “Drink.” Leaning back, he folded his arms across his chest.

  “My sisters will like you.” He nodded in apparent satisfaction.

  My brows shot up. “You have sisters?”