by Vella Day
“Where did this come from?” he asked.
“I found it in a wall by the dumpster behind the Wellness Center.”
Kalan pushed it to the side with his pencil. “Looks like the same caliber as the one that killed Delahart.”
Ronan’s pulse raced. “I’m hoping it will exonerate Blair, instead of implicating her. The person who hit Delahart in the throat had excellent aim. This shot was nowhere near the victim.”
Kalan leaned back in his chair and looked up at him. “Implying someone put the gun in Blair’s hand?”
“That’s my guess.”
“You sure you wouldn’t rather work here than with Connor?” Kalan said with a small smile.
“Fat chance. Your line of work is too dangerous.” Ronan was only kidding, but he enjoyed giving Kalan crap.
“I hear ya. A jury might say that Blair aimed at Delahart, pulled the trigger, and missed. When he moved toward her, she focused, and then shot him again. That bullet stopped him.”
“Damn. We’re back to square one then.”
“Perhaps. Got any other hunches you plan to follow up on?”
“I want to check out Blair’s house to make sure the killer hasn’t set some kind of trap for her,” Ronan said.
“Are you thinking the killer believes Blair’s memory will come back, and he plans to silence her for good?”
As much as Ronan didn’t like that scenario, it was the most likely one. “Maybe. I still believe the killer is a special type of being, but if he’s an ordinary warlock, he might return to make sure she keeps quiet.”
Kalan sat up and sobered. “Let me know if you find anything.”
On his way out, Ronan called Jackson to give him an update. “I should be back in about an hour,” Ronan said.
“Take your time. They have good magazines here.”
Ronan laughed. Jackson didn’t seem the type to enjoy People or Home and Garden. “You’re just happy to be near Ainsley.”
“You caught me. Every time Ainsley has a break, she stops out here and chats, so I’m good.”
A few minutes later, Ronan turned down Blair’s street. As he drew close to her house, he rolled down the window and inhaled the sweet scents. Yellows, greens, and blues swirled in his mind’s eye, making him smile. Normally, summer wasn’t his favorite time of year, mostly because sitting in a hot car sucked, but today he could appreciate its beauty.
For some reason, he decided to park down the street and go in on foot. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t pull into the driveway, but his gut was telling him to be cautious.
Once close, he inhaled every few feet to test if anyone was near. When an all too familiar scent teased his nose, his pulse raced and a band around his chest ratcheted tight. Ronan didn’t want to believe it could be true.
Needing to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he circled behind Blair’s house and cut through the neighbor’s yard, not wanting to spook the person.
Slowly withdrawing his weapon, he edged around the house. When his worst fears were confirmed, his hand shook.
“Dad?”
Bill Laramie was kneeling behind Blair’s car, his hand under the bumper. He jumped up. “Ronan? Oh, shit. It’s not what you think.”
“What am I thinking?” His voice sounded as cold as steel.
“I didn’t kill that man, I swear.”
Ronan ran his gaze up and down his dad’s body, not detecting any weapon. He always preached how dangerous firearms were. On the ground sat a white package, looking suspiciously like drugs. Why would his father assume Ronan would think he had anything to do with Timothy Delahart’s death? Guilt perhaps? “Move away from the car and tell me what happened.”
It didn’t matter what his dad said; Ronan was sure he was involved in his nemesis’ death somehow. Why else would his father be this far from home? Slipping his phone from out of his pocket, Ronan called Kalan.
“Murdoch.”
“You need to get to Blair’s. I found our killer.”
“Who was it?”
“My dad.”
“No way. Are you sure?”
“Do Changelings lie?”
“On my way.”
Once Kalan disconnected, Ronan slipped his gun back into his holster and strode toward his father. “I thought I smelled you at the crime scene, but I didn’t want to believe it. What are you doing at Blair’s?” The answer seemed rather obvious since a packet of drugs was on the ground next to him.
“I swear I’m innocent.”
Ronan laughed, but it held no joy—only disgust and bitterness. “You stopped being innocent once I turned ten. Tell me what happened.”
“I know it looks bad.”
“It looks criminal.”
“Okay, you know how I have a tendency to gamble?” Ronan refused to comment. “Anyway, I was losing big when this dame comes up and says she wants to sit in on our game. I couldn’t turn her down, you know what I mean? Women don’t know shit about cards.”
Ronan wanted to haul off and smack his old man for his sexist attitude, but it wouldn’t do any good. The man was incorrigible. Hell, he’d already tried to sell his own daughter. “Go on,” he said.
“Bitch turned out to be some kind of card shark. I lost five G’s that night.”
“Money you didn’t have,” Ronan added.
“True, but she said if I’d help her with one little deal, we’d be clear.”
Ronan could figure out the rest. “This little deal involved doing a drug deal and killing the buyer.”
His father held up his hands. “No. I mean yes, but not the killing part. I may be a drunk and a gambler, but I ain’t no killer.”
“Desperate men do desperate things.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Enlighten me.” He was fast losing his patience. “Run through exactly what went down.”
“We were just supposed to sell drugs to some guy by the name of Delamont or Delaspot or something.”
“Delahart…”
“Yeah, that’s it. My partner had the drugs. I was there to be the muscle in case he hassled her.”
“Her? What was her name?” Well, shit. Blair was right.
“Darinda. Didn’t catch her last name, but she was a looker all right.”
He couldn’t have cared less. “Go on.”
His dad shoved a hand through his messy hair and chewed the inside of his cheek—a habit that Ronan had always disliked. “Well, she gives the drugs to the guy and takes his payment. I think it’s a done deal when, all of a sudden, this chick comes out of the side entrance of some building and sees us.”
Blair. Ronan’s fangs sharpened, and his bones cracked. “She must have been surprised.” Ronan was pleased that he was able to keep his tone even.
“Boy, was she. I grabbed the girl so she wouldn’t get away and scream her pretty little head off when Darinda pulled a gun and shot the guy. That was not part of the plan, but since he was a shifter, I didn’t think much of it. But then the guy didn’t move.”
“Why was that?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“What did the girl do?”
“She didn’t do anything. She just stared and stuff.”
That didn’t make any sense. Blair would have tried to save Delahart. “She didn’t scream?”
“No. I thought she was in shock or something. Then Darinda hands me the gun and tells me to put it in the girl’s hand and fire a shot.”
Everything made sense now. “So you snatch the drugs and the money and take off,” Ronan said, filling in the blank.
“Not then I didn’t. I figured that Darinda would stiff me, so when she was helping the girl back to her car, I stole two small packets of the drugs and then stuffed it under the girl’s bumper. I put some of the money in my pocket.”
“How did this Darinda know which one was Blair’s car?’
“I don’t know.”
Sirens sounded, a car door closed, and seconds later, Kalan and his partner Dalton
Garner showed up.
“Ronan, are you okay?” Kalan said as he rushed up to him.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Ronan didn’t understand his concern. Dalton cuffed his father. “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean? You called me and said you’d found Delahart’s killer. That it was your dad.”
“I don’t remember that.”
Kalan studied him. “I think you need to come with me,” Dalton clasped Ronan’s arm, but he shook him off.
“I’m good. I need to get back to Blair. Jackson’s with her, and I told him I’d return in an hour.”
“Let me worry about Jackson.”
Kalan never lied. As Ronan watched Dalton lead his father away, Kalan pulled out his phone and took pictures of the drugs and money. He then made a call. “If you want to follow Dalton back to the precinct, go ahead. I need to wait here for the crime scene unit to process these drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“Ronan, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
His friend moved closer. “You called me and said your dad had killed Delahart. The caller ID said it was your phone, and I recognized your voice.”
Oh, shit, he didn’t remember even making the call. A feeling of dread bigger than the sea flowed through him. “Are you sure?” It was a stupid question. He pulled out his phone, and sure as shit, the sheriff’s department number was the last one called.
“Of course, I’m sure.”
“Then I think we’re dealing with something a lot bigger than some big, bad witch.”
Chapter Nine
‡
“Where’s Ronan?” Blair asked Jackson during one of her breaks. His long legs were stretched halfway into the main area.
He put down the magazine he was reading and shrugged. “He said he needed to do something and would be back in an hour. Problem is it’s been closer to two now.”
“That’s not like him.” I think. “Maybe I should give him a call to make sure he’s okay.”
Jackson chuckled. “You just want to get your Ronan fix.”
Shit. Her face heated. “So not true. I’m worried he found out something that I won’t like.”
“Be in denial.”
Not needing grief from her older brother, Blair headed back to the break room to call Ronan, thankful the room was empty. Sometimes it was hard to find privacy at work.
“Hey,” Ronan said, sounding rather strange.
“Is everything okay? Jackson said you weren’t going to be gone long.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I should have been back sooner, but something happened—something not good.”
Worry crushed her. Ronan sounded distant, and possibly frightened. She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
Blair stepped over to the table and sat down. “What do you mean you’re not sure?” She remembered using those same words when she’d called Kalan that first time. Ronan then explained why he went to her house. As much as she didn’t like to think the real killer was still around and might want to harm her, she understood his logic.
“I remember sneaking in through the neighbor’s yard in order to enter around the side of your house.”
“Did you see or sense someone?” He claimed he had an unusually high sense of smell.
“Yes. I remember seeing my dad crouched down behind your car, and then it was as if time stood still. Next thing I knew, Kalan was there arresting him.”
“What?” Too many questions bombarded her at once.
“Which part is the shocker? The idea that time stood still or that my dad was arrested?”
She wasn’t able to process any of it. “Both.”
“Neither makes sense to me either. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I’m aware of my surroundings one minute, and the next I’m somewhere else. I’m scared, Blair. I can’t remember a damn thing!”
Her heart plummeted. “Do you think someone erased your memory too?”
“It seems to be the only explanation.”
Sympathy swamped her. “I know how you feel.”
“I’m sure you do. As much as I hate that you went through the same thing, I feel a bit better knowing I didn’t just have some brain fart.”
Her mind swam. When the blood stopped pounding in her head, she focused on the here and now. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m hoping my father can clear up a few things. After Kalan and Dalton arrived, they had to arrest Dad since he was taking drugs out from under your back bumper.”
What felt like a bolt of lightning struck her, nearly frying her nerves. “Drugs? In my car?”
“No one is claiming they’re yours. If my father knew they were there, maybe he planted them.”
Her mind grappled with that news. “I’m not sure they won’t think I’m responsible. If I were a cop, I’d assume I stashed them in my car for safekeeping. The plan might have been for my partner to come to my house to pick them up.” Shit, this was getting worse by the moment.
“Don’t think like that.”
Easy for him to say. “Will they question me again? It’s not like I can tell them anything.”
“I’m heading over to the station now to see what Dad has to say and to ask Kalan that exact question.”
“Call me if you learn anything.” Her voice cracked.
“Will do.”
As soon as she disconnected, the new girl, Cynthia, came into the room. “Blair? Are you okay?” she asked.
She blew out a breath and looked up at her. “Yes. I’m fine.” Not at all.
“Mrs. Wellington is here for her appointment and has been waiting.”
Oh shit. She’d forgotten about her. “Thanks.”
If all this mess didn’t clear up soon, no telling what would happen to her.
*
“I want to speak with my father,” Ronan told Detective Dalton Garner.
Dalton held up his hand. “He’s being processed, but once we’re finished, you can see him.” Dalton motioned for Ronan to take a seat. “How about telling me what happened back there at Blair’s house?”
Ronan wanted to pace, but if he did, that might agitate his animal more than it already was. He told Dalton how he’d wanted to make sure no one was at Blair’s house. “Because she remembered nothing, one of our theories is that someone put a spell or curse on her—one that might wear off with time. If that were the case, this witch or warlock would want to make sure Blair didn’t talk.”
“And you thought this witch might be at her house to sabotage Blair or worse kill her?”
“It was a thought.”
Dalton dragged a hand down his clean-shaven chin. “Based on what evidence?”
Ronan leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Some people don’t leave evidence, if you get my drift.” Especially if there were goddesses involved, but he wasn’t about to make that statement where someone could overhear.
Dalton nodded, seeming to understand that he was speaking about some kind of supernatural entity. “Have you consulted with Ophelia about this? Maybe she can reverse it.”
“We have. All she said was that Blair was in danger.”
“Then what happened at the house?”
“Then nothing—it’s all a blank.” Ronan leaned back. “It’s like what happened to Blair. As soon as you and Kalan arrived, I seemed to snap out of whatever was creating the time warp and memory loss. I could hardly believe it when you told me that I’d said my dad was the killer.” Ronan tugged on his beard and twisted the end to a point—a nervous habit that drove Lexi crazy.
Dalton picked up a worn pencil on his desk. “You don’t think that’s true anymore?”
“I don’t think anything. That’s the point.” He’d nearly shouted. “But I must have figured out something or I wouldn’t have called Kalan for backup. I’m convinced some very powerful witch or goddess
ripped the memory right out of my head,” he whispered, not able to control his frustration anymore.
Dalton’s grip on the pencil tightened. “Goddess?” he mouthed.
“Yes. My dad’s no warlock, so it had to be someone who’s not from around here.”
“Did this person float above you like Vinea used to do?”
“How the fuck would I know? Especially if he or she had been invisible, and I also don’t remember detecting any kind of scent.” He told Dalton how Blair thought she remembered a man and woman arguing.
Dalton held up his hands. “Okay. I get it. Look, it will take some time to process your dad. Why don’t you check up on Blair, and I will contact you when you can speak with your father?”
Ronan wasn’t anxious to see him, but he of all people might be able to tell whether his dad was lying. “I’ll do that.”
Before he stood, an officer he didn’t recognize barreled down the hallway and aimed straight at them. Dalton nodded at the man. “What did Mr. Laramie say?”
“That he was innocent, of course. He’s in Silver Lake to visit his kids, and swears he had nothing to do with any drugs or murder.”
Dalton glanced over at Ronan. “Was your dad down here to see you two?”
“Hell no. Remember, my dad tried to sell my sister. He knows there will be no warm welcome for him here. We broke ties with him after the stunt he pulled with that gambler, Justin Kapok. Besides, I’m sure Lexi never gave him her address, and I know I sure as hell didn’t.”
“He could have done a little research.”
“His brain is so pickled, I’m not sure he even knows what a search engine is.”
“Could he have hired someone to track you down?” Dalton asked. “Maybe he wants to make amends, like he claims.”
Ronan wasn’t buying it. “My dad is a drunk and a gambler. I’m surprised he had enough money to get down here, let alone hire a private investigator. Do we know if he drove or flew?”
The newcomer glanced over at Dalton. “I didn’t ask him.”
“Are you finished processing him?” Dalton asked with some irritation.
“For now. The lab did a quick check on the drug package he had, and the contents are identical to what was found on Delahart’s fingers.”
