Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  She blinked a couple of times in surprise, and then got to her feet. “No,” she answered, more to herself, he thought, than to him. “No, apparently not. You’re right. Sorry I bothered you, Nick.”

  “It’s not a bother,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “But... Look, do you mind if I borrow this for a while?” he asked, indicating the book on his desk.

  She barely gave it a glance. “Keep it,” she answered shortly. “It’s already told me everything I needed to know.”

  “More problems?” Ryan inquired as he re-entered the office a short while later.

  Nick sighed. “Oh, yeah. But not for us, this time.”

  “Well, that’s different.” The other man sat back down and regarded him with faint amusement. “I gotta say, bud. You do lead an interesting life.”

  “Shit, you got that right. A little more interesting than I’d like right now.”

  * * *

  Marsha wasn’t sure how she got through the rest of the afternoon. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and the pain in her stomach had nothing to do with the fact that she’d forgotten to eat lunch. The house was quiet when she let herself in. She could hear the low hum of voices coming from the boy’s room.

  “Hey, guys.” She opened their door and walked in. The twins were huddled in front of the tank they’d set up on the dresser that morning. “Everything okay in here?”

  Jesse smiled excitedly. “Mom, come see. We stopped at the pet store after school and got some supplies.”

  “Yeah,” Frank elaborated. “Some sawdust and an exercise wheel and a bottle for water,”

  “And a little friend to keep him company,” Jesse finished, proudly.

  “A—?” Marsha hadn’t thought today could get much worse, but then, the day was just chock full of surprises. “What kind of friend?” she managed, peering into the tank.

  “Another mouse of course.”

  “Of course.” She stared resignedly at the pretty little caramel-colored rodent. A terrible thought occurred to her. “So... you did ask for another male mouse. Didn’t you?”

  The blank stares that met her gaze told their own story. Right. Just perfect.

  Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. How do you even tell with mice?”

  “Yeah, and what’s the big deal anyway?” Jesse added.

  “Give it a few weeks,” she answered wearily. “You’ll figure it out.”

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  * * * *

  Chapter Thirty One

  * * * *

  “Marsha!” She heard her name blast from Sam’s lips, as waves of sensation ripped through them both. Stunned and gasping, she watched herself crawl up along the length of his body. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long wordless moment.

  He’d come so close to screwing things up tonight, she could hear him thinking. He’d hoped to find some way to blind her to the truth—

  No! For the second morning in a row, Marsha found herself dragged from sleep with her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Pain and panic tore sharp, sudden gashes across her mind.

  “Not again,” she moaned into her pillow. It couldn’t be happening again. She couldn’t stand it. So what if it were just a dream? She knew what she dreamed was true. She knew the cruel power a dream could hold; to return, again and again; to suck her in and torture her. To mock her stupidity. She knew she’d likely be forced to relive the experience nightly, and for a very long time.

  Maybe when Sam came back she could confront him with his lies and find some way to resolve her pain. Or would she only feel worse? Had it all been a lie?

  She had dropped the boys off at school and was headed for the store when another thought occurred to her. What made her think he was even coming back? Just because he’d said he was? Ha! That was a laugh, all right. Maybe that bullshit about her not going out to the cabin while he was away was just meant to disguise the fact that he was already gone for good.

  Her hands clenched on the steering wheel. Damn it to hell. There was no way she could stand to wait three more days to find that out. She wouldn’t even wait another hour. The hell with what she’d promised about staying away. Her promises had been given to a man who didn’t even exist.

  She reached for her cell phone as she turned the van toward the coast. They’d have to get along without her for one day, she fumed as she dialed the number for the store. What the hell was she paying these people for, anyway?

  * * *

  Hidden within the tangled growth of tree and vine, Ryan contemplated the scene before him with disgust. For an isolated, woodland cabin, the place was seeing a hell of a lot of traffic this morning. Too much, in fact. He was conscious of the fell calmness that occasionally accompanied the pump of adrenaline in his veins.

  “All right, then. Bring it,” he muttered to himself as he checked his gun again, and then picked up the radio unit he’d brought with him. “Yeah, Nick?” His voice was perfectly cool, as he turned his attention back to the other side of the clearing. “I think we got a problem here.”

  * * *

  Marsha’s eyes could not seem to adjust to the darkness inside the cabin, but she didn’t think it was the lack of light that was hampering her vision. More likely pain, and the fear of even greater pain, was what blinded her. She wandered from room to room, her spirits only slightly lightened by the discovery that Sam had left enough possessions behind to suggest he really did intend to return.

  She paused by the table in the dining room, but the corner where she had seen the amulet in her vision was bare. He had taken it with him, then. Absently, she rubbed her fingers across the spot where it had sat. It didn’t matter anymore whether he had taken it or not. Just as it no longer mattered whether she’d succeeded in removing its influence from his mind.

  A rush of bitterness tore through her. God, what a joke! She’d wanted him to see her? Well, he’d seen her, all right, hadn’t he? He’d seen her for the sucker she was.

  “This what you’re looking for?” The cool voice spoke up suddenly from the shadows in the corner of the room, making her jump. And then a small black object hurtled toward her. She caught the amulet without thinking, and then stared into the shadowed corner, her eyes adjusting with no difficulty at all now, to see the dark figure behind the door. The dark figure with the gun.

  * * *

  “Fuck. How long did you say she’s been in there, now?” Nick asked tersely as a cold fury filled him.

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.” Ryan’s voice in the radio was flatly unemotional. “So what d’you wanna do?”

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” Nick fumed. “This just fucks everything up, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep. Pretty much.”

  “I suppose... shit.” Nick took a look around the pretty little glade while he tried to think. Sunlight filtered down through green and yellow leaves, and the scent of cedar was almost overwhelming to his already heightened senses. In three days’ time he was supposed to marry Scout. Just three more days! So many times he thought he’d never live to see the day. And now – Christ, if things went any more wrong, he just might not. “I guess – we got no choice, do we?”

  “Nope. Not really.”

  “Fuck it, then. Let’s go.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  * * *

  “So, what are you going to do?” Marsha asked cautiously, unable to take her eyes away from the gun for more than a few moments at a time. It was a very big gun. A lot bigger than she’d expected, somehow.

  “Do? We’re just gonna sit here and wait for your friend to show up.” Marsha noticed that the voice was as steady as the hand that held the gun. “And then, of course, I’ll have to kill you both.”

  Wait for her friend. Marsha felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise suddenly in her throat and she swallowed hard. Wait for her friend? Well, that might take a while, she thought wryly. Like forever, maybe.

  She was aware of the slow, heavy beating of her heart, and was seized with an overwhelming desi
re to keep it beating like that for a good long time. This might be a good day to die, she thought, obstinacy flaring to life within her; but not for her.

  She had to do something.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and forced herself to think. Forced herself to relax and study her opponent’s force field, looking for the weaknesses, the hidden flaws each soul conceals. This soul, for example, was already very weary. This soul had dreamed of a landscape far removed from Oberon’s cool foggy coast. This soul... could use a nap.

  Marsha wasn’t exactly sure how that would help her, but it had to be worth a try.

  She took another long breath, and then another after that. And then another. Slow, deep, even. Time slowed and slowed and slowed around her as the room seemed to fill with a warm, drowsy humming. Even the air began to feel different. Thicker. Weightier. Like a liquid, almost. Nothing moved in the quiet room... and nothing beyond the room mattered.

  Lassitude spread out around her like a deep, warm pool, lapping at the edges of consciousness. She yawned, and a moment later watched her yawn reappear on the face across the room from her.

  Excellent, she thought, with quiet approval, as she prepared to take them deeper. Two more deep breaths and then her next breath nearly stalled in her throat when she caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.

  Breathe! she reminded herself. Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight pouring in through the shutters, but something had just moved silently past the window, interrupting the smooth fall of light. She forced herself to continue, slow and steady, despite the sudden acceleration of her heart, despite the jangled warnings of her senses and the torquing tension in the air around them. Another minute. Two more. She struggled to ignore the subtle shifts of energy in the atmosphere.

  Almost too late, she heard the sharp intake of breath from across the room, and watched, helplessly, as the gun began its slow, inexorable swing toward the kitchen door. No! Her mind rebelled against the fell intent she read in that motion. Her energy swept outward in a silent, invisible wave of force that found its target an instant before the room exploded in sound.

  “Shit!” Darcy stared in disbelief at the downed cop bleeding on the floor. She must be losing her touch. For an instant, she was stunned into immobility by the shock of it all. She’d come this close to having the bastard sneak up on her. And then – she’d actually felt herself jump as she squeezed the trigger. She’d only injured him. The son-of-a-bitch hadn’t even lost his gun, it was still aimed right at her heart. How in hell had that happened? She hadn’t more than a moment to ponder the disaster, however, before she felt something cold and hard pressed to her head, right behind her ear.

  “Give me the gun, Boyle.” Nick’s voice was lethally cold; she couldn’t believe she’d let him sneak up on her, too. Fury raged inside her. She’d come so close!

  “Or what, Nick?” she taunted, not daring to turn her head to face him. “We both know you aren’t gonna shoot me.”

  “Don’t bet on it. Hand it over. Now.”

  “Don’t think so, pard.” She shook her head just a little, trying to shift it away from the gun, but he kept it pressed hard against her head. “Come on, Nick,” she said, stalling for time while she waited for an instant of inattention. She wouldn’t need more than one. “Let’s make a deal, huh? We’re friends, right? You can’t just—”

  “Friends? I don’t even know you.” His voice teetered on the edge of control and she felt the gun drill just a bit harder against her skull. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your fucking head off just because I have the chance?”

  Because you’re not a killer, she thought, but didn’t say. His anger could work to her advantage, she thought. His anger would make him vulnerable to a host of distractions.

  “You really should listen to him, you know.” The red-haired woman spoke quietly; her voice was eerily calm, and it seemed to Darcy that she could hear it echoing inside her head. She tried to shake off the sudden chill that swept through her, but the woman continued speaking, and it was as if the words themselves were formed of ice. “Do what he tells you. He means what he says...”

  Darcy shuddered as her mind filled with dead cold certainty. Shit. The bitch was right. He’d drop her in a heartbeat.

  “Give him the gun now,” the woman said.

  Swallowing hard, Darcy slowly lifted her hands.

  Nick had the gun out of her grasp in an instant, and gave her a shove that sent her sprawling into the chair she’d recently vacated. She glanced up at him reluctantly, and knew then that she’d been had. The eyes that met hers snapped and seethed with fury, but she didn’t see murder there. And she should know. Hadn’t she been looking at it for years? Every time she gazed into a mirror.

  * * *

  “You okay?” Nick came and sat down on the back stoop beside her. It was hours later and they were the only ones left now. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the trees bathing the glade in warmth, yet Marsha still felt chilled to the bone. She shot him a sharp glance across her shoulder, but didn’t bother to answer.

  “Right. Stupid question. Of course you’re not.”

  Marsha sighed, feeling impossibly tired. “No, I’m really not. But never mind me, how’s your partner?”

  “My what? Oh. Henderson.” Nick shook his head. “Yeah, he’ll recover. Damned if he’s not a lucky son-of-a-bitch. He was supposed to wait for me to go in first, and then – oh, shit. I don’t know how this all went so wrong. And I just do not understand how Darcy could have missed him at that distance.”

  “Well, she didn’t exactly miss him,” Marsha felt obliged to point out, but Nick just shook his head again.

  “Oh, she missed, all right. Trust me. She’d never have shot him in the leg on purpose. That woman’s never once fired a weapon without intending to kill.”

  “Huh.” Marsha thought about that for a bit. “So, how about you? How’re you feeling?”

  He sighed, staring off into the distance. “I feel like I should be more used to this crap by now.” And Marsha didn’t think it was just the danger or the violence to which he referred. “But maybe you never do get used to it.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to get used to it.”

  “Maybe not.” He turned to look at her again. “Shit, Marsha. What in the hell brought you out here this morning? The last thing I’d planned on was this turning into a fucking hostage situation.”

  “Yeah? So what was your plan?” She peered at him curiously. “I still don’t understand what this was all about, Nick.”

  “Just your basic stakeout, that’s all. I really didn’t think we were going to be able to make an arrest for Paige’s murder. Even if we figured out what happened, the evidence just wasn’t going to be there to make a case.

  “But when Sam came up with a possible motive, I realized that there might be a way to at least put the killer away for something. It was easy enough to spread the information about Sam’s real identity, and where he was staying. But then Lucy came in and started making noise about his having left town. That nearly screwed the whole thing up. It would have wrecked everything, if Darcy’d found out that he was already gone—once he went public with the evidence he had, killing him wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “But... what evidence did he have? And why would she want to kill him, anyway? I still don’t see what any of this has to do with him.”

  “Are you kidding me? Shit, your friend Sam was in this up to his eyeballs. He’s been hiding out here while he put together the evidence he needed to prove that his partner was perpetrating a fraud. Evidence his partner would obviously kill to suppress. Meanwhile, he was doing a pretty good job of suppressing evidence himself. As far as we can tell, Paige must have recognized Sam and decided to do a story on him while he was in town, so she called his offices in New York to get a local number for him.”

  Nick paused and blew out a deep breath before continuing. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Apparently, New York tri
ed to tell her he was at some conference somewhere on the East Coast, but she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, she must have convinced somebody, and that’s when Sam’s partner panicked. We’re guessing he hired Darcy to come up here, kill Sam, and retrieve the evidence before he had a chance to go to the authorities with it. I don’t know how Paige found out where Sam was staying. He says she called him up the night before the murder and arranged to meet him the following morning.”

  Oh, no. Marsha groaned. “I think I know how she found out. I think I was there.”

  “Yeah, that would explain it.” Nick nodded thoughtfully, after she’d told him about Camille and the meeting at the nature center. “Just bad luck, for both of them. Sam did get lucky Saturday morning, though. He totally misunderstood where she wanted to meet him, so he waited at the wrong place. I guess maybe Darcy jumped the gun by killing Paige before Sam actually showed. Which might explain why she didn’t just kill you as soon as you turned up this morning, you know.”

  “Hmm.” Marsha had wondered about that herself. “But why kill Paige at all?”

  “Ah, who knows?” Nick sounded very tired when he answered. “Maybe because Paige was the only one who could ID Sam, and Darcy was counting on him remaining a John Doe. Or maybe Darcy thought Paige knew something about her, something that could link her to the hit, somehow. Or maybe it was just personal. She did have it in for her, you know.”

  “So did you know it was her all along?”

  Nick laughed, a harsh sound lacking humor. “Hell, no. I mean, I had some suspicions back at the very beginning. It seemed a little too coincidental, her turning up like that. But then—oh, I suspected a lot of people. No, it was a surprise, all right. Can’t think why I didn’t see it sooner.”

  “Well, she was a friend,” Marsha reminded him gently. “Murder’s not the kind of thing you automatically suspect your friends of, is it?”