“That’s right,” she said, as she walked through sand and tall sea grass to the boardwalk.
“How long have you been down there?” Honey asked.
“Just a few minutes.”
“You sure were quiet.”
“I was just admiring the view.”
The brunette sighed. “We certainly do understand that.”
Hope felt herself blush. She’d meant the beach, of course, but from the tone of the bimbo’s voice they thought she meant…Oh, no. She did not want Raintree thinking she enjoyed looking at him. Even if she did. “I love the water.”
“Me, too,” Gideon said.
Hope bounded easily over the railing to join him.
“Come on inside,” he said, turning his back on her and leading the way. “I guess you’re here to talk about the Bishop case.”
“Yeah,” she said brightly. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by this way.”
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, wickedly amused. “Not at all, Detective Malory. Not at all.”
She was up to something. Pretty Detective Hope Malory was so wound up, so filled with an electricity of her own kind, that if he laid his hands on her, they would probably both explode. Not necessarily a bad idea.
“I’m going to change.” Gideon gestured toward the kitchen. “Help yourself to something to drink and I’ll be right back.”
Echo had slept here for a few hours and then driven to Charlotte. He’d talked to her on the phone, before heading out for a quick swim. She was still upset, but the panic had faded somewhat. Whether he liked it or not, Dewey was actually helping with the difficult situation.
It didn’t take Gideon five minutes to put on dry clothes and towel dry his hair, and the entire time he kept asking himself, Why is Malory here? What does she want? If there were early results from the crime scene techs’ study of the murder scene, they would call him, not her. If she had a theory—and that was all she could possibly have at this point—it could have been communicated by telephone. The owner of the club where Echo’s band often played hadn’t been any help at all. So why was Malory here?
He found out pretty quickly, right after stepping into the living room to find his new partner sitting in a leather chair with a glass of cold soda in one hand. “Nice place, Raintree,” she said as her eyes scanned the walls almost casually. “How do you manage this on a cop’s salary?”
So that was it. She thought he was dirty, and she was here to find out how dirty. Did she want to join him in profitable corruption or toss his ass in jail? He would guess she was the ass-tossing sort, but he’d been wrong about women before. “My family has money.” He headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to make myself something to drink.”
She nodded to the opposite side of the room, where a glass of soda much like hers sat on a coaster. “I already fixed you a drink.”
“How do you know what I want? Psychic?”
Again that fleeting but brilliant smile. “Your fridge was full of the stuff. I took a shot.”
Gideon lowered himself into a chair. Was it coincidence that she had placed his glass as far away from her chair as possible? No. Not a coincidence at all. Malory liked to look tough, but now and then he saw a hint of the skittish beneath her skin. When she’d talked about her mother falling and how she might need her daughter, when he’d looked her in the eye…he’d seen the vulnerability in her.
She had certainly done her best to look tough tonight, in her black jeans and black T-shirt and pistol. “Family money,” she said, prompting him to continue.
“Yeah.”
“What kind of family money?”
“My parents and my grandparents, as well as their parents and grandparents, were all successful. And lucky.”
She looked him dead in the eye in that oddly annoying way she had. “I saw Echo’s apartment this morning. Is she from the poor side of the family?”
“Echo is a rebel,” he explained. “Her parents very happily live off the family money. They travel, they sleep, they drink, they party. That’s about it. Echo wants to earn her own way. I admire that in her, even if she does sometimes cut off her nose to spite her face.”
“Are you lucky?”
He looked her over appreciatively and smiled. “Not tonight, I’m guessing.”
She didn’t respond to the comment, not even to bristle. “You’re definitely lucky as a detective. I’ve seen your file.”
“Goody for you. I’d like to have a look at yours.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She took a drink of her soda, and he played with the condensation on his glass with one finger. If Malory got too nosy, if she asked too many damn questions, he would have to move. Dammit, he liked it here. He liked his house, and the men he worked with—most of them—and he loved being near the ocean. He had come to need it in a way he had never expected. For years he’d moved from department to department, always going to the place where he thought he was needed most. Sadly enough, his talents were called for just about everywhere, so he’d finally decided to settle down here.
If Detective Malory started investigating him and uncovered more than she should, he wouldn’t be able to stay here much longer. So much for settling down. So much for home.
He was either going to have to make Hope Malory a friend or get rid of her. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who was easy to get rid of once she dug in her heels, and he wasn’t sure he could make her his friend. She didn’t seem to be the friendly type.
Again Malory studied the living room with critical eyes. “There’s something odd about this place,” she said thoughtfully. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s very pleasant. You have comfortable furnishings, and nice paintings on the walls. Everything matches well enough, and the lamps didn’t come from a discount store or a yard sale….”
“But?” Gideon prodded.
She looked at him, then, with those curious blue eyes of hers. “The television is small and cheap, and the phone is an old landline. Most single men of a certain age who have a disposable income own a decent stereo. You have a boom box that any self-respecting fifteen-year-old would be embarrassed to carry onto the beach. Run of bad luck?”
Luck again. How could he tell her that his electronic devices had a nasty habit of exploding without warning? He owned two more small televisions, which were stored in a spare bedroom, ready for the time when this one went, and he’d never had any luck with cordless phones or digital clocks. He couldn’t get too close to a vehicle that relied on computer chips, which was why he drove older models. On the rare occasions when he’d been on an airplane, he’d worn a powerful shielding charm that only Dante could fashion. He went through cell phones the way other people went through Kleenex.
“I don’t watch much TV. Don’t listen to much music, either. Cordless phones aren’t secure.”
“And you need your phone calls to be secure because…?”
Enough was enough. Gideon rose slowly to his feet. He left his drink behind and crossed the room to stand near her. “Why don’t you just ask me?” he said softly.
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if I’m dirty.”
The alarm in her eyes was vivid, and he could almost see her assessing the situation. He wasn’t armed, at least as far as she could tell. She was. He had a small advantage, standing over her this way, but she had the gun handy.
“Ask,” he said again.
Her eyes caught and held his. “Are you?”
“No.”
Her alarm faded gradually. “Something here stinks to high heaven. I just haven’t figured out what, yet.”
“It’s the money. People can’t believe that anyone would be a cop if they have any other choice.”
“It’s more than the money, Raintree. You’re good. You’re too good.”
He leaned slightly forward, and she didn’t shrink away. She smelled good. She smelled clean and sweet and tempting. She smelled comfortable and familiar. His fingers curled,
as he resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her. Just a finger on her cheek or a tracing of her jaw, that was all he wanted. He kept his hands to himself.
“I made my choice a long time ago. I don’t do this job because I have to. I have enough money in the bank to be a beach bum, if it suits me. I could get a job in my brother’s casino—” as long as he stayed far, far away from the slot machines “—or live at the homeplace, or just do nothing at all. But when my parents were murdered, it was a couple of detectives and a handful of deputies who caught the killer and put him away. This job is important, and I do it because I can.”
He did this job because he had no choice.
Her expression told him nothing. Nothing at all.
She’s bad, Daddy. Very, very bad. Had Emma been warning him about Sherry Bishop’s killer? Or his new partner?
FOUR
Monday—10:45 p.m.
She’d killed the wrong woman.
Tabby was sitting in the back corner of the coffee shop, but she didn’t watch the riverfront beyond the wide window, which was busy on this warm summer night; instead she kept her eyes on the patrons and the employees inside. She wouldn’t have thought a place that sold coffee and cookies would be so crowded this late on a Monday night, but the small tables were filled with a mixture of both tourists and regulars, who drank decaf and munched on giant-sized cookies. Many of the regular patrons and the two young waitresses on duty sniffled as they reminisced about the deceased Sherry Bishop. Okay, so she’d made a mistake. At least she had the pleasure of soaking in the pain and fear in the coffee shop for her trouble. Last night’s exercise hadn’t been a complete waste of time.
Until Tabby had seen the evening news, she’d had no idea that she’d killed the wrong woman. Satisfied and coming down off her natural high, she’d slept most of the day. When she’d awakened, she’d spent some time studying her newest souvenirs. One day she would learn of a way to use those mementos in a powerful working of magic that would give her the powers of those she’d killed. At the time she’d thought her newest victim was Raintree and therefore more powerful than the others, and so she’d touched what she’d taken with reverence and, yes, even glee. Everyone possessed some talent that could be taken, some gift that was wasted or ignored or undiscovered, but this was Raintree.
And then she’d turned on the television to watch the evening news, only to discover that what she’d taken had not been Raintree at all.
Who would have thought there would be two pink-haired women living in the same apartment? She sipped at her cooling coffee. Cael was going to kill her when he found out, unless she fixed her mistake, pronto. She’d been hoping Echo Raintree would be here tonight, so she could follow the girl to wherever she was staying and finish the job. But no such luck, at least not so far. The murder of both girls would raise a few eyebrows, she knew that, but what choice did she have? None.
So far Echo hadn’t made an appearance. Not tonight. Maybe she was off somewhere crying about her roommate’s death, but surely she wouldn’t stay away all week. If nothing else, the funeral would take place in a matter of days. Tabby didn’t know the details of the arrangements, but that info would be public soon enough. There was no way Echo could stay away from her roommate’s funeral. It just had to happen this week.
If Echo Raintree had a vision about what was to come and she warned her family, things would not go as smoothly as planned.
The door opened, and Tabby automatically turned her head to watch the couple enter the coffee shop. Her heart skipped a beat. Holy crap. Gideon Raintree. Her mouth practically watered. She wanted Gideon much more than she’d ever wanted Echo, but orders were to wait. Killing a cop would cause too much commotion, Cael said; it would raise too many questions. Later in the week, when it was almost time, then she could kill Gideon. But not tonight.
Tabby didn’t think anyone had seen her near the scene of the crime last night, but she was doubly glad she’d decided to wear the short brunette wig tonight. Her head was hot, and it already itched, but at least she didn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing her. She could relax, sit back and watch.
Gideon and the woman who was with him took a seat in the corner, where they could see everyone and everything in the restaurant. They were dressed casually, the woman all in black, Raintree in jeans and a faded T-shirt. Both of them were armed, though not openly. Ankle holsters for both; no badges visible. Was this an official visit? Of course it was. They were searching for Sherry Bishop’s killer.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tabby studied the woman with Raintree. Cael had ordered her not to take out Gideon just yet, but what about the woman? Was she a girlfriend? Cop? Judging by the ankle holster, she would have to say cop, but maybe the woman was both colleague and bed buddy. Something was going on. No fear or sadness radiated from the couple on the opposite side of the room, but there was energy. Sexual, slightly acrimonious, uncertain energy. Whatever the relationship might be, killing the woman would definitely sidetrack Raintree if he got too close too soon. It would raise a stink, though, which Cael definitely didn’t want just yet.
Tabby got antsy sitting and watching. Knowing she’d made a mistake did take some of the pleasure out of last night’s outing, and she wanted more. She always wanted more. She’d already screwed up this job, so what did it matter if she killed a cop who wasn’t a part of her original assignment? Getting rid of the woman would distract Gideon, and she needed him to be distracted. She needed his attention diverted to something besides Echo and the wrong damn dead woman.
Since everything had already gone wrong and Tabby didn’t dare contact Cael until the job was done, his instructions didn’t matter quite so much. As long as Echo and Gideon were both dead by the end of the week, she would be forgiven for any mistakes that happened along the way. She could shoot the female cop and Gideon from a distance at almost any time, but that wasn’t what she wanted. Tabby didn’t much care how she took out the woman, but Gideon was another matter entirely.
Gideon Raintree was a member of the royal family, next in line for Dranir, powerful in a way she could not entirely imagine. When she killed him, she wanted to be close. She wanted to be touching him when she thrust the knife that had taken Sherry Bishop’s life into his heart. She wanted his blood on her hands, and a souvenir or two for her collection.
Even though she had not yet discovered a way to take the gifts she longed to steal, she did draw energy from the keepsakes she collected. Properly treated and dried, stored in a special leather bag that grew heavier with each passing year, those mementos fed her power when she was, by necessity, subdued. Cael insisted that she curb her enthusiasm, that she be cautious and not draw attention to herself and her gifts. Not yet. Not until they had taken that which was rightfully theirs. She had been very subtle and cautious in the games she played, but all that was about to change.
Yes, she could take out her target from a distance, but killing Gideon Raintree would be a powerful and delicious moment, and she wasn’t yet ready to give up that moment in the name of expediency.
Tuesday—7:40 a.m.
Breakfast at the Hilton buffet, Raintree had informed her last night. It was a Tuesday morning tradition with the Wilmington PD detectives. Hope parked her Toyota in the lot and walked toward the restaurant, unconsciously smoothing a wrinkle out of her black pants and adjusting her jacket over her hips as she walked quickly toward the entrance. She was ten minutes late, but her mother had been talking her ear off as she’d left the shop, and it hadn’t been easy to get away.
The group she’d been invited to join was easy to spot. A round table in the center of the restaurant was occupied by nine men, all of them in suits, all of them Wilmington detectives. Raintree stood out, even in this crowd of similarly dressed men who held jobs much like his own. He might as well have a spotlight trained on him, the way he drew the eye. The men talked to and over one another as they drank coffee, and consumed eggs and bacon and biscuits. Hope held her head high as she wal
ked in their direction. It wasn’t long before a few heads turned. Eyebrows rose. Jaws dropped.
Hope was accustomed to the initial reaction she usually aroused. She didn’t look like a cop, and in the beginning there was always resentment, along with an unspoken question. Had she slept her way to the top? And if she hadn’t, would she? She had to be more businesslike, more distant, more dedicated, than any man in this profession. She never would have left Raleigh and started this process all over again if not for her mother. Nothing else could have made her go through this uncomfortable initiation period for a second time.
The only vacant chair at the table was next to Raintree. She took it, and he introduced her to the other detectives. After the initial round of questions and open interest, the men returned to their discussion: Where to meet for lunch tomorrow.
Eventually the conversation turned from food to cases currently under investigation, including—but not exclusively—Sherry Bishop’s murder. Through a number of outlets, state and federal, Raintree had requested the files of all unsolved murders of the same kind over the past six months, and by this afternoon he would have the majority of those files on his desk—and hers. As they talked about the case, a few important things quickly became clear. Gideon Raintree was a good cop, and the men he worked with respected and liked him.
Hope allowed herself to relax a little. Surely if Raintree was crooked, the others would know or at least suspect that something was wrong, and be mistrustful or distant or curious. She saw nothing like that at the table. Last night she’d been so certain that Raintree was somehow involved in the crimes he’d solved. Now she wasn’t so sure. Did she want to believe he was a straight arrow because he was charming and good-looking as well as infuriating? She didn’t want to be that shallow; she didn’t want to be like those women who judged men by their looks and their well-planned words, without ever looking inside to find what was real. It was impossible to tell what a man was like from the outside, and getting to know them well enough to learn the truth was too painful. At least, it had been for her.
Raintree: Haunted Page 4
