Raintree

by Linda Howard

  The older lady at the bookstore had seen a woman with long blond hair walking very briskly—just short of running—away from the apartment building at exactly the right time. The long blond hair and the timing were enough to at least loosely tie the shooting to Sherry Bishop’s murder. But what lay behind the crimes? It was a question Hope had no answer for.

  “Sorry about your car,” Gideon said. “It’ll be safe in the Hilton parking lot until morning. We’ll get someone out there then.”

  The shooting and the resulting investigation, and then a couple of hours spent in the office they shared scanning unsolved murders outside the Wilmington area that were similar to Sherry Bishop’s, had delayed them until it was too late to call a mechanic. Gideon Raintree was driving her to her mother’s place. He had a thin stack of files he was taking home with him to look over later. He was hoping he would see something new if he had a fresh look.

  Hope had to admit that Raintree certainly appeared to be motivated by something other than greed. Was it possible that he was truly as devoted to his job as he appeared to be? Maybe his parents’ murders had inspired him and there were no secrets waiting to be uncovered. No betrayal waiting to surprise her.

  Meanwhile, she was exhausted and happy to be headed home, which at the moment was her mother’s apartment over The Silver Chalice, a New Age shop Rainbow Malory owned and operated in downtown Wilmington. Of course, Rainbow was not the name Hope’s mother had been given at birth. Her real name was Mary. A nice, solid, normal name, Mary. But at the age of sixteen Mary had become Rainbow, and Rainbow she remained.

  To Hope’s horror, Gideon parked at the curb and killed the engine.

  “Thanks,” Hope said, exiting the Mustang quickly and doing her best to dismiss her partner. Gideon Raintree was not easily dismissed. He left the driver’s seat and followed her. Luckily The Silver Chalice was two blocks from the parking space Gideon had found. “We had this discussion, Raintree,” she said sharply. “Would you have walked Leon home?”

  “If someone shot at him, yes,” he responded.

  “Someone was shooting at you, not me.”

  “Prove it.”

  True enough, she couldn’t prove anything. As her mother’s shop grew nearer, she straightened her spine and sighed. “This is fine. Thanks.”

  “Is the shop still open?”

  Hope glanced at her watch. In the summertime, the shop’s hours were extended to suit the tourists. “Yeah, but I can’t imagine there’s anything in the store that would interest you.”

  “You don’t have any idea what might interest me.”

  She had spent two days in this man’s company, and she didn’t know him at all, she realized. Hope reached the shop entrance and placed her hand on the door handle. “Don’t tell my mother that someone shot at us,” she said softly as she opened the door and the bell above her head chimed.

  The Silver Chalice sold crystals and incense and jewelry made by local artisans. There was a display of tarot cards and runes for sale, as well as a collection of colorful silk scarves and hand-carved wooden boxes. The jewelry kept The Silver Chalice in business, but it was the New Age items that Rainbow Malory embraced. Strange, slightly off-key singing—meditation music, her mother called it—drifted from speakers overhead as Hope entered.

  Rainbow looked up from her place at the counter and grinned widely. She was still very attractive at fifty-seven, though the streaks of gray in her dark hair gave away her age, as did the gentle smile lines in her face. She didn’t color her hair or wear any makeup. Or a bra.

  “Who’s your friend?” Rainbow asked as she stepped from behind the counter. Her full, colorful skirt hung to the floor, the hem dancing around comfortable sandals.

  “This is my partner, Gideon Raintree,” Hope said. “He wanted to look around, but he can’t stay.”

  Hope watched as her mother became as entranced as every other woman who discovered Gideon for the first time. Her back got a little straighter. Her smile brightened. And then she said, “You have the most beautiful aura I’ve ever seen.”

  Hope closed her eyes in utter embarrassment. She would never hear the end of this. Gideon would tell the other detectives over breakfast that Hope Malory’s mother was into auras and crystals and tarot cards. She waited for the laughter to start, but instead of laughing, Gideon said, “Thank you.”

  Hope opened her eyes and glanced up at him. He didn’t look as if he was kidding. In fact, he looked quite serious and at home here, as he began to study the merchandise on the shelves. “This is nice,” he said. “Interesting products, pleasant atmosphere…”

  “Atmosphere is so important. I try to fill my shop with positive energy at all times,” Rainbow said.

  Again Hope wanted to shrink away, but her partner didn’t seem at all put off or amused. “I’ll bet the tourists love this shop,” he said. “It’s a peaceful place.”

  “Why, thank you,” Rainbow responded. “That’s so astute of you. Of course, I knew as soon as I saw your aura…”

  Not auras again. “Mom, don’t talk Raintree’s ear off. He has to go, anyway. He’s got things to do tonight.”

  “Not really,” he said casually. “I want to take another look at those files, but I need a little time away from them first.”

  She glared at him, but he ignored her as he continued to study the merchandise. If they were going to be partners, he would have to learn to take a hint.

  “Join us for supper,” Rainbow said, a new excitement in her voice. “I’ll be closing up in twenty minutes, and there’s stew in the Crock-Pot. There’s more than enough for the three of us. You look hungry,” she added in a motherly tone of voice.

  To Hope’s absolute horror, Gideon accepted her mother’s invitation.

  No two women could be more dissimilar. Where Hope was openly wary and more often than not tied up in knots, her mother was open and relaxed. They looked a little alike, as mothers and daughters often did, but beyond that, it was hard to believe that they’d ever lived in the same house, much less shared DNA.

  Dinner was thick beef stew and homemade bread. Simple, but tasty. Gideon steered clear of the television set in the living room, and took the chair that placed him as far away from the stove and microwave as possible. He did his best to keep any electrical surges low and controlled.

  Obviously Hope wanted him to eat and get out as quickly as possible. She fidgeted; she cast decidedly uncomfortable glances his way. She was clearly embarrassed by her mother’s beliefs and openness. What would his new partner say if she knew that Gideon believed in everything her mother embraced? And more. He could make her suffer and stay on after the meal was done, but Gideon did Hope a favor and declined dessert and coffee when they were offered. He said thanks and good-night, to his partner’s obvious relief.

  Rainbow remained in her little apartment, humming and cleaning the kitchen, and Hope walked with Gideon down the stairs.

  “Sorry,” she said softly when they were halfway down the stairway. “Mom’s a little flaky, I know. She means well, but she never outgrew her hippie phase.”

  “Don’t apologize. I like her. She’s different, but she’s also very nice.” Man, did he know about being odd man out. “Different isn’t always a bad thing.”

  “Yeah,” Hope said with an audible scoff. “Try to believe that when your mother shows up for career day to talk about selling crystals and incense, and ends up heckling the CEO dad for ruining the environment and selling out to the corporate man.”

  Gideon couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t think it was so funny if she told your first real boyfriend that he had a muddy aura and really needed to meditate in order to boost his positive energy.”

  “Positive energy is a good thing,” Gideon said as they reached the shop, where the lights had been dimmed when Rainbow locked the door for the night.

  “You don’t have to patronize me,” Hope said sharply. “I know my mother is odd and flaky and just pl
ain…weird.”

  Gideon didn’t head directly for the door. He wasn’t ready to go home—not yet. He studied the crystals and jewelry in the display case, then fingered a collection of silver charms that hung suspended from a display rack. He choose one—a plain Celtic knot suspended from a black satin cord—and slipped it from the rack with one finger.

  He turned his back to Hope, cupped the charm in both hands and whispered a few words. The faint gleam of green light escaped from between his fingers. The light didn’t last long; neither did the words he spoke.

  “What are you doing?” Hope asked, circling to face him just as the glow faded.

  He slipped the charm over her head before she knew what he was planning to do. “Do me a favor and wear this for a few days.”

  She lifted the charm and glanced at it. “Why?”

  Gideon had gifted the charm with protection. Only members of the royal family—Dante and Mercy in addition to himself—could gift charms, and they used the power sparingly. They could not bestow blessings on themselves, only others, and it was not an ability they advertised. Like everything else, it was a hidden talent that had to be carefully guarded. He didn’t know if this afternoon’s bullet had been meant for Hope or for him, but in either case, he would rest easier if she were protected. Nothing would shield her from everything, but the gifted charm would give her an edge. It would shield her with the positive energy she scoffed at for a few days, at least. Nine days, to be precise.

  “Indulge me,” he said calmly.

  Hope studied the charm skeptically. “I haven’t known you long enough to even consider that I should indulge your eccentricities.”

  “We’ve been shot at. That means we bond quickly as partners and you indulge me in all my eccentricities.”

  She was still uncertain, skeptical and wound so tight she was about to pop. The woman needed to have a little fun more than anyone he’d ever met.

  While Hope was studying the Celtic knot, Gideon moved in on her. He backed her against the counter so she was trapped between his arms and the glass case. This close, he was reminded how tiny she was, how fragile. She tried so hard to be one of the guys, to be tough and independent and hard. But she was a woman, first and foremost, and she wasn’t hard. She was soft, and she wasn’t going anywhere, not until he was ready to let her go.

  “Wear it for me,” he said, his voice low. “Wear it because it’ll make me feel better to know you have this lucky silver hanging around your neck.”

  “It’s silly,” she protested, obviously bothered by the fact that she was trapped. “Besides, you don’t wear such a—”

  He slipped a finger beneath his collar, snagged the leather cord and drew out the talisman Dante had sent him late last week. In the light cast from the streetlamps outside her mother’s shop and in the blue flashing light of the café across the street, she clearly saw the charm he wore around his neck.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “I did see that…once.”

  “Just because you can’t see or feel or touch something, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” He had never tried to explain himself to anyone, much less a woman he hadn’t even known two days. Life was too short, and he didn’t care what people he barely knew thought of him. But Hope was surrounded by everyday magic, through her mother, and still she rejected it. That bothered him.

  “So,” she said, her voice no more warm than it had been before, “do you see auras, too? Am I glowing in the dark, Raintree?”

  “I don’t see auras.”

  Was it a trick of the light, or was she relieved?

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t believe I have one.”

  He wanted her transferred, for her own good as much as his own. It was safer for him to work alone, and Hope was better suited to robbery or fraud or juvenile crimes. Anything but homicide. Any partner but him. She turned her head, and her throat caught the light from the street. Her neck was pale, slender and long enough to make him wonder what it would taste like. If Hope were renting a house on the beach for a week or two, if she were a tourist or a secretary or a sales clerk, he would gladly pick her up and take her home for an evening or two.

  But she was his freakin’ partner, for God’s sake.

  Not for long.

  He leaned down and pressed his mouth against her neck. She gasped as he slipped his hand between their bodies and laid his palm against her belly, lower than was proper for partners, acquaintances or friends. Her body tensed; she was about to defend herself. She was going to push him away, or knee him where it would hurt the most.

  Much of the body’s response was electrical, though few people seemed to realize that simple fact. Gideon understood the power of electricity very well. He’d lived with it all his life. Even now, with the solstice approaching and his abilities slightly out of whack, he had enough control to do what had to be done.

  His hand fit snugly against Hope’s warm belly, pressed there as if he had the right to touch her in such a way. He reached inside Hope with the electric charge he’d harnessed. Through the thick fabric of her conservative trousers, through what was probably ordinary underwear—or would she surprise him with a slip of red silk and lace?—through her skin, he touched her and made her insides quicken and pulse. He made her orgasm with a touch of his hand and a sharing of his energy.

  Hope gasped, twitched and shuddered. The hand that had been about to push him away grabbed at his jacket instead and clutched the fabric tightly in a small, strong fist. She made an involuntary noise deep in her throat and stopped breathing for a moment. Just for a moment. Her thighs parted slightly; her heart beat in an irregular rhythm. He had to hold her up to keep her from falling to the floor when her knees wobbled. The response to the electricity coursing through Hope’s body wasn’t ordinary or conventional. She moaned; she lurched. And then she went still.

  He was hard, no surprise, and they were standing so close that she was surely aware of that fact. If she kneed him now, she would do serious damage. He slowly dropped his hands and backed away.

  “What did you…?” Hope didn’t finish her question.

  Gideon reached into his back pocket, withdrew his wallet and slipped out a ten-dollar bill. “For the charm,” he said, tossing the bill onto the counter and ignoring what had just happened. “Want me to pick you up in the morning? Breakfast at the Hilton again? We’ll see about getting someone out there to look at your car.”

  He waited for her to tell him to go to hell. She could bring him up on charges of sexual harassment, but who would believe her? We were both fully dressed. It happened so fast. He laid a hand on me, and I came like a woman who hadn’t been with a man in ten years.

  She couldn’t do that. No one would ever believe her. Her only option was to tell him to go to hell and ask for another partner, to request another, more suitable, assignment.

  “I think I’ll skip breakfast,” she said, her voice still displaying the breathless evidence of her orgasm.

  Gideon smiled. Maybe it was going to be easier to scare her off than he’d thought it would be. That hope didn’t last long. Still breathless, she said, “Pick me up when you’re done.”

  After she locked the door behind Raintree, Hope rushed to the stairway and sat on the bottom step, all but crumpling there. Her knees were weak; her thighs trembled; she still couldn’t breathe; her mind was spinning. What had happened, exactly?

  Granted, it had been a long time since any man had touched her. And she did find Gideon attractive. He had that roguish charm that both intrigued and annoyed her. But to orgasm simply because he laid a hand on her and kissed her neck? It was impossible. Right?

  Unlikely, unheard of, but apparently not impossible.

  She leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadows, her insides still quaking a little. Her knees continued to shake, and she felt a growing dampness that told her that she wasn’t finished with the man who’d aroused her and made her come in a matter of seconds. Well, mentally she was most definitely finished with him,
but her body felt differently.

  Gideon could hurt her so much. He could be the wrong man all over again. She couldn’t do it; she simply could not take that chance. So why did she still remember the way his mustache had tickled her neck and wonder how it would feel against her mouth?

  She began to fiddle with the silver doodad that hung around her neck. What she should do was rip the damn thing off and throw it away. What she should do was file charges against the SOB for daring to put his hands on her. Of course, that was probably just what he wanted and expected her to do.

  What she was going to do was meet him tomorrow morning and pretend that nothing had happened. There was more to Gideon Raintree than met the eye, and she was going to find out what that more was.

  This time of year the storms came frequently. Gideon loved storms. Most of all, he loved the lightning. Midnight had passed. He stood on the beach wearing his cutoff jeans and Dante’s protection charm, and lifted his face and his palms to the clouds. Electrons filled the air. He could taste them; he could feel them.

  He could still feel and taste her, too. Normally nothing distracted him when there was electricity in the air, but he still felt Hope reeling against him, clutching at his clothes, moaning and wobbling and coming more intensely than he’d expected. He could still taste her throat on his tongue. It had been an exercise meant to distract her, and instead here he was, hopelessly distracted himself, hours after he’d walked away and left her trembling and confused.

  He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not now, not ever. It was the reason he always sent Emma away, the reason he mailed Dante fertility charms on a regular basis. Someone had to carry on the Raintree name, and it wouldn’t be him.

  What normal woman would accept who and what he was? Like it or not, there were moments when that was what he wanted more than anything. Not to be normal, not to deny who and what he was and give up his gifts. Not that, never that. But some days he craved a touch of normal in his life. Just a touch. And he couldn’t have it. Nothing about his life ever had been or ever would be normal.