by Rain Trueax
“What did he do?”
“He was a developer, financier, businessman. He took the fortune of the Hemstreets and multiplied it.”
“Yet, you and your mother live here in Barrio Viejo. It’s not where one expects to find multimillionaires.”
“Well, the ranch doesn’t qualify as wealth so much as responsibility. We like living here and even if we were wealthy, we’d choose this neighborhood. We all like to work. Having money isn’t as rewarding as accomplishing things that make you feel proud.”
“Being a detective does that?”
“And having shops, businesses that sell products.”
“Do you uh do readings like psychics do?” She tried to decide if he was making fun of her or genuinely interested. She wished she could read his mind. He smiled. “I don’t know what witches do since you say no flying on broomsticks. Any spells? You know like ‘Double, double toil and trouble. Fire burn, and caldron bubble.’”
She laughed. “Afraid I might brew one up for you, turn you into my slave?”
“You can do that without a spell. I called you an enchantress for a reason. You enchanted me from the moment I met you.”
“Even though I’m a witch?”
“Maybe it would be an advantage.” He pulled her from her chair onto his lap. “You could put a spell on patrons to buy my paintings.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, then rested his hand on her neck. Its texture was rough, with callouses. It felt good against her skin.
“I don’t think I need to do that. Your work casts its own spell.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. He had shaved since their ride, but she still felt the bristle. She bent then and kissed him. She meant it to be a light kiss, but he quickly took charge. In moments, she was on fire with her need for him, something she’d never experienced but had read existed between the right man and the woman. Was that who he was to her?
“You know I want to make love to you,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded.
“But I want us to talk a little bit first to be sure we’re on the same page.”
She brushed her lips against his cheek and moved back to her chair. “And so?”
“You told me things about yourself. Things I would guess you were reluctant to tell a man you’ve only known a short time.”
“I did have to tell you.”
“Because?”
“Two reasons. One was I felt you were in danger and you needed to know what you faced, that it wasn’t of flesh and blood… or when it was, something else was behind it.” She told him then about the woman who had come into the boutique, how she had attacked with a look of a zombie, and then came out of it at the police station as if nothing had happened.
“That was attacking you and yours though.”
“It was but maybe we are connected to you, and they wanted us to back off.”
“They?”
“The other side.”
“And us?”
“Me and my family.”
“Perhaps all along it’s been you. Wasn’t the killing of Jane Elm targeted at you? I mean she had been a friend of your mother’s, right?”
“Do you have anything stronger than wine?” she asked feeling a little shaky. He was getting into territory that went deeper than she had expected.
He grinned. “Whiskey, scotch or tequila?”
“Lemon and salt?”
“Coming right up.”
She sat contemplating how differently this evening was going than she had anticipated. She was no naïve virgin and had expected they might end up making love. She remembered her parents’ happy marriage. She had expected when she married, it’d be forever. Then her husband had turned abusive, and her only choice had been to get out. From then on, men, unless as friends, held little attraction for her. She didn’t want to risk poor judgment again. Despite her less than encouraging history with men, something was drawing her to Nick Beringer.
He came back and handed her a cold glass with the rim salted, a slice of lemon in it. She bit into the lemon, saw him do the same, and then took a sip of the tequila. “You buy the best,” she said.
“Is there any point in any of it otherwise?” he asked with a smile that turned her insides to jelly. Handsome as he was, and he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Artistic genius that he was, at least so far as the work she’d seen, it was something else that attracted her more. Pain-filled eyes, that soft smile that said it had seen more than it should have, the intense energy that exuded from him. His aura was large, went way beyond his physical form, touching all around, which was why he had felt her touching him. Not her senses but his.
“Now,” she said, “back to what you asked. “What if it was targeted at you?”
“I don’t see why. I didn’t have any connection to her beyond the gallery.”
“Maybe she had seen something more than she should have or she was only a tool to get you. I mean she was murdered after you and she had a fight. She supposedly had a client who wanted that painting, but she ended up hanging it. Might someone have manipulated her and to get at you?”
“Seems roundabout. Why not just go for me directly?”
“Jane had wanted Mom to teach her about spiritual power. Mom refused. She saw it as a mistake for Jane. Not long after that, Jane broke off the friendship. She also acquired the sculpture, upon which she was eventually hung. Yes, that might be connected to us. The deer dancer is Yaqui, but they’re to be male. Elke never did that dance in public. How did someone connect it to her to create the bronze? I’ve wondered also if in having a woman, who happens to look like one of my sisters, it was a sacrilege, that infuriated someone.”
“You believe that?”
“I am trying out a ton of ideas, trying to get something firm. If a demon is using humans, then one of them may be who killed Jane.”
He sipped his tequila, and she knew he was trying to decide how to tell her she was crazy. Finally, he said, “There are things about me you should know.”
“All right.”
“You really can’t read my memories?”
“No.”
“But you can with others?”
“I told you at the gallery, and it’s still true. I am blocked from looking into your past… or for that matter your thoughts right now.”
“I am glad you can’t read either.” He looked away from her. “I did what I felt was right, but when a man sees a lot of violence, it does something to him. I’d not want anyone to see what I do when I get a flashback or… a nightmare.”
“PTSD?”
“People want names for it. I guess we need that. I thought I was past it, and then the murder, the police thinking I did it…”
“And your brother with his nasty digs.”
He nodded. “Maybe. Anyway I deal with it. I guess I won’t ever get past it.”
“You said nightmares.”
“I don’t get them all the time, but I had one last night.” He stopped and managed a smile she saw hadn’t come easily. “The world is spinning too fast. Have you noticed that?” He let out a breath. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“It’s your lungs.”
He lit his cigarette and took a long draw on it. “It’s a bad habit, I know.”
“It gives you relaxation?”
He smiled. “Some. There are other things better. I suppose that’s out of the question though.”
She laughed. “We have been covering some heavy subjects here—not conducive to romance.”
“They aren’t?” He laughed. “What would be?”
“That would be for you to know, don’t you think?”
“You don’t look like a woman who jumps into bed easily.”
“Try at all—at least since my brief marriage years ago. I find it hard to trust men.”
“Even with that ability to read their memories?”
“It might complicate it.” She smiled. “Too many only want an easy lay, and it’s not hard to read that without any
extra senses.”
“I don’t have to read your mind to know you wouldn’t be an easy lay.”
“What did that mean?” She took another sip of the tequila, feeling a slight buzz since she rarely drank hard liquor.
“If a man had you, he’d not want to let you go.”
“And you don’t want binding ties.”
“I didn’t say that. I hadn’t actually thought of having an,y but now that you mention it.” It was his turn to smile. “I’ll be forty in December.”
“What date?”
He chuckled. “I suppose you believe in astrology too.”
“Some.”
“December 2nd and yes, I’m a Sagittarian.”
“Uhmm, fire and I’m Pisces, water.”
“Is that bad?”
“Interesting.”
“How old are you?”
“Just turned twenty-nine. Older than my years though.”
“So where does that leave us, honey?”
“You don’t believe I am a witch, do you?”
“Is that important?”
“Would it matter if I was?”
She saw him consider. “No, I am guessing you’d be a good witch… if there are such things.”
“Oh, there definitely are.” She considered what she was about to say. “I think we need to get to know each other.”
“On all levels?” He raised his eyebrows with a teasing grin.
“Maybe eventually, but we should think about where it’s going, or where we want it to go.”
“You know where I want it to go.”
“And beyond the bed?”
“The tough questions, huh? I’ll be honest. I don’t know, but I am also not an easy lay. I haven’t been with a woman…” She saw him stop to think.
“You don’t need to tell me.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s been three years. I was out of the military and looking for something. She liked art… or so she said. Turned out, she mostly wanted someone to use. I haven’t had time for anyone since then… or maybe haven’t seen the right person. Mostly I paint, take my Harley out on the desert, eat at good restaurants, enjoy cooking, my cat, and only visit the galleries when required. I’ve been a loner—not much fun. I wouldn’t be a good bet for a woman looking for a good time.”
She smiled. “I suppose it would depend on what having a good time meant.”
“What would it be tonight?”
“Do you have an extra helmet?”
“Haven’t had need for one.”
“Too bad.”
“You serious about this?”
“You like it. I need to find out if I would.”
He smiled, stood and pulled her to her feet. “I know where we can buy one.”
“Then you’d come back for me?”
“I don’t always wear a helmet, but you’ll wear mine as we go to the store selling them. Arizona only requires them on those under eighteen. My cycle has a bug screen, but we’ll get you goggles there too.”
“I need to wear something other than this, I guess.” She lifted the fabric on her sundress.
“I’ll pick you up at your house.”
An hour later, she was wearing jeans, a long-sleeved cotton shirt, boots, and holding onto his waist as they whipped through the desert heading toward the Aguirrie Valley through the Tohono O’odham Reservation, The air was cooling with the scent of dust, drying flowers, and mesquite. The helmet he’d bought for her fit perfectly, and for her, he was wearing his own. She didn’t know how long they rode, but finally he stopped the cycle at a wide spot. “What do you think?” he asked twisting a little to look at her.
“More than I expected. I told you my father liked to ride one. He was killed on one.”
“I am surprised then you wanted to try it.”
“If it was his time, it was what it was.”
“So, what do you think?”
“I understand the appeal. Freedom, closer to nature, the wind, and this beast between my legs. It was beyond words.”
He smiled, then turned the cycle back to town. At her house, the sky turning dark, he stopped it. “Well,” he said as she dismounted. “You showed me your world. I showed you some of mine. Tomorrow, how about lunch. My treat. Then we’ll come back and I’ll show you my new paintings. The ones I haven’t wanted to show yet.”
“I’d love that.”
“If you want to wear a dress, you better come by my place. I love your sundresses, especially the short ones that show off those long legs. Not so good though on the cycle.”
She smiled. “Noon?”
“Sounds good.” He turned the key and roared off on his Harley. She was a little surprised he hadn’t kissed her again, but then she understood. The next time they kissed, it would not be stopping with a kiss. Soon, she’d have another beast between her legs. She hoped she could handle it when she did.
Inside, she heard her phone ringing. She had deliberately not taken her cell. Looking at the caller ID, she answered it.
“Where have you been?” Elke’s impatient tone was more disturbed than she was used to hearing.
“Is something wrong?”
“The girl who came into the boutique.”
“Yes, get to it.”
“She was found dead.”
Denali sat down. “When?”
“Her body was found this afternoon. They think it happened last night. Jace called Mom.”
“Why?”
“Because of the connection.”
She wished she didn’t know the answer. She waited.
“She was strangled and hung on a fence, in a position like Jane Elm. This time there were words beside her body--Stop me or I will kill again with a stupid lol.”
She let out a breath. A serial killer. “Had there been any murders in this area fitting the M.O.?”
“Torre is looking into that, but it doesn’t look like it.”
“Do they know who she was yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Does Mom think there is a spirit connection? Maybe we’ve been assuming they relate and instead it’s just a murder of opportunity.” The pose the body was left in told her she was reaching for straws.
“Mom and Jess are trying to connect with the other side. Our guide, Morris, is not answering.”
“All right. I will try too. The poor girl. She got used badly and then discarded.”
“Jace said big hands again. You know they will be visiting your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
She heard a little laugh. “Yeah right. Where were you tonight?”
“All right, I’ll give you that. They have no reason to suspect or connect him.”
“They will.”
That sent a chill down her spine. If this was all a set-up, there would be a connection. Nick said he hadn’t been with anyone, but maybe he had casually, and just wasn’t counting it. Men tended to do that.
When she hung up the phone, she made herself a calming tea and then tried to concentrate on what was happening around them. She felt it then. Darkness was growing, an invisible storm-- one deliberately stirred into being. She stopped herself, ignoring the chill down her spine. Maybe she was imagining it. Two murders could do that. Whoever the girl had been, she’d been dabbling in black magic, or she’d not have acted possessed and as quickly come out of it. Both victims had been dabbling in black magic. The connection must be their teacher.
Although she rarely took baths, especially not once Tucson’s heat began, she felt cold and filled the tub with water as hot as she could stand. Pouring in a handful of Epsom salts and a few drops of lavender, she sunk into it, letting the heat warm her and relax her muscles. She lay her head back against the porcelain and took deep breaths. Her mind was not on the murder victim.
This was a bad time to get involved with a man—especially one with the potential Nick Beringer had for her. He was someone she could fall in love with, maybe was a little already. He wasn’t the staying kind.
He’d been in Tucson two years, said he liked it, but she felt his restless soul. He was unlikely to stay. She wouldn’t leave. Even ignoring the murders, her own sense of something ominous building, falling in love would distract her, and wouldn’t help him.
It was her job to find the murderer. The big question began with—for what kind of person was she looking? Someone who had connections enough to interest Jane Elm, for her to believe she could learn something from person. Maybe to manipulate her if her mentor was the one behind her lying to Nick about the painting. The assumption had been it was a man because the murderer had to be large enough to throw Jane’s body onto the sculpture. It wouldn’t have to be. A witch could do it using earth energies. Someone good at sorcery could do it.
Two women had been murdered and left in a pose deliberately chosen. Maybe a copycat killer? Except the police had been careful what got in the papers. Only the murderer would have known unless it was someone in the legal system. Serial killers did sometimes deliberately pose their victims. What was the message behind this one? There was a piece of the puzzle she didn’t have.
She wondered again who had created the sculpture. Had it been fashioned with this end in mind? Placed in the gallery on Lammas and the victim placed on it on Beltane. That all sounded like a witch or warlock. It wasn’t her family. Besides Braddock, a definite possibility, who else in Tucson had that kind of power?
Toweling off, she reinforced the ward shielding her home and as an added measure, sprinkled fresh salt at the door and window. She wanted no nighttime visitors, innocent or otherwise. By using earth energies as her shield, she was free to concentrate her nighttime dreams on what had happened, particularly directed to the woman she’d seen briefly in the boutique, on what had been behind her strange attack. She felt sorry for her. Wanting to gain power, she’d become a victim. The same had been true of Jane Elm. Power wasn’t much of an answer for those who had no idea from where it had come.
She didn’t wake until the phone rang in the morning. “Mom?” she asked as she looked at the clock and realized she’d slept in until nine.
“Come on over. We’re having breakfast together to do some brainstorming.”
