by Jenna Ryan
“We’re human.”
“We’ll be human corpses if we’re not careful.”
“Demars will have to go through me to get to you.”
“That does not make me feel better.” When his eyes glinted again, she drew back so fast she rapped her head against the stone wall behind her. “Ouch. No, don’t,” she warned.
“I was only going to kiss you.” His lips twitched. “No need to give yourself a concussion.”
“Been there, done that, not anxious to repeat.” Using the flat of her hand, she held him off. “Steven’s philosophy when he taught my cousin Addie and me to kickbox was that we’d never learn if we didn’t do any full-contact sparring.”
“He used full contact on nine-year-old girls?” The glint deepened to a threat. “I should leave him to Weasel for that.”
“He knocked us down hard on two separate occasions. The third time we decided to hell with fair play and kicked him in the crotch. He’s my cousin, he kept your secret, and I want a chance to kick him there again for doing that.”
“Jesus, Raven, your family and men’s genitalia do not get along.”
Her eyes danced as she closed fingers on the front of his jeans. Easing forward, she stopped her mouth half an inch from his and let a satisfied smile tilt her lips. “Liar.”
With very fortunate timing, she suspected, her phone rang.
“Saved by the bell.” But he caught her mouth briefly anyway and made her vision blur.
When it cleared, she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. Why was news never good, she wondered, and turned the phone to see? The screen read: Steven. The text message read: Three feathers from a raven means death in this town. Your cousin has two...and the barrel of my gun pressed to his head.
* * *
THE MAN CALLED WEASEL tossed his prisoner’s phone onto a stone slab.
“That’s a prime piece of junk you got there, pal. Johnny Demars, he made it a policy a long time ago that his employers would always have state-of-the-art equipment. Pay’s not bad, either.”
“Yeah? Ask him if he needs a good lawyer next time you see him.”
Snorting, Weasel took a drink from the Mason jar he’d filched from the campsite. Slices of fruit bobbed in a colorless liquid that had burned like hellfire with the first few sips. But after a while, it just kind of slid on down like honey.
Curious, he snagged a pear. “You can ask for yourself.” A wide smile split his face. “If you’ve got the nerve.”
“Does that mean I’m going to meet Johnny Demars?”
“Only in writing.” The fruit was fine, the drink far better. “Way I figure it, no one should ever want to see JD. Kind of like you don’t want to look at that woman with snakes for hair.”
“Medusa.”
“One turns you to stone, the other turns to dust. Now me, I got plans for the future, big plans. But until the day I can make ’em happen—coming soon, Cousin Blume—I do what I’m told to do on my state-of-the-art smartphone, and I don’t go looking for faces that’d rather not be seen.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I’m a reasonable guy. Smart, too. Got a brand-new watch and some extra bills to prove it. Man, your great-granddaddy’s older than the land I’m standing on.”
“It’s a close call.”
A lopsided smile appeared. “He’s old, and your cousin’s hot. I mean, she is smokin’.”
“I’m sure her husband would agree.”
Weasel sneered. “He’s not so much. Won’t be anything at all when this is over.”
“Is that when we all die?”
“If that’s what the writing says, yep. Meanwhile, the lady’s a looker and I got a yen for black hair and go-on-forever legs. Your cousin, she could wrap a man like me up for a good long time.”
“Long enough for her husband to put a bullet in your head.”
Weasel smirked. “You’re overestimating him and underestimating me.”
“Always possible. But how do you think Mr. Demars would react to you getting yourself ‘wrapped up,’ so to speak, with the woman he plans to kill?”
“Don’t have to think. What JD doesn’t know can’t hurt me, simple as that.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Standing, Weasel gave the ground a minute to settle. “I do, and I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want until the boss gets here. Maybe after, too”
He made a circle with the tip of his gun. “Now you stay put, Cousin Blume, and don’t go waking the neighbors. No sense you dying before your time.”
“I’ll put the party on hold until you get back.”
“You do that.” Smiling hugely, Weasel placed the carving knife he habitually carried next to the Mason jar. Then he set his sights on the door, and his mind on dark-haired Raven Blume. Demars had told him under no circumstances to kill her. But there’d been no mention of him not having a little Weasel fun.
Chapter Nine
By midafternoon, Raven counted over a hundred tents and camper vans scattered about the clearing and half again that many people occupying them.
A collection of market stalls had sprung up next to the site. Canopied tables, vendor pickups and even blankets spread out on the grass were stocked with merchandise. The wares ranged from sunhats and sandals to artwork and jewelry to T-shirts and handmade soaps. At least six of the sellers also carried incense.
“People are burning sticks of jasmine and hyacinth everywhere we go.” Her smile teased the man at her side. “I suppose it is marginally possible that Weasel’s here.” The tease spread to her eyes. “Alone in the crowd.”
“Laughing on the inside, Raven.” Aidan’s assessing gaze didn’t miss a beat, but she saw the corners of his mouth turn up.
The question she’d started to ask in town came back to her as a couple forking up egg foo yong with chopsticks strolled past.
“If not Weasel, Aidan, who do you think spent the night in the vacant apartment?”
“Same person as you, I imagine.”
“Fergus?”
“Guy likes clean bathrooms.”
“Why didn’t you tell Emma?”
He moved a shoulder. “Minor break and enter aside, his reasons for being in Raven’s Cove appear relatively altruistic”
She eyed his unrevealing profile. “Why do you say ‘appear’? Don’t you believe his story?”
“Not until I clear it with Gaitor. I tried the last cell phone number I had for him. No luck.”
“Wait, stop, reverse.” Hooking his arm, Raven backpedaled to admire a pair of glittery amethyst drop earrings.
“We also have to consider or at least acknowledge George’s ‘big guy’ warning.”
She drew her brows together. “If Demars is coming here himself, wouldn’t two hit men be overkill?”
“Or insurance.”
“I thought that’s what kidnapping Steven was supposed to be.”
“Double indemnity.”
“Overkill,” she repeated, and picked up a pair of braided silver hoops. “As for Fergus being the ‘big guy’ in question, which I assume is what you were suggesting, my response to that is—Gaitor’s nephew.”
“So he says. I’ll look online later, see if I can confirm his story.”
She sighed. “Life is an enormous cesspool of spies and suspicious characters to you, isn’t it?” Holding the hoops up to her ears, Raven regarded her reflection in a small display mirror. “I would truly hate to be a cop.” Unsure, she tipped her head to the side. “What do you think?”
Even as she asked the question, she spotted the man behind her. He met her eyes in the mirror, but reacted so swiftly to the visual contact that by the time she spun to look, he’d vanished.
“Did you see—well, no you wouldn’t have.” She pointed. “Just for a second, Aidan, there was a man in front of that blue tent. He had a thin face, close-set eyes, and scruffy brown hair. Like a weasel.”
“Which way did he go?”
“To his left, our right.” Im
patience rose. “I know I saw him. Am I being paranoid?”
“Killer,” Aidan reminded, and, taking her hand, drew her along the vendors’ row. “Let’s do it this way. First we’ll blend and skulk. Later, if necessary, we’ll eavesdrop. Here, try this on.” Snagging a bush hat from a long table, he placed it on her head.
She pushed the brim up. “It’s a little big, isn’t it?”
“Makes it perfect.” After paying, he dropped his sunglasses down and draped an arm over her shoulders. “So. You hungry?”
“I had a lemon square at Rooney’s, and you gave me soggy cereal for breakfast. What do you think?”
“That you’ll want something more substantial for lunch.”
“I take it we’re not going Weasel hunting.”
“If he’s watching us, he’ll surface again.”
“Wasn’t it you who said that if one of Demars’s men was watching us, we wouldn’t see him?”
“Maybe Weasel didn’t get the memo.”
“Or he wanted us to see him.”
“Or that.”
“Any other possibilities before I settle down to only worrying about those particular two? Oh, wait, I forgot, Weasel won’t try anything as long as we’re in a crowd.”
“Pretty sure I never said that, angel. Come on, let’s eat.”
He steered her toward a sleek silver catering truck that boasted an efficient drop-down side. Behind the counter, a dark-haired woman with lines bracketing her mouth cut sandwiches into quarters and sang along with the Beatles on her iPod.
“I don’t know any raven-related songs,” she confessed. “But I can offer you raven burgers—that would be the usual beef covered with black sauce—raven dogs—same sauce—raven egg salad sandwiches—not the genuine article—and of course, ravenberry juice to wash any or all of those things down.”
“Hang on a minute.” A large, barrel-chested man with sandy-red hair and singed oven mitts hastened over. “You folks are missing the boat. Literally. I’ve got every kind of fish you can name at my truck. This place is flash, but mine’s the real gem.” He winked broadly at Raven. “Your companion looks like a mussel man to me.”
The woman gave her fingers a dismissive flip. “Go away, Hector.”
“Herron.”
“Whatever. Go bad-mouth the guy who’s selling black cotton candy. Or better yet, that preacher who scared off the early lunch crowd.”
Aidan regarded the rotisserie. “We’ll try the dogs. What did the preacher do?”
“He didn’t have to do anything.” The woman snapped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a bun before opening the oven door. “Loony like that only has to hang around and stare.” She shook her tongs in Raven’s direction. “If I had your face, hon, I’d keep a weather eye out for him. He’ll stare the clothes right off your body.”
“Over my dead one.” Aidan paid while Raven bit it. “Any idea where he is now?”
“Not here, thank the Lord. It’s five for the dogs. Another two, and I’ll throw in a quart of juice. It’s a good deal,” she told the red-haired man who merely snorted and sidled closer to Raven.
“You come see me at dinnertime, pretty lady. I’ve got a fresh Maine lobster with your name written all over it.”
“Sounds—”
The word delicious never made it out. With a quick “Let’s go,” Aidan twirled her around and pushed.
“What?” she demanded.
“Man. Between those booths.”
She glimpsed a black figure, then nothing but shadows. “Was it Weasel?”
“Nope. This guy had a beard, glasses and a bigger hat than yours. My bet’s on Reverend Alley.”
She had to jog to keep up. “You’re wasting your time. Alley’s too much of a caricature to be Johnny Demars. Besides, he’s been here since yesterday, and if killing me was his goal, he had the perfect opportunity outside Two Toes Joe’s bar last night.”
“We might be able to cut him off. Lose the food.”
Raven swallowed the growl in her throat along with a final bite of dog. “At this rate, I’ll die of starvation before Demars gets anywhere near me.” Ditching the remainder in a plastic bin, she wiped her fingers and surveyed the gap between the booths. “He’s not here, Aidan.”
“No, he’s there.”
She followed his gaze and spotted the reverend hastening toward a dense section of woods.
“Come on.”
She had no trouble keeping pace—until they reached the sleeping tents, and more people appeared to impede their progress.
What little sun had struggled through the clouds earlier in the day was gone. Not a breath of air stirred the overhead branches. No insects buzzed or hummed, no leaves rustled. It was—unearthly, Raven decided. Very much the calm before the storm.
Like a herd of animals sensing a predator, the campers moved in restless patterns. Until a single gunshot fired in the vicinity of the previous night’s campfire turned restless movement into a stampede.
One man, his gaze trained skyward, bounced off another man’s chest and into Raven’s arm. A larger, sullen-looking man deliberately blocked their path. When Aidan grabbed him by the jacket and threw him aside, he took two wobbly steps and crashed into a pup tent. The frame collapsed, the occupant screamed, and the man was promptly jumped by a pair of angry females.
“My arm’s broken,” he shouted. “Stop hitting me!”
Slowing, Raven looked back. There were three women now, pummeling the guy with their fists. Under the canvas, the trapped occupant continued to scream. No longer able to see Aidan through the sea of gathering bodies, she debated for a moment, then detoured toward the collapsed tent to help.
That was the plan, anyway.
She was wading into the crowd when a hand clamped on to her arm and yanked her roughly around.
“Hey there, lovebird, you looking for me?”
She spied close-set eyes, thin features and a shock of brown hair before the man spun her away from him. His surprisingly strong hand snicked her arm up behind her back. With the other, he jabbed a gun into the right side of her spine. His mouth moved against her temple.
“Turn left, walk, don’t make a sound, don’t move a wrong muscle. I can hurt you plenty and not kill you.”
She hitched in a breath as he twisted harder on her arm.
“Very good, Raven,” he congratulated. “Now smile and cross your fingers that the people we pass keep right on going. Else we’ll be navigating a field of corpses to reach our love nest.”
* * *
FOR THE MOST PART, Aidan kept Reverend Alley in sight. Focusing his eyes forward, he called back to Raven. “We should be able to intercept him. Stay close.”
The undergrowth had thickened substantially. Wild bushes topped seven feet and the ground grew rougher with every step. Weed-choked gullies appeared to his left, a high wall of rock to his right.
Ten yards ahead, the reverend splashed through a small creek. He was laboring visibly, Aidan realized. He would have called out if the man hadn’t tripped and plowed into the trunk of an evergreen. Alley avoided a head-on collision, but in doing so caught his toe on an exposed root and wound up staggering in a drunken circle.
He threw his hands up when he saw the hit coming. Because of that, Aidan was able to catch him around the middle, flip both of them in the air and land with his captive on top of, rather than underneath, him. Which would have been fine if he hadn’t also banged his own head on a log and ended up seeing stars. Next time, he thought hazily, he was going to call out.
“Got what you deserved, didn’t you, for trying to knock an old man senseless.”
A smug voice floated down to him. Using his hands to push, Aidan rolled the reverend off and got to his knees. “You’re heavier than you look,” he muttered, rubbing his head.
“You should’ve had me before I reached the creek.” Hampered by his long coat, the reverend climbed awkwardly to his feet, steadied himself, then let a slow grin cross his face. “Dammit, McInni
s, I always said you were a cat with nine lives.”
As the last of the stars faded, Aidan stood to face him. “Hey, Gaitor. It’s been a long time.”
“Two years, three weeks and two days, you freaking mick.” One huge bear hug and several backslaps later, Gaitor poked an accusing finger into his chest. “I’ll lay eight to five odds that this was your lunatic idea, and Beckett was in on it up to his superior eyeballs.”
“You needed to believe,” Aidan said simply. With his breath back and his head clearing, he flicked a hand at Gaitor’s beard. “Reverend Alley? Seriously? You actually dreamed this up?”
“You always said I had the sense of humor of a nerdy twelve-year-old.”
“When you bother to display a sense of humor, you do.” A brow went up. “You wanna tell me about Fergus?”
Gaitor chuckled. “What can I say? He’s my sister’s kid. Obviously, covert ops aren’t his thing, but he has a willing heart.”
When the bushes behind him shook, Aidan raised his voice. “Over here, Raven. I’ve got your red-eyed fanatic”
He glanced back as he spoke—and immediately felt an icy ball of terror surge up into his throat.
Staring at him, wide-eyed and confused, around the edge of a tall bush was a woman he’d never seen before.
* * *
WEASEL WALKED HER PAST—God, she lost track of the number—thirty or forty people, all rushing to see what was taking place at the tent site. Thankfully, none of them appeared to notice anything irregular.
He had the barrel of his gun lodged between her vertebrae and her arm yanked up so high, she couldn’t believe it hadn’t snapped at the elbow.
“You’re doing real good, Raven. Once we run the food and junk gamut, we’re home free. See how easy it is when I don’t have to shoot a bunch of people along the way?”
“Where are we going?” The pain in her arm was so bad, Raven had to grind the question out between her teeth.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Five more minutes, lovebird, and you’ll see.”
She toughed it out. Had to. Move wrong or struggle, and he’d start shooting. Not her—that would be against orders—but anyone else unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity would be toast.
