by Jenna Ryan
“We’re saying we don’t know who did what to whom, when or in what order. Yet.” McVey regarded the portly sheriff. “It’s your call, Walt. Do you want to stay here with this or make the trip up to Bellam Manor?”
“Best if I stay and you take the teams up. I’m a damn sight better at solving murders than I am at navigating shaky bridges.”
While they talked, Amara regarded Mina’s lifeless body. Three people were dead, and only one of those deaths made any kind of sense to her.
Like Hannah’s, Mina’s glassy eyes looked up at nothing. Her mouth hung open and there was a smear of pink lipstick on her upper teeth.
Had she and Westor simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Had they been in that place separately or together? Stranger things had happened, and for all his leers and lewd remarks, Westor had been a hot-looking man. Maybe Mina had slept with him— And where the hell, Amara wondered, was she going with that idea?
Not a cop, she reminded herself.
She tuned back in when McVey came up behind her.
“Time to roll, Red. The sheriff’s got this one. We’re down a few people on each team, but we’ll manage. Hannah’s death needs investigating as much as Mina’s.”
“And Westor’s.”
“His, too.” McVey held her gaze. “I don’t want anyone else winding up in the morgue.”
Amara nodded. She needed quite badly to believe that no one else would die. But in her mind, she saw the raven watching her from a branch above Westor’s body while a dead man’s last words echoed eerily in her head.
Never be a witness....
* * *
THE DRIVE UP Bellam Mountain was nothing next to the step-and-cling crossing of Bellam Bridge. McVey took the less-encumbered team members up the steep stone path. Amara and the others made the longer trek to the manor via the twisty access road.
The unseasonably hot day had turned out muggier than expected. McVey hadn’t moved Hannah’s body, and the central kitchen’s windows faced north. It would have received a strong dose of morning sun.
A note from Brigham on the door told him the big raven tamer had been watching the manor. No one had come near the place or attempted to disturb the body, making it unlikely in McVey’s opinion that they’d find a murder weapon. Still, procedure dictated that a full-scale search be undertaken.
Amara arrived twenty minutes later. She wore his Dodgers baseball cap, oversize sunglasses and had her jacket tied around her waist. His blood did a lot more than stir when she herded her group into the manor and he caught the subtle scent of her perfume.
This was death and a decomposing body. He had no business thinking about Amara’s soft skin, her silky hair or how her mouth would taste. And it seemed just plain weird to wonder what it would feel like to make love to her in the grass next to the pond they’d passed the other night on the way to the raven tamers’ camp.
Thankfully, his iPhone beeped as the last few team members passed between them. He kept his eyes on Amara’s face when he answered on speaker. “More problems, Jake?”
“We can’t find her purse.”
McVey had to kick-start his brain. Her could only be Mina Shell. “How large an area have you searched?”
“Most of the alley. Sheriff made me call up to Blume House. She’s not registered there.”
“She could have been camping.”
“Maybe, but not at the Ravenspell campsite.”
“Run her name through the DMV, see what comes up. Has Westor’s body been recovered yet?”
“Just.” The deputy grunted. “Think I might know where he was flopping. There’s an empty apartment in Yolanda’s building. Turns out maybe she wasn’t harboring a fugitive after all. The lock on the empty place was jimmied, and the Hardens found stuff on the floor. Food wrappers, wine bottles, sleeping bags, a .30-30 rifle, a couple boxes of bullets.”
“Dust for prints and keep me informed about the woman.” McVey signed off. “What?” he asked when he saw Amara drawing an air picture.
“I’m thinking back.” Her brows came together. “She didn’t have paper or a pen. I tore off a sheet of paper and gave it to her. That’s when Westor grabbed me—us.”
“And translated that means?”
“I told you earlier, Mina found the lipstick she wanted behind the cosmetics counter in the pharmacy. She picked it up with her left hand, but even more significant, she took the pen I gave her with the same hand. That still doesn’t prove she wasn’t simply holding the bomb bottle in her right hand, though, does it? Ah, except...” She swung around. “That’s not the point. The point is, why would Mina want to set fire to the Red Eye in the first place? We’re saying the bottle might have been planted on her to deflect suspicion from the real firebomber.”
“Head of the class, Red.”
“With a detour you apparently didn’t take.” Smiling, she strolled up to him and tapped a finger to his chest. “Guess that’s why you wear the badge.”
“Lucky me.”
“The day’s young. We’ll see.” She kissed him so thoroughly that bullets of lust shot off in multiple directions. He started thinking perfume, skin, sex and, oh, yeah, pond all over again.
Unfortunately she stepped away before he could pursue any of those thoughts. “Back in the real world, what’s happening with Hannah?”
A picture of the older woman’s body flashed in McVey’s head. No question, there were times when a grisly visual was far more effective than a cold shower. “Let’s say she’s looking a little less healthy than the last time you saw her.”
“He means she’s gone gray and putrid.”
Brigham approached from the side. His arrival wouldn’t have surprised him, McVey reflected, if he hadn’t let the idea of sex with Amara tie his senses in knots.
“We’re heading down to the Hollow.” The big man jerked a thumb. “Taking our ravens and our bits and pieces for the street show/parade with us. You figure on spending the night up here?”
McVey glanced at his phone. “It’s almost two o’clock. I’d say there’s a fair chance.”
“Everyone or just you and Amara?”
“Just us. The teams know the way back.”
“Uncle Lazarus asked me to pick up a number of Hannah’s personal effects and bring them down,” Amara said. “Mostly small items. Some of them might be tricky to find.”
“Yeah, well, just so you know, the rain’s coming back.”
She held her smile at Brigham’s dire prediction. “Of course it is. Because legends rule here, and according to one of them, it always rains at night up on Bellam Mountain. Has to be Sarah’s doing. What else would a mad witch jailed in an attic room do but put nasty spells on everything she could think of?”
Brigham gave her a deliberate once-over. “You being her offspring, so to speak, and common to us tamers now, maybe you could spend a few minutes working out how to stop the wet. One more mudslide and we’ll have to move our camp.”
Which they probably did every few years in any case. But right then McVey had weightier problems to handle in the form of three murders, no solid leads and still way too much sex on the brain.
He used the familiar routine of police work to combat the latter. But four frustrating hours into it, they still hadn’t turned up a single piece of evidence in or around the murder scene.
“She died where she fell.” The head of the forensic team wiped a grimy arm across his face. “Blood loss tells us that much even without a weapon. Seeing that leg of hers, though, I can’t imagine why she came to this derelict part of the manor. It’s a head-scratcher, McVey, and that’s a fact.”
Another fact, McVey noticed when he took a moment to look outside, was that Brigham’s forecast had been dead-on. Black clouds were massing over the water, and they appeared to be creeping inland.
It took the better part of another hour to stretcher and bind Hannah’s body, then pack the equipment for the return trip. Once the teams were ready, McVey secured the central core, sepa
rated Amara from her new physician friends and pulled her toward the more livable west wing.
Digging in, she glanced behind them. “There must be more we can do here, McVey.”
He kept a firm hold on her hand and a close eye on the clouds. “There’s more, Amara. It just can’t be done in the dark or by us alone. Brigham left some wine, you want to go through Hannah’s things, and I want a shower before whatever’s blowing in with those clouds knocks the power out for the better part of the night....” Mild impatience brought his brows together. “Why are you dragging your feet?”
“Because I’m superstitious enough not to like what’s sitting on the lamppost outside Hannah’s door.”
“You’re half Blume and you don’t like ravens?”
“One raven’s not a problem. Two, I can deal. Three starts to freak me out.” She continued to resist his pull. “Is it staring at me?”
“If it is, and it’s a boy bird, it has excellent taste. If what you really want is for me to shoot it, tell me so we can get inside the damn house.”
She twisted her hand free. “You don’t shoot a raven, McVey, or anything, for staring.” Her declaration ended on a shiver. “I knew this would happen. I’m letting the legends get to me. It’s the curse of being a Bellam-Blume. You get swept up.”
“There’s a thought,” he said, and, sweeping her into his arms, carried her past the watchful bird. “What do you know?” He deposited her on the porch. “You’re still alive.”
“And kicking,” she said, but left it at a cool verbal threat rather than a physical demonstration. “First shower’s mine. You’ll want to batten down the hatches. And the shutters.” When he narrowed his gaze, a smile blossomed. “Add my warning to Brigham’s and heed it. With the thunder will come strong winds.” Stepping closer, she stroked a deliberate finger from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. “Trust me, McVey, however many storms you’ve experienced since you arrived in the Cove, this one will top them all.”
His eyes glinted in the shadowy half light. “Are you trying to convince me that you’re a witch or frighten me with your ominous prediction?”
Letting her hand fall, she hooked his waistband and tugged him forward. “I’m not a witch, McVey, I’m a woman.” She turned her face up to his. “And right now I want.”
He thought he detected a rumble of thunder and maybe a warning burst of wind. But all he really heard was the rush of blood in his head and the roar of it in his ears. He felt it pulsing in his groin as her mouth fused itself to his and hurled him—hurled them—into a far more frightening fire than the one they’d taken on last night.
Chapter Fourteen
Amara intended to get what she wanted—hot, steamy sex, with a hot, sexy cop. She didn’t care where it took place. Outside, inside, on the floor, on a bed, on the table. She wanted McVey’s mouth on her mouth, his body pressed against hers and his hands anywhere at all.
Desire curled inside as he took her by the hips and brought her up to him. More than heat pumped from his body. She felt need as well, raw and unbridled, with an edge as keen and urgent as her own.
Her back bumped the door. Then that door was gone and a cloud of warmth engulfed her. But the real burn was in her belly, in her blood, in the hands that glided with abandon down his chest to the front of his jeans.
“This isn’t how I thought it would be.” Her breath unsteady, she obliged him by letting her head fall back and exposing her throat to his lips.
“If slow was the goal, Red, we started off all wrong.” He eased away just far enough to fix his dark eyes on hers. “Jumping you that first night planted a seed inside me I haven’t been able to exorcise.”
She teased him with a smile. Her hand slid to his lower belly. “I’m sure you can imagine. I’m all about exorcism. Or possession, depending on how you look at it.”
“Right now I’m looking at you.”
Her hand tightened on the front of his jeans. “Excellent response, McVey.”
The shifting shadows played across his features. His eyes grew darker in the changeable light. He ran his hands under her tank top, brushed callused palms over her bare skin. When his thumbs grazed her lace-covered nipples, Amara hissed in a breath of pure pleasure. And laughed it out when he took hold of her hips and this time lifted her right off her feet.
She wrapped her legs around him in a move that was as much reflex as desire.
Excitement leaped inside her. The pulse at the base of her throat throbbed. He pressed his lips to the delicate hollow and she bowed her body toward him, determined to absorb as many sensations as possible.
“Are we moving, or have my head and body separated?” With her eyes firmly shut, she summoned a feline smile. “More to the point, am I talking or dreaming?”
“Talking.” McVey explored every part of her mouth. “I like it. I like your voice. It haunts me. I hear it in my sleep.”
“You hear...” Her lashes flew up. Her heart continued to pound and her breathing was far from steady, but she couldn’t let that pass. “I’m not her, McVey. Not the woman from your dream.”
“Nightmare.” He corrected and then kissed her so thoroughly she almost lost the thread of her objection. Did lose it for a blissful moment. “It’s your voice I hear, Amara. I never wanted her.”
Need gathered in a fiery ball in her belly. When he brought her up higher, it speared outward to her limbs and took most of the air in her lungs with it.
Darkness and light collided. Wind whipped the turbulent clouds into a frenzy. Stairs groaned; the floor creaked. Amara kept McVey’s mouth busy and at the same time used her hands to touch and savor and hold. To push him to the limit and that one step beyond.
He laid her on something soft—a mattress?—and, freeing his mouth, stared down at her.
“Gotta get you naked, Red, while I can still form a thought.”
If he could form thoughts, he was far ahead of her.
Her lips curved and she willed her hazy eyes to focus. Bed, walls, window, storm. McVey undressing her while her own fingers worked feverishly on the fly of his jeans. She tugged and dragged and tossed. She felt air; the hot, muggy weight of it on her skin as he pulled the white tank top over her head and cupped her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
Leaving her lace bra in place, he lowered his mouth to her nipple. She arched her back in reaction, heard the purr of approval that came from deep in her own throat.
Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, raked along his upper arms. She was lost and not looking to find herself any time soon. The torture of foreplay was too delicious to rush, the need for more exquisitely painful.
Heat and hunger throbbed in her veins. The combination threatened to consume her. The fire at the Red Eye had nothing on what burned inside her right now.
She fed on McVey’s mouth as he slid his hand lower over her belly. He swallowed the gasp she couldn’t contain when he slipped that hand between her legs and began to stroke her.
In a move as swift as the first streak of lightning, Amara took the full, hard length of him in her fingers and brought him with her to the slippery rim.
She felt his jerk of reaction. “You don’t play fair, do you, Red?”
Her entire system jittered. “Fair’s not in my genes.” To prove it, she gripped him tighter. And through her lashes had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes darken to near black.
The image lingered long after her vision wavered, until all that remained was a wash of color as she streaked toward that lovely peak.
When she brought him inside her, when he filled her, she clenched around him and held fast.
“Now, McVey. Right now!” She gasped the words, might have shouted them, because, for a moment, every part of her seemed to fly, to race through the night like the approaching thunderbolts.
In her mind she found the source of the lightning and grabbed it. Rode on its wild, electric back through the sky. Then it vanished. Her muscles went limp, her arms fell away and s
he tumbled slowly back into herself.
Now, that, her dazed and bleary mind managed to reflect, was what she called a wicked light show. And now she drifted on a sea of black raven’s feathers.
She had the ancestry for it. Ravens didn’t necessarily foreshadow death in the Bellam world. On that side of her family tree, the birds were often harbingers of hope. And to some degree, she supposed, love.
“Did you say something?”
McVey sounded the way Amara felt—spent, dazed and thoroughly sated. He lay facedown on the bed with his face buried in the pillow and her hair. The arm he’d slung over her held her firmly in place, or would have if she’d had the energy to move even one muscle.
“Not sure I’m up to talking yet.” The illusion of drifting resumed when she closed her eyes. “Is my body vibrating or is the house shaking?”
He raised his head to glance at the window before propping up on his elbows. “Likely some of both. The sky’s a light show.”
“So’s my mind. That was—amazing. I swear I saw stars.”
“I think I blacked out.”
She laughed. “Before, during or after?”
“Take your pick.” A smile tugged on his mouth and, lowering his head, he took hers again.
Her heart, not yet back to its normal rhythm, threatened to hammer out of her chest. She hooked a leg over his hips and moved against him in sly, suggestive circles.
Sliding his lips over her cheek, he chuckled. “Need a minute here, Red. I’m still working my way down.”
“I know it.” This time she ravaged his mouth. When she was done, her eyes glittered. “What do you say to a change of pace? Not that I don’t love fast and furious, but building from slow and easy might be nice.”
“Might be,” he agreed. “But I think...” Catching her waist, he rolled her on top of him so her legs straddled his lower belly. “I want to see you with lightning flashing around your head, then streaming down over your body.”
The slyness spread to Amara’s eyes. Leaning closer, she whispered a teasing, “In that case, McVey, I hope you’re well-grounded. Because the storm out there is a spring shower compared to what’s in store for you in here.”
