Jade shrugged one shoulder. “Okay.” Then she got a wicked gleam in her eyes. “But I’m starting a new tradition. After you indulge your inner child, you get to have grown-up fun.”
“If I lie in that snow, I won’t have anything to have grown-up fun with.”
Jade’s laugh floated on the breeze that kicked the windchill down another ten degrees.
“How’s playing by the waterfall sound to you?” she asked.
Mason dropped the quilt.
The conservatory felt warmer than usual after a half hour in the cold night air. Earthy, in a basic, sexual sort of way. Moonlight reflected off the snow, softly lighting the perimeter plants, and candles flickered and glowed along the flagstone path that led Jade and Mason through the interior, to the waterfall.
They’d left their boots and the CD player by the back door. Jade couldn’t remember where she’d dropped the cape, but she’d find it tomorrow. She had better things in mind right now. Mason had witnessed a ritual. Not only had he not run away, he’d stepped forward to join her. She’d never felt so close to a man. So in tune. So accepted. So in love.
“It’s quiet,” Mason whispered as the glass doors swung closed behind them.
“The birds are asleep.” She often worked here through the night, and one phase of the day seemed as normal as any other.
She could have seduced Mason outdoors, but each time they’d been in here together, when he’d looked at her, she’d seen the heat in his eyes and known that while he wanted to make love to her anywhere, it would be more powerful for him in here.
He was always watching her. Studying her. As if without a camera in his hand, he needed to memorize every curl of her hair, the arch of her eyebrows, and having seen the heat in his gaze, probably every curve of her body. It gave her a heady feeling, powerful even, to know he found so much about her so…interesting.
“Wait for me by the waterfall,” she said softly, letting his hand slide out of hers.
He tightened his grip. “Not a chance.”
“I have a hot drink simmering in the cauldron. There’s enough for two.”
“I want you first.”
Ripples of excitement zinged through her as he led her deeper along the path, heating her to the point where she might have to go back out in the snow or self-combust. At the waterfall, Mason pulled her to him slowly, reeling her in, tempting her with his need for her, a need that shouted right now, when she’d intended to make love to him slowly, to show him how deep her feelings ran.
His gaze, as soft as a caress, slid over her body. Her pulse skittered, racing out of control, with nothing more than their fingers touching. If he turned the seduction up a notch, she’d be a puddle of desire within seconds.
She stepped into his space, so close she could feel his breath on her hair. The toga-wrapped quilt was chilly under her hands, and she began to ease him out of it.
Mason reached for the thin strap on her shoulder.
“You first,” she said.
“I want to see you.” His voice was rough with desire, which spurred Jade to make quick work of the quilt until Mason stood naked before her.
He was beautiful. Sparks of appreciation and lust and desire flared in her core, and she moved closer, breathing him in, shivering as every nerve she had came alive and cried out that this was right, he was right, and nothing about loving this man could ever be wrong.
He’d offered no commitment. She didn’t care. People disappeared from commitment.
Not her, though. She’d been holding on to her heart for six long years, waiting for the right man. She’d spent her entire life waiting for someone who would make her feel desired, cherished, the way Mason made her feel as he gazed into her eyes and lowered her to the quilt.
“This one’s for you,” she whispered, releasing his mouth, working her way south.
He dragged her back up, breast to chest.
“But…” Her gaze wandered to the waterfall and back to his eyes, which had darkened with a desire so intense, she wished he’d let her do something special for him. “I thought this would be your fantasy.”
His grin was so hot, she nearly had an orgasm.
“My fantasy, love, is to hear your screams of pleasure over the waterfall.”
“My, aren’t we confident?”
He laughed and rolled her onto her back, and she let him have his way, let him tease and lick every inch of her, and when she couldn’t help herself, when she got so noisy that she was grateful the cascading water drowned out some of her cries, Mason took her even higher, letting her top the mountain and crash over the edge, landing safely in his arms.
Mason felt the change in Jade. He recognized deep passion when it was directed straight at him. For the first time in his life, it didn’t scare the crap out of him.
It didn’t, but knowing that she could take it all away when he finally told her the truth did. It was a dilemma over which he had little control.
It took days for everyone to be gone at the same time, but finally Jade was out, Weezy was gone, and there was no sign of Annie or the dog Jade said didn’t exist.
Well, hell, he knew it existed. The real question was who it belonged to—nothing with that much meat on its bones was lost and starving—and how it kept getting into Mystic Manor.
Mason had returned to the conservatory, at last, when Brenda called.
“Lyle told me what you said.”
“Brenda. Hi.” Mason wedged his cell phone between his ear and shoulder and moved on to the next cabinet, progressing steadily deeper into the wing.
“Lyle doesn’t believe he owes you anything,” Brenda continued. “I didn’t handle things at all well, so I’ve been stalling him, maybe even talked him out of telling Jade, because if anybody owes you, I guess it’s me.”
Mason was silent.
“Mase? You still there?”
“My mother taught me not to argue with a pregnant woman.”
Brenda chuckled. “I always liked your mother. Listen, don’t say I told you, but Lyle’s furious.”
“He doesn’t seem the type.”
“I know,” she said with a great deal of surprise. “I think impending fatherhood has brought out his protective instincts. Really weird.”
“Changing your mind?”
“Uh, no-o-o.”
“Just curious.”
“Look, Mase, if you’re really on a job, well, I just didn’t want Lyle to blow your cover, that’s all. Are we even?”
“Sure, Bren. Appreciate it. I hope the baby looks like you.”
She just laughed and hung up.
Mason closed the last cabinet. Not a darn thing the insurance company would want to hear about. It had been a waste of snoop time, and somewhat of an eye-opener, but nothing compared to the drying room, which he got to next.
Yes, he knew Jade was a witch.
Yes, he’d read half a dozen books cover to cover.
Still, when he straightened up on the far side of the low, deep arch, which was like a tunnel to another world, he was in the midst of a hanging garden of herbs. Old shelves, some warped with age, held hundreds of dark glass bottles with cork stoppers, all sizes, shapes, and colors. And a cauldron—my God, a cauldron!—hung over glowing embers.
The books covered cauldrons, of course. But reading was one thing, and seeing a working one up close and personal quite another.
He peered over the rim. The simmering liquid didn’t smell bad; it also didn’t smell like anything he’d want to taste. And even if it did, he wasn’t stupid enough to consume an unknown concoction put together by a woman who grew toxic plants. It’d be a helluva note to die by accident and have Jade finally charged with a crime. He wasn’t going to touch the plant in the sink either. He wasn’t even going to smell the plant in the sink.
Jade’s life certainly was very different from any he’d ever known. If nothing else spelled it out, everything in here did. And not just on the surface. Standing here, seeing a cauldron, an athame, a cr
ystal-tipped wand, the altar set up on the mantel, it hit him. An in-your-face reminder that witchcraft was very real.
To an outsider, Jade seemed perfectly normal.
Scratch that. That implied she was abnormal, which she wasn’t. Just different. But the differences, all piled on top of one another as he’d been turning over rocks, turned out to be no less than cultural differences.
“Whoa, what’s this?” he murmured.
Mason opened a secret drawer holding eighteen soft pouches, more or less. Lumpy pouches.
Damn. For the first time, instead of excitement at a find, all he felt was dread. If he opened those, he’d be nothing more than a trespassing, lowlife snoop.
He’d searched a lot of places over the years. Houses, apartments, gyms, pool houses, sheds, garages, offices, warehouses, secret retreats, motel rooms, vehicles, storage lockers, even a toll booth once, and on and on. All sanctioned by someone with a need to know and the money to pay for it.
But he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t open these, not even one of them. It was simple enough to feel them, know they held wands, and move on. Nothing in there needed to be disclosed to a third party. Not even to Anthony.
He might not be able to tell Jade the truth, but she deserved his respect.
“I saw it!” Anthony said when Mason topped the stairs the following afternoon. “Sounded like a damn buffalo running down the hall. I lost him when he turned the corner.”
Mason caught Anthony’s air of excitement. “Just now?”
“Yes! He was coming from back there, and I know you said he just kind of stares at you, but his tail was tucked between his legs.”
Mason studied the empty hallway where the dog had come from, then snapped his fingers. The locked bedroom! He jogged toward it, calling, “You coming?” over his shoulder.
He needn’t have bothered. Anthony was on his heels.
Mason had the lock down pat, and he was in the room so fast, he thought he saw the closet door swing shut. He knew he heard footsteps on the stairs.
He drew his Glock; Anthony followed suit. They took precautions as they opened first one door, then the other, and hurried down the steps.
“I’ve been down here,” Mason said. “Foundation’s solid. No way out. He’s trapped.”
“Let’s be very careful then.”
“Hey!” Mason called out. “I know you’re down here. You know you’re down here. My partner’s going to cover the only way out. Why don’t you just make it easy on both of us and show yourself?”
Nothing.
“Maybe you should tell him why we’re here,” Anthony suggested. “So he doesn’t think we’re crazed witch-hunters.”
“Good idea. See why I teamed up with you?”
“You teamed up with me because you were out of work and needed to pay off the diving shop.”
“Of course, if he’s Stockard, he’ll be madder at two PIs who want to turn him in than two, what’d you call them, crazed witch-hunters?”
Anthony waved his gun. “Go on. I’ll cover you.”
“Hey!” Mason called out.
“You really after Stockard?” a quiet voice asked.
Mason and Anthony zeroed in on his location behind a tall antique armoire, then glanced at each other, thinking definitely male and probably too old.
But you couldn’t be too careful.
“We’re here to make sure he’s dead,” Anthony said.
“Uh, partner, if you’re going to speak up, you should think it through first.”
“Huh?”
“That sounds like we’re here to kill him.”
“Oh.”
“If he’s alive, he deserves killing, I’d say.” A gray-haired man poked his head around the corner of the armoire, testing their forthrightness.
“Too old,” Anthony said. “Too short.”
Hands up, the elderly man stepped out and sort of waved in the direction of their drawn guns. “Too damn old to shoot.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Anthony said, holstering his weapon.
“Not so fast,” Mason said. “Who are you?”
“Henry Delarue.”
“Uncle Henry,” Anthony said, his tone laced with respect. “You are one hard man to find. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I like my privacy.”
“You couldn’t find him?” Mason asked.
“Lost his trail twenty years back.”
“He’s in the goddamn cellar.”
“Hell, you haven’t even found the whole cellar.”
“True.” Mason addressed Henry. “How do we know you’re not in cahoots with Stockard?”
“He was okay. He was good to Jade, I guess.” Henry put his hands down. “But if he’s alive, and I’m the one finds him, you can bet the law won’t be catching up with me.”
Mason holstered his gun. No way that answered his question, but if the guy liked his privacy that much, he’d have nothing to gain from helping Stockard disappear.
“You the one sleeping with my niece?” Henry asked Mason.
“You the one screwing with our cameras?”
Henry cackled. “Not bad for an old fart, eh?”
“What?” Anthony said, affronted. “That was you? You know what those things cost?”
“Can’t say as I care.”
“We’re looking for any evidence that Stockard’s alive and defrauding the insurance company,” Mason explained. “There’s only one place I haven’t searched yet. You going to show me where it is?”
Henry shook his head. “There’s things there not fit to see. If Stockard’s there, it must be what he deserves.”
Chapter 20
T he money’s a dead end,” Anthony said, sprawled in a chair by the window while he and Mason compared notes. They’d begun meeting in Anthony’s room each evening so there’d be no possibility of Jade’s slipping in to see Mason while they were talking business.
It wasn’t that he was opposed to their relationship. How could he be, when he liked Jade, and when he himself was caught up in the excitement of twice-daily phone calls with that cute bartender? Neither of them really liked the club scene. Turned out they knew some of the same people, so they all planned to catch a play in Old Town when he returned, then grill a late dinner and hang out on the beach. So he understood how Mason was feeling.
Still, the timing was all wrong. Mason’s sleeping with Jade while he was passing himself off as a freelance photographer was unethical, no matter what the reasoning. If discovered, it’d reflect poorly on Mason and the agency, and that in turn would effect Anthony’s ability to earn a living and keep his siblings in school.
Mason was looking good these days, working overtime to find the last cellar, back to himself—maybe better—fully recovered from the wedding that almost was. Lucky guy; getting hitched to Brenda eventually would have broken his spirit.
Mason had the other chair. “Dead end? You sure?”
“Jade put the money in trust for Stockard’s parents and his brother.”
“All of it?”
“Every last dime. The parents are disabled, haven’t worked since long before he disappeared. Guy I talked to said Jade was following her husband’s wishes.”
Mason smacked his palm on the armrest, a display of triumph and determination as he sat up straighter. “That does it then. Giving it all away is proof that if her husband is alive, she knows nothing about it. So it’s time I—”
“No! I beg you.”
“What? You didn’t even let me finish.”
“Stockard could’ve cooked this up with his parents.”
Mason scowled at him.
“I know, I know, I don’t believe it either.” Only because the other two didn’t fit into the equation at all. Unless Stockard had killed them to muddy the waters. “Nevertheless, you can’t tell Jade anything.”
“Anthony, please, I need to tell her.”
Anthony pulled a two-column newspaper clipping out of his wallet and unfolded it.
“No, no, not that again.” Mason groaned. His head dropped back on the doily-covered cushion, his eyes rolled, and his tongue hung out like a dying dog, and Anthony ignored those theatrics because he had something to say and he damn well was going to make his point.
“Remember when Priscilla was written up in the newspaper for reviving that kid at the beach? Got a nice award—did you know that? She wants to be a doctor. You have any idea what it costs to send a kid through medical school these days?”
“Just shoot me now. No, don’t,” Mason said, getting up suddenly. “Not until Priscilla can save my life. Hell, I’m going to bed.”
“Alone?”
“Not effing likely.”
“Mase—”
“Turn on the TV. Loud.”
A movement on the monitor caught Anthony’s attention. He jumped to his feet as one of the few cameras still working caught someone sneaking into the house. “Shit. Mason, wait.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He kept walking, reached for the doorknob.
“Wait!”
Mason wasn’t listening, so Anthony fired a rolled-up pair of socks at his back.
“Hey!” Mason spun around, hands up to ward off more ammunition.
“Where’s Jade? Davy Stockard just came in the side door.”
“Maybe he wants her to do a spell for him.”
“He’s got a gun.”
Anthony had never seen blood drain from anyone’s face as fast as it did Mason’s.
“Your husband’s in the conservatory!”
“Mom. Hi. How are you?” Jade propped the cordless phone between her ear and shoulder while she continued sorting through a dozen cardboard boxes. Uncle Henry had packaged her botanical shipments as usual, but he’d left a note apologizing for being “distracted by recent events”—what, he didn’t say—and suggesting she do a double check, so she was matching contents with invoices when her mother called.
“Now you listen to me, Jade,” Mona said imperiously, and with a sense of urgency that wasn’t unlike her. “This is serious. I see your husband.”
“Sure you do. Buried under the yew, I suppose? Seems appropriate, don’t you think, since it’s used to raise the spirits of the dead.”
Witch in the House Page 23
