Determined that her home, and everyone on it, would wake safe, she unlocked the door of the station house.
It was chilly inside and warned her they were running on emergency power. Lost power during the night, and the generator kicked on. She imagined that she and Zack would be busy later, dealing with any of the residents who didn’t have backup power.
But that was later.
With a check of the time, she booted up the computer. She could run it off the battery long enough to get what she needed.
Jonathan Q. Harding. She rolled her shoulders and began her search.
The basic police work steadied her. It was routine, it was second nature. Her stop at the hotel had garnered her his home address—or the address he’d given, she reminded herself.
Now, she would see just who the hell he was. And with that, begin to piece together the puzzle of what part he played in her personal drama.
She scanned the data as it scrolled on-screen. Harding, Jonathan Quincy. Age forty-eight. Divorced. No children. Los Angeles.
“L.A.,” she repeated, and felt the little quiver she’d experienced when she’d gotten his city of residence from the hotel registration.
Evan Remington was from Los Angeles. So were a lot of other people, she reminded herself, as she had the day before. But there wasn’t as much conviction in it this time around.
She read his employment information. A magazine writer. Reporter. Son of a bitch.
“Looking for a hot story, Harding? Well, it’s not going to happen. You just try getting through me to Nell and . . .”
She broke off, blew out a breath, and deliberately, consciously, tamped down on the instinctive anger.
There had been other reporters, she reminded herself. Gawkers, parasites, and the curious. They’d handled it without any real trouble. They would handle this one the same way.
She went back to the data, noting that Harding had no criminal record. Not even an outstanding parking violation. So he was, by all appearances, a law-abiding sort.
She sat back, considered.
If she were a reporter from L.A. looking for a story, where would she start? Remington’s family was a good bet. His sister, then some friends, some associates. Research the key players, who included Nell. From there? Police reports, probably. Interviews with people who had known both Remington and Nell.
But that was all background, wasn’t it? You couldn’t get to the meat until you’d talked directly to the main characters.
She snatched up the phone, intending to contact the facility where Remington was being held. And heard the line crackle and die. First the power, she thought, now the phones. Muttering complaints, she yanked out her cell phone, hit Power. And ground her teeth when the display announced that her battery was dead.
“Damn it. Goddamn it!” Pushing herself out of the chair, she paced. There was an urgency in her now. Whether it was the cop, the woman, or the witch pushing didn’t seem to matter. She had to know if Harding had met with Remington.
“All right, then.” She steadied herself again. It was imperative to stay calm and controlled.
It had been a long time since she’d attempted a flight. She had no tools with her to help focus her energy. And though she wished, just once, for Mia, she accepted that in this she was on her own.
Struggling not to rush, she cast the circle, and in its center cleared her mind, and opened.
“I call to all who hold the power, unto me your help endower. Rise up the wind to aid my flight, open your eyes to aid my sight. My body remains, but my spirit flies free. As I will, so mote it be.”
It was like a drawing up, a tingling that flowed gently through the body. Then a lifting out of what she was from the shell that held it.
She glanced down at her own form—the Ripley who stood, head lifted, eyes closed, in the circle.
Knowing the risks of lingering, of becoming too charmed by the sensation of flight, she centered her thoughts on her target. And let herself soar.
The stream of the wind, the sea beneath. There was such joy in it—and that, she knew, was a dangerous seduction. Before she could be lulled into the glorious silence and motion, she let sounds fill her head.
Voices humming—the thoughts and the speech of an entire city were alive within her. Worries, joys, tempers, passions mixed together in such a wonderfully human music.
As she traveled, sliding downward, she separated them and found what she needed.
“There was no change overnight.” One nurse handed a chart to another. Their thoughts sent up a mild interference.
Complaints, fatigue, a remembered fight with a spouse, and one gnawing desire for ice cream.
“Well, he’s less trouble in a coma. Strange, though, the way he dropped just a couple of hours after that reporter left. He’d been alert, stable, responsive for days, then this complete turnaround.”
As the nurses moved down the corridor, one of them shivered slightly as Ripley passed.
“Wow. Got a chill.”
She moved through the closed door and into the room where Remington lay. Machines monitored his vital signs, cameras watched him.
Ripley hovered, studying him. Comatose, restrained, behind lock and key. What harm could he do now?
Even as she thought it, his eyes opened and grinned into hers.
She felt a stab in the heart, the pain unbelievably sharp and completely real. The power in her, around her, wavered. And she felt herself falling.
His thoughts beat at her mind. Bloody, vicious fists that spoke of vengeance, death, destruction. They pinched at her, greedy fingers that were somehow, hideously, arousing. Tempting her to surrender.
And more than surrender, tempting her to take.
No. You won’t have me, or mine.
She fought back, struggling to free herself. Little wings of panic fluttered at her throat as she realized the sheer strength of what had come alive in him.
She tore free with a cry of both fury and fear.
And found herself sprawled in the circle she’d cast on the simple wood floor of the station house.
Wincing in pain, she tore open her shirt and stared down in horror at the angry red welts between her breasts.
She struggled to her feet, found the control to close the circle. She was stumbling for the first-aid kit when the door burst open.
Mia flew in the door like a whirlwind. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Instinctively Ripley drew her shirt closed. “What’re you doing here?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” All but shaking with anger, Mia closed the distance between them. “I wouldn’t feel? How dare you do such a thing on your own, without proper preparation? Do you know what you risked?”
“It was my risk, and you’ve got no business spying on me.”
“You risked everything, and you know it, just as you know I wasn’t spying. You woke me out of a lovely little dream.”
Ripley angled her head, took a good look. Mia’s hair was in wild disarray, her mouth unpainted and her cheeks pale. “Now that you mention it, you didn’t take time to put on your war paint. I don’t think I’ve seen you without makeup since we were fifteen.”
“Even without it, I’ll always look better than you—particularly now. You’re bone white. Sit down. Sit—” she repeated and solved the problem by pushing Ripley into a chair.
“Mind your own business.”
“You, unfortunately, are my business. If you wanted to check on Remington, why didn’t you just look?”
“Don’t lecture me, Mia. You know I have less luck with that area than you. Plus, I didn’t have a glass or a ball or—”
“A cup of water would do, as you’re perfectly aware. It’s foolishly dangerous to fly without a partner, someone who can call you back should it be necessary.”
“Well, it wasn’t necessary. I got back fine.”
“You could have asked me for help.” Sorrow pierced the frustration. “By the goddess, Ripley,
do you hate me that much?”
Simple shock had Ripley dropping her hands, gaping. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t—”
“What have you done to yourself?” Temper vanished as Mia saw the welts. Moving quickly, she pulled Ripley’s shirt aside. And her soul shuddered. “He did this. How is it possible? You were in the circle. He’s just a man. How could he break the protection and do this to your corporal body?”
“He’s not just a man,” Ripley said flatly. “Not anymore. There’s something in him, and it’s very strong, and very dark. Part of it’s here. There’s a man at the hotel.”
She told Mia what she knew, as she would tell Nell. They needed to be prepared.
“I need to study,” Mia said. “To think. We’ll find the answer. In the meantime, do you still have your amulet, any of your protective stones?”
“Mia—”
“Don’t be a fool, not now. Wear the amulet. Recharge it first. You have to stay away from this Harding until we know more.”
“I know that. I’m not going to let this happen, Mia. I need you to promise you won’t stop me, however it has to be done.”
“We’ll find a way. Let me tend to those burns.”
“You’ll stop me,” Ripley repeated, taking Mia’s wrist, squeezing urgently. “You’re stronger than I am, and you know just how close I am to the edge to admit that.”
“What needs to be done will be done.” Impatient, Mia pushed Ripley’s hand away. “These are painful. Let me tend to them.”
“For a minute, the burn was arousing.” Ripley took a steadying breath. “Seductive. I wanted it, and what it would do to me.”
“That’s part of its slyness.” But fear, cold and clammy, shivered over Mia’s skin. “You know that, too.”
“Yeah, I know it. And now I’ve felt it. You and Nell can hold out against it, and Nell stands in front of Zack. But I saw what could happen, and I’m not taking any chances. I can’t leave, it won’t work. So Mac’s going to have to go.”
“He won’t.” Mia soothed the welts with her fingertips.
“I’ll make him.”
With her hand on Ripley’s heart, Mia felt the beat that was love and fear. Her own ached in sympathy. “You can try.”
Steps to be taken, Ripley reminded herself as she approached the yellow cottage. This one, most of all, had to be faced. She didn’t need second sight or a ball of crystal to foresee that it would be painful. More painful than the raw welts that even Mia hadn’t been able to erase completely from her skin.
He might hate her when she was done. But he would be safe.
She didn’t hesitate, but knocked, then strolled in.
Dressed in a ragged sweatshirt and rattier jeans, he stood in the crowded bedroom. He was reviewing the tape from the night before. It was a jolt to see him on the monitor—so calm, so unruffled, so steady—sitting on the bed beside her, gently taking her pulse while his voice reassured.
A jolt to see him glance over at her now, to see the concentration in his eyes, then the easy pleasure that warmed them.
He stood, blocking the monitor with his body, then switching it off.
“Hi. You snuck off on me this morning.”
“Had stuff,” she said with a shrug. “Back at work, huh?”
“It can wait. How about some coffee?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” She didn’t avoid the kiss, but neither did she respond. She knew he was puzzled, so she breezed by him into the kitchen.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she began. “I know we’ve been hanging out a lot.”
“Hanging out?”
“Yeah. We’ve got a real nice sizzle between us, especially between the sheets.” She sat, stretching out her legs, crossing her feet at the ankles. “But the thing is, it’s getting a little intense for me. Wow, last night especially really went over the top. I’m going to have to back off.”
“Back off?” He caught himself parroting her again, shook his head. “I understand last night’s session was rough.” He got down two mugs, poured coffee. “You need a break from that.”
“You’re not following me.” Already bleeding inside, she took the mug he offered. “It’s not just the work area—I’ve got to admit, I found it a lot more interesting than I thought I would. Brains are pretty sexy. I’ve never hung out with a really smart guy before.”
She sipped the coffee, burned her tongue, and kept right on talking. “Look, Mac, you’re really a nice guy, and I think we both had a good time. You even helped me clear my head about a lot of stuff. I appreciate that.”
“Do you?”
There he was, she thought, looking at her as if she were a bug on a slide. “You bet. But I’m starting to feel a little, you know, confined. I need to move on.”
“I see.” His voice was calm, just a bit detached. “So, you’re dumping me.”
“That’s a little harsh.” He wasn’t reacting as she’d expected. He didn’t look angry, upset, hurt, shocked. He simply looked mildly interested. “Why don’t we keep it friendly and just say it’s been fun?”
“Okay.” He leaned back on the counter, crossing his long legs at the ankles in a move that eerily mirrored hers, then sipped his coffee. “It’s been fun.”
“Great.” A little sliver of resentment worked through, pricking her heart, and her voice. “Figured you for a reasonable type, which is probably why you’re not really my type. I guess you’ll be heading back to New York pretty soon.”
“No, not for several more weeks.”
“I don’t see the point in staying. I don’t want to play anymore.”
“I guess I have to make sure you’re not the center of my universe, then. I still have work to do on the Sisters.”
“You won’t get any more cooperation from me. Look, I’m just thinking of how you’re going to feel. It’s a small world here. People are going to know I broke things off. It’s going to be embarrassing for you.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Fine. Not my problem.” She pushed to her feet.
“No, it’s not.” He spoke pleasantly as he set his mug aside. She never saw it coming. One second he was studying her with that vague curiosity, and the next he’d yanked her against him.
His mouth was like a fever on hers. Hot, angry, draining.
“Why are you lying to me?”
She was out of breath, and her thoughts had scattered like ants. “Hands off!”
“Why are you lying?” he repeated, and backed her up against the refrigerator door.
Detached? she thought wildly. Had she thought he was detached?
“Where did all this bull come from?” He gave her one quick shake. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”
And it did hurt, a deep, throbbing ache in the pit of his stomach, a slow, twisting twinge in the heart.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, but I will if you keep pushing yourself on me. I don’t want you.”
“You’re a liar. You held me when you slept.”
“I can’t be responsible for what I do in my sleep.”
“You turned to me in the dark.” His voice was relentless. A part of him felt as if he was fighting for his life. “You gave yourself to me.”
“Sex is—”
“It wasn’t sex.” He remembered how it had been. For both of them. His hands gentled, and his anger became exasperation. “Do you think you can trick me into turning away from you, leaving the island? Why?”
“I don’t want you here.” She shoved at him, and her voice began to hitch. “I don’t want you near me.”
“Why?”
“Because, you moron, I’m in love with you.”
Eighteen
He ran his hands down her arms, taking hers as he leaned over to touch his lips to her forehead.
“Well, you idiot, I’m in love with you, too. Let’s sit down and start there.”
“What? What?” She would have pulled her hands free, but he only tightened his grip. “Back off.”
“No.” He said it gently. “No, Ripley, I won’t back off. I won’t go away. And I won’t stop loving you. You might as well swallow that, then we can work on what’s scared you so much you want me gone.”
“Mac, if you love me, you’ll pack up and go back to New York for a while.”
“It doesn’t work that way. No,” he repeated as she opened her mouth again.
“Don’t be so damn—”
“ ‘Implacable’ is a term I’ve heard applied to me occasionally. It’s classier, I think, than ‘hardheaded.’ In this case, however, I don’t think either applies.” He angled his head. “You get spooked about something, worried about someone, your instinct is to step away. The way you did with your gift,” he continued over her protest. “The way you did with Mia. I won’t let you do that with me. With us. Ripley.” He lifted their joined hands, kissed her knuckles. “I’m so in love with you.”
“Don’t.” Her heart, she thought, couldn’t take it. “Just wait.”
“I hate to keep saying no to you. I’ll make it up to you later.” And he lowered his head and kissed her until her bones went liquid.
“I don’t know what to do, how to handle this. I’ve never had this before.”
“Me, either. We’ll figure it out. Let’s sit down and get started.”
“I told Zack I’d be back in twenty minutes. I didn’t think it would take that long to . . .”
“To dump me.” He grinned at her. “Surprise. You want to call him?”
She shook her head. “I can’t think straight. Hell, he knows where I am if he needs me.” It seemed as if everything inside her was jumping and twisting around. And yet, at the center of it, her heart was glowing like the moon. “You’re in love with me?”
“Completely.”
“Well.” She sniffled. “How come you never mentioned it before?” she demanded.
“How come you didn’t mention you were in love with me?”
“I asked you first.”
“Got me there. Maybe I was building up to it. You know . . .” He squeezed her arms before he nudged her into a chair. “Softening you up.”
Books by Nora Roberts Page 197
