by Olsen, Lisa
In the wake of Dylan’s arrest, Spanky’s was closed indefinitely, and she and Kelli were forced to find new employment. Kelli promptly got a job at La Colmena waiting tables, but Cady decided to hold out for something better. Crafting a resume that was mostly smoke and mirrors, she applied for every entry level office job she could find.
Wearing her most capable looking pencil skirt and vintage blouse, Cady fidgeted through four interviews, only to be told that she lacked the requisite experience. Until the fifth interview, when she struck paydirt with an insurance company looking for a new receptionist.
Cady rushed over to Ethan’s place, as quickly as she could manage (over the convoluted route she took, just in case), eager to share the good news.
“Guess what?” she asked, after delivering an exuberant kiss.
“I can’t begin to imagine,” he grinned over her enthusiastic greeting.
“I got a job today.” Cady waited for his excitement level to hitch up a notch, but he merely locked the door behind them.
“Did you?”
“Yep, at Pacific Surety. Isn’t that cool? A real job for once, with benefits and everything.”
“That’s nice.”
“Nice? It’s better than nice, it’s fantastic.” She followed him into the kitchen, frustrated when he didn’t give her the props she deserved for landing such a coup. “Maybe you don’t remember what it’s like to look for a job since you’ve been working for the Company since birth, but any job that doesn’t involve hooker heels or a hairnet is a pretty major deal.”
“You’re right, it is a big deal,” he acknowledged, bending into the fridge. “Congratulations.” He pulled out a small cake, chocolate with fresh strawberries, her favorite.
“What’s this?” she blinked in surprise.
“To celebrate your new job.”
“How did you know we’d be celebrating?”
“I might have had reason to believe you’d have some good news today.” A half shrug was given.
“You knew already, didn’t you?” Cady smacked him across the abs. Ethan didn’t so much as flinch, but she felt better for doing it all the same. “How did you know?”
“I happen to have a contact at Pacific Surety and I put in a call for you.”
“A call. As in… hire this girl or I’ll burn your house down, kind of call?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it like that, but essentially, yes.”
“Then they weren’t dazzled by my interviewing skills, were they?” Cady slumped against the counter, some of the wind going out of her sails. What had she expected? She had little to no experience as a receptionist, and not much more than her high school diploma to recommend her.
“You don’t mind do you?” Ethan approached her cautiously, hands going to her waist to pull her gently closer. “You would have gotten something sooner or later. I just wanted to help you find it sooner.”
She wasn’t mad exactly, it just took some of the shine off her accomplishment. But who was she to question a good break when it came? “Mind? Why the hell should I mind? I’ll take all the help I can get.” Cady smiled up at him, arms finding their way up to his shoulders. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
The heels gave her the added height she needed to kiss him without going up on her tiptoes, but she leaned into it all the same, her body molding to his. On and on the kiss went, taking on a life of its own, driving them both a little insane with want. Ethan lifted Cady onto the kitchen counter, hitching her skirt up high to gain better access but the narrow design defeated him. With a growl, he tore the fabric along the seam, hands skimming over bare flesh in triumph. A gasp slipped past her lips as the cold, granite countertop pressed against her heated skin, but it was quickly swallowed by his questing mouth. Her legs parted to accept him, wrapping around his waist to pull him closer as their mouths clashed together, breath mingling, tongues sliding.
After weeks of interruptions and near misses, they had yet to take things to the next level in their relationship. Despite the words of love on the yacht, Cady had started to think she would have to tie him up to get him to stay put long enough to finish what he started if it went on too much longer.
Ethan displayed no such hesitation now. His hands explored her curves, tugging her blouse free of the restrictive skirt to slip underneath and Cady followed suit, pulling his t-shirt up, breaking contact with his mouth only long enough to tug it over his head. Everything about him was hard and ready, from the perfect play of muscles along his back to the part of him that nudged closer to her core, causing ripples of exquisite friction when he pressed against her.
Sure fingers slid over her fevered skin, until they fisted in the loose fabric of her blouse, and he tore his mouth from hers. “Don’t you want some cake?” he said tightly, and she could feel the coiled restraint in him, discipline cutting through the haze of pleasure.
“Cake later. For now, let’s celebrate.”
Her encouragement was all he needed. His eyes never leaving hers, Ethan slipped his hands under her ass, easily lifting her from the kitchen counter to carry her towards the bedroom. Cady wrapped her legs tighter, loving the groan that escaped his lips at the simple shift.
A knock at the door froze Ethan in his tracks and Cady bit down on her lip to keep from crying out in frustration. What the hell was it now?
“Stay here,” he ordered, setting her on unsteady feet before she could object. Cady tugged her skirt down, noting that the slit down the side of her leg could be repaired without too much work, and the effect might even be pleasing if the ragged threads were trimmed away.
Ethan reappeared seconds later, his face grim. “Get into the closet,” he whispered, shoving the cake back into the fridge, but Cady didn’t budge an inch.
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. It’s either in the closet or out the window.”
“I’ll take the window,” she scowled, tucking her blouse back into the skirt. Her tidy updo was hopelessly mussed, so she pulled out the tortoise shell barrette, shaking her hair free.
“I’m not kidding, Cady. Get in the closet, it’s Rikard.”
“This is stupid,” she hissed. “You’re allowed to have a girlfriend.”
“I’m really not.”
“Fine, tell him I’m your landlady, here to collect the rent. I’m not going in the closet again.” Cady strode to the door, throwing it open before he could stop her. The curly haired man she’d seen in Ethan’s apartment before stood in the hall, dressed in a runner’s get up with shiny shorts and a sleeveless T. “Oh, hello,” she smiled blandly. “Excuse me, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Rikard swallowed the surprised look in a flash, stepping aside for her to pass.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilson. I’ll see you at the beginning of next month.” With a polite smile to both men, she left without another word, walking as calmly as she could for the elevator. Ethan had insisted on the top floor again, claiming it offered more escape options. There was an advantage to his new apartment building though -- there was an internet café on the ground floor, and she headed for it now, intending to wait for his friend to leave so they could finish celebrating.
Tucked into a green armchair with her mocha, Cady scrolled through her Facebook feed on the spiffy new phone Ethan had bought her when she heard the name Rikard announced by the barista. She looked up to see the man watching her intently from the counter, reaching for his coffee without breaking his gaze.
Cady looked away, focusing on her phone, all the while trying to sense his movement through her peripheral vision. She scored a great big fail in that effort, when he dropped onto the seat opposite her.
“So, you’re Barry’s landlady.”
“Ah, yes. Well, not exactly. My dad is the building manager, but I run collections for him most of the time. He manages seven of them, you know,” she lied glibly.
“No, I didn’t know. Busy fella, your father.”
“Yep, work hard, play hard, that’s
my dad. Me, I enjoy a break now and then.” She held up her coffee to take a sip, pleased to note it didn’t shake the least bit. “You’re a friend of Barry’s?”
“Oh yeah, Barry and I go way back. Started out in the business together, you might say.”
“As a marketing consultant?” She knew that was Ethan’s new cover job, she’d helped him fill out the apartment application.
“That’s right.” His smile didn’t falter. “It’s a very competitive field. You’ve got to be a real killer to get anywhere.”
“I’ll bet.” Her eyes were drawn to the tattoo coiled around his bicep. Not quite like Ethan’s, but it reminded her of one of his demon tattoos, only resembling a fat lizard more than anything else. When she glanced up at his face again, he was watching her intently, and she hid half her face behind the coffee cup, taking a deep gulp. “Well, I’d better get back to it. Dad likes me to get to the bank before quitting time and I still have to make a couple of stops.”
“Can I give you a lift anywhere?”
“Oh no, I’m good, thanks. It was nice meeting you, Mister…”
“Smythe.” He offered a hand, pulling her closer once she accepted it, nearly throwing her off balance. Was he smelling her? Cady was about to pitch a fit when he let go of her hand and took a step back. “That’s a very pretty necklace. Where did you get it?”
She’s almost forgotten about the pendant; Ethan had replaced the tiny weapon in the bow and arrow design. Her fingers found it now, tracing over the cool metal. “Oh, this thing? I found it in a pawn shop over on Castro. It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? It sorta reminds me of that pin from the movie where they’re all fighting to the death.”
“Interesting connotation,” he murmured. “I won’t keep you, Miss…”
“Garrett,” she replied, not having time to think of an adequate lie. Besides, he didn’t know her first name. “Nice to meet you Mr. Smythe. You have a great day now.” With a bright smile, Cady scooted past him, well aware of her raggedy hem but grateful she could take longer strides as she got the hell out of there.
There was something creepy about that guy, and she didn’t go back upstairs as she originally intended in case he was watching her. Instead she walked to the apartment building two blocks down, climbing the stairs to the top floor and pacing there, as if she really was knocking on doors asking for the rent, to give herself time to think.
Where are you? The text came from Ethan, seconds later.
Loitering in a building down the street. Should I come over?
Unless you want me to eat all of your cake by myself.
Is everything okay? Cady sent, unable to shake the uneasy feeling she got from talking to Rikard.
It’s fine.
Of course it was fine. The man could be bleeding out his eyeballs and he’d say it was fine. Still, she headed back to his apartment building, wary, but there was no sign of Rikard or anyone else giving her a second look.
Knocking on the door, she mustered the most serious expression she could manage when he answered it. “Hello, Mr. Wilson. There seems to be a problem with your rent check.”
Ethan leaned against the doorframe, the corner of his mouth tucked up in amusement. “Oh? What would that be?”
“You didn’t give one to me.”
“Well, maybe you’d better come in and we can discuss it further.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully and she placed the flat of her hand on his chest, arching a single brow of her own.
“Mr. Wilson, are you suggesting something untoward?”
“I’m suggesting you get your ass inside here before I grope you in the hallway,” he grinned, blue eyes flashing.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to do anything to get you into trouble,” she teased. “Would you like me to come back later?”
“No, thank you,” he said politely, even as he reached for her. “Something tells me you’re worth the risk.”
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Read on for a special preview of Lisa Olsen's novel, Pretty Witches All in a Row, available now!
Books by Lisa Olsen:
The Touch
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Moonsong
Nine Steps to Sara
The Company:
The Company of Shadows
The Company of Darkness (announced)
The Fallen:
Angel of Mercy
Mercy for the Wicked
Mercy for the Damned
Child of Mercy
Mercy Book Five (end of 2013)
Forged Bloodlines:
Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down
Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down
Find Me When the Sun Goes Down
Miss Me When the Sun Goes Down (Fall 2013)
For more information, visit the author’s website at http://www.lisaolsen.net
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Chapter One
Prin lumina acestei lumânări
Conjur puterile întunericului
The words reverberated through her mind, indistinct; she couldn’t quite place the language or make out the intent. The air grew oppressively hot, the scent of bitter herbs permeating the room. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as an unreasoning panic seized her limbs. She was in grave danger…
Să îmi dea puterea
Să îmi recapăt tinereţea şi să îmi dea viaţă de-a pururi
Suddenly there was no air, no breath, no light; only a terrible sinking sensation, as though she was being sucked into a black hole. A terrified scream ripped through her, drawing her out of the void, even as the final words hovered in the air.
Aşa cum am spus aşa sa fie...
Annaliese clutched at the twisted bed sheets, chest heaving as she sucked in a greedy breath. Her entire body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, heart beating like a jackhammer as she grew more aware of her surroundings. All a dream…
Already the words began to fade, the edges of the dream becoming blurry and indistinct. All too happy to let it fade away, she let go of the sheets fisted in her hands, willing herself to take slow, calming breaths. “Just a dream,” she murmured shakily. Drawing comfort from that mantra, Anna repeated it to herself again and again.
Just a dream.
Normally a nightmare kept its hold on her for quite some time, trying to reassert itself into the next dream. Trying to avoid that particular circumstance, she reached over to turn on the clock radio by her bedside, cheeks puffing out as she exhaled again, arm crossing over her eyes. The dream receded quickly, abnormally so; but she didn’t question it, letting the fatigue catch hold of her. Scant moments later, Anna slipped back into a peaceful sleep, untroubled by dark dreams.
* * *
The sun had been up for an hour or more by the time he got the call. Already on his way into the office, Detective Nicholas Gibson pulled over, needing to punch the address into his dash mounted GPS device. The dead ends and one way streets in the Portland Metro area constantly gave him a headache, making the little device more than worth its weight in gold.
Well within the morning commute, Nick briefly considered flashing his lights to get there a little quicker, but he didn’t like to abuse that power. Eh… who was he kidding… he loved to abuse that power. Still, the dead body waiting for him wasn’t likely to get any deader, and the Crime Scene Unit was already on the scene working their magic. In fact, the longer he waited, the more information his team would gather by the time he got there. By comparison to his old commute in L.A., the drive across town was practically the speedway at Irwindale. As he puttered along on 26th, managing a respectable twenty miles per hour, his fingers tapped along the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio.
The road grew less congested as he pulled off the main road, the side streets still sleepy in the early morning. At every turn, the plucky little GPS directed him with great cheer, until he came upon the crime scene, the narro
w street clogged with emergency vehicles of every shape and size. Plenty of onlookers dressed in robes and slippers tested the patience of the uniformed officers on site, all eager to see what was going on.
Nick sighed as the little duplex came into sight, still steaming and smoking in the morning air. He hated fires. Not only would his shoes get all wet and ashy, he’d be lucky if he could get the smoky smell out of his suit without another trip to the dry cleaners. That and it was usually none too pleasant a crime scene to come upon. Physical evidence ended up contaminated in all manner of ways, from the water damage and the number of people tromping in and out before the CSU arrived. At least he hadn’t had breakfast yet.
Double parking, Sergeant Gibson stepped out of the car, giving his most charming smile when spectator eyes swung in his direction. At six foot one and a half, with brown hair and eyes, ruggedly handsome with more smile lines that worry wrinkles, Nick frequently found himself the object of female interest. At least where the suburban housewife set was concerned. Too bad the interest frequently cooled once they became acquainted with the reality of what he did for a living. It might seem glamorous or exciting to be a police detective on TV, but it often translated to long hours and a lot of missed dates. Not many women had that kind of patience, he’d found.
Wearing his favorite navy blue pinstripe suit, he felt a little overdressed for the crowd of onlookers, but he didn’t intend to linger with them for very long. With a quick wink at a bottle blonde in a tight fitting jogging get up, he crossed the police tape, hastening his step as he dodged firemen closing up shop and preparing to clear out.
The duplex was a bungalow style house, converted some time ago to get two living units out of it. The entire structure was smaller than his own two thousand square foot home by about a third, and he estimated each unit had about seven hundred square feet of living space. The weathered siding had at one time been painted white with red trim, but had grayed with age, browner towards the bottom where overgrown shrubs lined the perimeter and a sooty grey at the top near the roof. The concrete steps, painted red to match the trim, were scuffed and faded, the paint flaking away at every corner. A brightly colored welcome mat in the shape of a sunflower sat in front of the door. Wind chimes made from seashells hung over the door, hastily shoved aside, probably by the fire guys.
