American Witch

by Thea Harrison

  Josiah murmured, “The trash cans could have been raccoons, but the rest of it doesn’t look promising.” And the police’s continued efforts to find Molly was the price they had to pay for scrutiny on the case. “Thanks for the update.”

  “You’re welcome.” The detective stood. “I’ll email you if there are any further developments.”

  “You do that. When you’ve got a moment, I also want a list of the client files Sullivan had in his office.” Not that he expected to find anything in them. The same person who had planted the arson instructions would have had plenty of time to pull compromising files before the police searched them. But still, they might have let something useful slip through the cracks.

  “Sure thing,” Frank said.

  Josiah shook the other man’s hand and walked him out of his office.

  That afternoon he met Russell Sherman for a steak lunch at one of the best restaurants in the city. For several minutes they engaged in neutral conversation while the waiter took their orders and brought them drinks.

  Once they were alone again, Russell took a hefty swallow of his bourbon. “Now I know why you couldn’t comment earlier when I called.”

  Josiah nodded. “Had to wait until the news broke or the police told you.”

  “The whole office is in shock over the fact that Austin killed his wife’s attorney.” Russell shook his head. He had a blunt, powerful head like a bullet, situated on a thick neck.

  Josiah’s truthsense pinged. Lie.

  His whole fucking eighty-hour workweek had been worth this single moment. Russell did, in fact, know the truth of what had happened that night, and he was working hard to cover it up.

  “It must be a lot to take in,” Josiah said.

  “None of us saw it coming. Is Molly still missing?”

  Their steaks arrived. Russell dug in, carving up his meat with the polished dexterity of a butcher.

  “The police don’t know her whereabouts,” Josiah replied with complete truth.

  “I hope they find her soon.” Truth. Russell looked at him. “This is a bad business, Josiah.”

  “That it is, Russell.” Josiah held the other man’s steely gaze with a cold, steady smile. “And it’s likely to get a lot worse.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next week shot by, filled to the brim with investigations on all fronts.

  But whenever he thought of the weekend ahead, time slowed to a crawl. Finally he headed to the airport straight from the office.

  He went through airport security as Josiah Mason, but then he boarded a different flight under a separate identity. All he took was a weekend carry-on. As the plane took off, he felt like an arrow shooting through the air.

  When he landed, he got a text from Molly with the address of where she was staying. Do you want to come here or meet somewhere?

  Stay put, he replied. I’ll come to you. We’ve landed. See you soon.

  Okay. Have you eaten supper?

  He paused, breathing quietly. There she was, thinking of him again. It was like she had reached out across the distance to touch his cheek. No.

  Do you like pasta?

  I like everything, he told her truthfully. He’d gone through too many tough times to be picky about food.

  I’ll put something together.

  The plane taxied to the gate and he disembarked, threading through the holiday-weekend crowd at the airport while automatically checking his surroundings. It was unlikely that anybody was monitoring his weekend plans and even more unlikely that he’d been followed.

  And yet.

  And yet he took three taxis in quick succession to random, busy places in the city before he finally allowed himself to go to the address Molly had given him. In his last taxi, he checked the traffic as the city lights flashed past his window.

  The taxi pulled up in front of a tiny Creole-style cottage in a quiet neighborhood. It was painted bright colors, the small yard draped in foliage. Through the lush greenery, he could see Molly’s slender form through open french windows as she moved around inside.

  He felt like he was on fire as he strode through the open picket gate and up the path.

  She might not welcome what he brought. Hold back, he said to himself. Hold on.

  He knocked on the door, and a moment later she opened it. She was… He lost his breath. She was vibrant. Wearing new, colorful clothes, wearing makeup, bangles, and radiating health and feminine Power. The scent of something delicious hung in the air. Behind her, he saw a bistro-style table set for dinner.

  She gave him a small smile. “Did you miss the shit out of me?”

  He dropped his bag and reached for her with both hands. Cupping her face, he kissed her fiercely. Making a muffled noise, she kissed him back just as fiercely.

  Insanity set in. He pushed her back against the wall and plunged as deep as he could into her mouth while she wound her arms around his neck and arched against him. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, her body. He ran greedy hands down her curved form. Was the door shut?

  He checked. It wasn’t, and he kicked it.

  “The pasta’s going to boil over,” she gasped.

  “I don’t care,” he growled. Wait. Maybe he should.

  Pulling away, she spun around a corner. He followed her into a miniscule kitchen, watched her turn off the small, apartment-sized stove, and then snatched her close again.

  They had made love once. Once. And there were so many things he needed to do to her. Crouching, he ran his hands up her fabulous legs, underneath the gauzy skirt. Her breathing sawed unsteadily in the peaceful place. She staggered backward to lean against the cabinet while she ran her fingers through his hair.

  She wore a pair of the panties he had bought for her, simple and white. He knotted both fists in the material and yanked it down.

  “Say no if you need to,” he said. “Say it now.”

  “God, no!” she exclaimed. Then, when he reared back his head, her face flooded with sensual laughter. “I meant I’m saying no to no… Damn it, yes.”

  That was all he needed. The waistband of her skirt was elastic. He yanked that down too. Her body was beautifully made everywhere, the bone structure graceful and flowing. He rubbed his face in the tuft of tawny hair at the juncture between her thighs, inhaling her unique, feminine scent before exploring her with gentle, greedy fingers.

  The breath left her hard, and the silken wetness of arousal coated his fingers. Wordlessly, he urged her to drape a leg across one of his shoulders. When she complied, it opened her up to him, and it was everything he had wanted over the past ten days, everything he had thought about.

  She cried out when he put his mouth on her and licked along the tender, soft petals of her intimate flesh with careful urgency. Locating her clitoris, he suckled, teased, and stroked while inserting a finger into her tight sheath. He was ravenous for every inch of her, for every response.

  “Josiah!”

  he said in her head.

  “Then do it,” she growled, yanking at his hair. “Get up here!”

  he purred.

  She swore, and he laughed and licked her harder until she hung over him and the slender muscles of her inner thighs trembled.

  “It’s too intense,” she moaned. “I can’t take it.”

  he told her.

  As he talked, he inserted another finger, stretching her gently and then fucking her with his hand to the same rhythm of his words.

  “I can’t do it,” she whispered unsteadily. “I-I’ve got to lie down.”

  As she spoke, she listed to one side, then caught he
rself with a jerk.

  Bed. What an excellent idea. He stood and swept her into his arms. “Where?”

  She pointed to an open doorway. As he strode into a shadowed, simple bedroom with a double bed and two nightstands, a waft of fresh air blew in from the open french windows in the living room.

  A lifetime of habit proved impossible to shake. Kneeling on the mattress, he eased her down onto it. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded. The dark sparkle of her gaze followed him as he walked out. In the living room, he turned on a wall air conditioner and moved to secure the windows and pull the blinds into place. Then, unable to leave it at that, he cast quick spells over the windows and the door, enough to sound an alert if they were disturbed.

  When he strode back into the bedroom, he found her sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around her knees. After a slight pause, he yanked off his tie, stripped off his suit jacket, and sat beside her.

  “I’ve missed your protection spells.”

  He absorbed that. “Not the basement though, eh?”

  “No, not the basement.” She rested her cheek on one knee, her face angled toward him.

  In the space of time it had taken him to secure the cottage, something critical had changed. He thought to ask what was wrong, but it seemed too heavy-handed in the delicate atmosphere. Instead, he stroked her back, waiting.

  “I needed to see you,” he said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t welcome it, but I needed it.”

  “Same here,” she whispered.

  She hadn’t said no, or that she had changed her mind, so he stripped off his shirt, removed his socks and shoes, and stretched out on the bed. It felt as if he was putting down something he had been carrying for a very long time, and he let out a long sigh.

  Playing the tips of his fingers down her spine, he said, “Or, if you want me to, I can go.”

  She shook her head, and a lock of her hair fell over her eyes. “No, I want you to stay. I have something I need to tell you, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He raised his head off the pillow to squint at her. “That sounds tricky.”

  She bit her lip. “I should have kept my mouth shut. But I just want a weekend. Just one weekend with you, without drama or stress. Can we have that? Can we agree to talk before you go home on Monday?”

  He thought about it. His body felt as unruly as a plunging bronco. He ached to find release with her, but…

  She wouldn’t need to tell him something so badly if it wasn’t critically important.

  And she wouldn’t want to put off having the conversation if she didn’t dread what might come next.

  “No,” he said.

  * * *

  His voice was soft but implacable.

  She buried her face in her knees, longing to return to the simple, urgent passion they had shared just moments ago. She had meant to wait, to steal the time with him and let her weather vane spin in the wind all weekend. And then she would go whichever way it pointed before he left.

  But apparently she wasn’t a secret baby kind of girl.

  He pulled the curtain of hair back from her face. Even more softly, he asked, “Is what you have to say so terrible?”

  “That depends on you.”

  She drew away from his touch, crawled off the bed, and went back to the kitchen to pull her skirt back on. Then she picked up her panties. Oh, why the hell bother? She dropped them on a chair.

  He had followed her silently, moving like a panther. When she turned back, she confronted the sight of him bare-chested, shirtless, and shoeless. The beauty of his body made her mouth go dry. She swallowed hard.

  Crossing his arms, he leaned against the doorway of the bedroom. “I can wait all night if I have to, milaya.”

  Her hands shook. This was so much harder than she had imagined—and she had a vivid imagination. “Do you remember what happened after Austin attacked me?”

  His amber gaze narrowed. “Of course I do. Every damn minute of it.”

  “Sunday was hard. Rough morning. Rough day.” She couldn’t watch his expression and let her gaze wander elsewhere.

  His big body was out of focus. She tracked him out of her side vision as he came across the room and put his hands on her shoulders. He said quietly, “I went through it with you. Nobody knows that more than I do.”

  That was enough of an opening to allow her to give him a direct look. “I didn’t take my pill that morning.”

  His eyes dilated, a fast, involuntary reaction. “And the condom broke the next day.”

  She nodded.

  “Milaya.” His expression, his eyes, his Power blazed.

  Before something unbearable happened, she clapped both hands over his mouth. “Listen to me. Just listen. I’ve got the advantage here—I’ve had a little while to absorb the news.” Her eyes flooded with moisture. “And I want this, maybe more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. And I’m okay with it. And I wish… Oh, there’s no point in talking about what I wish. But I’m going to do everything in my power to keep danger away from this little one. She—or he—is going to be brought up with all the love and happiness and safety and security I can provide. So I think it’s best if you and I don’t see each other again after this weekend, because we both know what your life is about.”

  He pulled her hands away from his mouth and bit out, “You can’t do this on your own!”

  “Watch me.” It was harder than ever to meet the dark fire burning so furiously in him, but she did. “I’m on my way to find a teacher. I’m going to build a good life, and I’m going to be so damn happy it will make malcontents nauseated to look at me. I’m excited about my future. And… and you would be so welcome to be a part of this baby’s life if you ever chose a different path than the one you’re on right now. But the way you live—you’re consumed with revenge. I don’t know, maybe that’s why you want power and why you want to become Georgia’s next governor. This mysterious, terrible person who hurt you so badly all those years ago has eaten you up inside, and I’m not judging, Josiah. I’m really not. You get to be whoever you need to be. But you can’t live that life you’ve chosen and bring it here to me. Not after this weekend.”

  “Goddamn it,” he bit out. “Don’t you think I fucking realize that?”

  “Okay then,” she whispered. Her gut hurt, and she realized she had clenched everything up in anticipation of an emotional blow, so she tried to relax her muscles and take a breath.

  He strode into the bedroom. When he came back out, he had pulled on his shirt and shoes, and he carried his jacket in one clenched fist. His expression was severe, mouth clamped tight.

  On his way to the door, he snatched up his carry-on. He said tersely over his shoulder, “I need some air.”

  She pressed the fingers of one hand against her mouth as she watched him go. That had gone every bit as badly as she’d been afraid it would.

  But then, just before he stepped out, he paused, head turned to one side as if he could hear her silent anguish. Hell, he probably could. Her energy was crazy, all over the place.

  In a more measured tone, he told her, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

  “Sure, if you can,” she said jerkily. “I would really like that.”

  He nodded. Then he stalked out.

  Silence settled in the little cottage. The hurricane had passed, leaving devastation in its wake.

  Four-seven-eight.

  Four-seven-eight.

  At last her internal earthquake subsided. When she felt calmer, she went to see what could be done with the half-prepared supper. The pasta had congealed, so she drained off the water and threw the clump in the trash. And the sauce looked tired and brown around the edges.

  “I know how you feel,” she said to it. She threw that out too. There wasn’t a dishwasher in the rental, so she washed everything up by hand. She had bought Josiah a bottle of wine, and she set it aside on the counter.

  When the little place was sparkling clean, she went to take a shower
, washed off her makeup, and put on the black nightie. After the buildup and anticipation and then the raw intensity, the world felt flat and colorless.

  It was too early to go to bed, and she was too tired to go out. Plus she should eat something.

  She had made a beautiful green salad topped with delicately fried squash blossoms. Dumping some into a bowl, she went into the living room to slouch on the couch and channel surf while she ate pieces of the salad with her fingers like popcorn.

  A quiet knock sounded at the door. Her heart thumped. Setting the bowl and TV remote aside, she went to look out the closed french windows.

  Josiah stood on the doorstep, his white dress shirt stark against the yellow outside light. He had rolled the sleeves up. His bag sat at his feet with his suit jacket and tie draped across it. He turned and saw her looking at him. Said nothing. Just waited, watching her.

  She went to open the door. His brooding gaze raked down her figure clad in the short black nightie and robe. “I shouldn’t have walked out.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” She stepped out of the way. “Given the circumstances, I think you were remarkably restrained. But I hope you’re not back to fight, because I’m too tired to oblige tonight.”

  “I’m not back to fight.” He met her gaze with a level look, then strode inside.

  She watched him take in the bowl of salad on the couch, the muted television screen, and remote. “There’s more salad in the fridge. And the wine on the counter is for you. And there’s cheese and bread, and some beignets from Café Du Monde in the pastry box. Help yourself to whatever.”

  “Thank you.” He looked down at her bare toes with their dark blue-painted nails. She wore a little sterling silver ring on the middle toe of her right foot. “Mind if I take a shower?”