Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense

by Campbell, Angela

  It was so frustrating.

  She glanced toward Dylan and saw that his gaze was focused on her now. He said something to Reedus and moved away.

  When Dylan moved, that’s when Alexandra saw her.

  Saw it.

  The old woman with the creepy black eyes sat in the chair beside Reedus’s bed. The spirit’s expression was void of any emotion. She just sat there, staring back at Alexandra.

  Waiting.

  Someone touched Alexandra’s shoulder, and she jumped about three inches off the ground. “Hey, you okay?” Dylan asked.

  Sucking in air, she nodded and looked between the two men. “Yeah. Fine.” The poor medical examiner was probably going to go home and tell his family about how utterly weird and neurotic that lady psychic helping the police was.

  Dylan didn’t look as though he believed her, but all he said was, “I need to talk to Watkins for a few minutes. Why don’t you go say hey to Reedus? Maybe he’ll listen to you if you tell him to stay in that bed and get well.”

  She glanced back toward the bed Reedus occupied. The chair beside him was empty.

  No one else can see this thing. Only you. You’re the only one who can fight it. Now buck up and go in there.

  She nodded and moved slowly into the room, hesitating when she came to the small bathroom right inside. It was eerily dark. Was the old woman hiding in there now?

  “Still wearing that dress, I see.” Reedus croaked out the comment. “Looks a little wrinkled. Guess you and Collins—” He started coughing, so Alexandra hurried to his bedside. His left hand was extremely warm when she lifted it in hers. “Sorry, doll. Can’t talk too much.”

  “Good.” She smiled down at him. “I can’t imagine what kind of things you’d say on medication with that dirty mind of yours.”

  He chuckled and began coughing. Right. No jokes. Couldn’t make him laugh.

  She glanced around the room, that weird feeling gone from her belly. Her muscles relaxed. It was gone now.

  She squeezed Reedus’s hand and met his droopy gaze. “I’m sorry, Reedus. I didn’t realize you’d been sick.”

  He coughed into his other fist. “Snuck up on me a few days ago.”

  A few days ago. “When did you first notice it?”

  “When did we find that body in the cemetery?” He looked over her shoulder and frowned. “Right around when you showed up, I guess.”

  Seriously? Alexandra knew certain spirits, even the good ones, could make people physically ill. She’d seen it time and time again. The old creepy demon had just been in Reedus’s room, so maybe…?

  Holy crap.

  Was the demon making Reedus ill? On purpose?

  “What’s goin’ on inside that pretty head of yours now?” Reedus asked.

  She bit her lip, reached down into her purse and pulled out the pouch Barbara had given her. Should she? Giving it to him would leave herself exposed again. Maybe that had been the demon’s plan.

  Alexandra steeled her shoulders. She had to give him the bag to see if her theory was correct, had to see if she could help him. His condition had gotten so much worse in only a few hours. She couldn’t be selfish.

  “Reedus, I know you think a lot of this is hocus pocus, but will you please do me a favor?” She put the pouch in his palm. “Keep this on you. I think it will help you recover a lot faster.”

  He lifted the pouch. “What’s in it?”

  She really needed to find that out for herself. “It wards off negative spirits. Just promise me you’ll try it.” At the very least, hopefully it would keep him safe from Creepy Black Eyes.

  He started coughing, but nodded. “Where am I supposed to put it?”

  Good question. “Just keep it near you. That’s good enough.” She hoped.

  “Might as well.” He put the bag on the table beside him. “Ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”

  Dylan came back into the room and asked if she was ready to leave. She nodded and tried to give Reedus a hug. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

  His hearty chuckle suggested an inappropriate reply was swimming around that brain of his, but he didn’t say anything.

  Once they were in the elevator, Alexandra took hold of Dylan’s hand. Poor man looked tired. He was rubbing his forehead, too.

  “Got a headache?” she asked.

  “Yeah. This case has been giving me lots of ‘em.” He forced a smile and squeezed her fingers. “How are you holding up?”

  “Eh.” She shrugged.

  He let go of her hand when the elevator stopped. He’d snuck out the back of his house earlier, and she’d told McCormick she’d gotten a call from Dylan letting her know about Reedus. The young man hadn’t seemed too suspicious about taking her to the hospital. Dylan had told McCormick to go grab something to eat when he’d dropped her off. Whether or not they’d fooled the young cop, she had no idea.

  “McCormick will take you back to your hotel. Try to get some sleep.” She spotted the patrol car sitting at the entrance. Dylan must have called the younger officer when she’d been talking to Reedus. She guessed that meant they weren’t spending the night together.

  Disappointment flooded through her. And fear. When she realized she’d just given away her best source of protection to Reedus, her heartbeat fluttered in her chest like a fly caught in a spiderweb. McCormick would be outside the hotel, but he could only protect her from what he could see. She’d be alone inside, and vulnerable to what he couldn’t.

  “Alexandra?”

  Dylan was watching her, his forehead crinkled in concern. She was tempted to admit how scared she was to be alone, but there were cleansing techniques she should perform. Things that might keep her safe. Things Dylan probably wasn’t ready to witness. “Sorry. Just tired.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course.” One side of his mouth lifted. “You’ll be riding with me tomorrow.”

  Relief soothed away some of the disappointment she’d felt. “Good night then.”

  “Good night.” But he walked her to the car, opened the door for her, and leaned down to tell McCormick. “I’ll be picking up Miss King around eight-thirty. If you have a chance, can you call in and have someone make sure that printout of ghost-tour employees is on my desk when I get to the office. We’re going to pay some of them a visit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Appreciate it.” Dylan nodded and closed her door. McCormick probably didn’t see the sexy way Dylan winked at her when he stepped back, but Alexandra caught the gesture.

  It gave her hope that he wasn’t completely pulling away from her again.

  Eight-thirty couldn’t come fast enough.

  ***

  Dylan couldn’t sleep, so he found himself staring inside his empty fridge sometime around three a.m. What he wouldn’t give for a cold beer and some chips right about now. Scratching his chest, he shut the door and glanced toward the mess he’d left in his living room. There’d be time for that later. He needed sleep, but it didn’t come easy.

  A helluva lot had happened. His mind was on information overload, pinging from one subject to another. How had the Grim Reaper known his cell phone number? Did the killer have inside connections? Reedus had pneumonia. Would he be okay? Zach had left home because he was tired of being a punching bag for Ray. Was that true? Ray was dead. He couldn’t get his side of the story. Should he approach his brother now with questions about it, or let Zach make the first move?

  And why the hell hadn’t he let Alexandra stay here for the night? He had a feeling having her next to him in his bed would have helped settle his racing mind. Funny, since he still wasn’t one hundred percent committed to believing everything she’d told him. He couldn’t argue with her effect on him though.

  Strange how fate threw people together sometimes.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of relationship she had with his brother, but thinking about it too much made him feel agitated. Thinking of Zach always had that
effect on him, but he really didn’t like the fact that Zach had known Alexandra first. Didn’t like thinking her loyalties would always sway to his big brother’s side.

  But hadn’t his own, once upon a time?

  His thoughts pinged back to the day Zach had run away from home.

  Zach had used their mom’s truck to pick Dylan up from baseball practice. Dylan had been tossing his ball back and forth between hands as he complained to Zach about being made a short stop although he wanted to be pitcher when a loud bam had proceeded his entire body being thrust forward against his seatbelt. A second later, Zach had been right there, checking him over, his face shadowed with worry and concern.

  Dylan’s brow furrowed now. Zach hadn’t had a black eye or bloody lip then, and it was past the end of the school day. Yet when Dylan had found Zach packing a duffle bag a couple of hours later, his big brother’s lip had been busted and there had been a wicked gash over his eyebrow.

  “What happened, Zach?”

  “Nothin,’” Zach had said. “Got in a fight today at school is all.”

  Had Ray blamed Zach for the accident and taken it out on him even though Zach had been sitting at a red light at the time? Even though neither of them had been hurt?

  He swore. It was all starting to make sense. How had he never made that connection before?

  Blowing out a breath, he found his wallet and pulled everything out looking for the small photo he’d always carried in it. It was a picture of him and his brother taken about a year before Zach had left home. When he’d been younger, he’d looked at the picture a lot. He hadn’t even thought about it for years though. Where was it?

  She said to tell you, ‘The picture you’ve been looking for is in the trunk in the attic.’

  The memory of Alexandra’s words slammed into him with the force of punch in his solar plexus. She’d claimed the words had come from his mother. He laughed nervously. He hadn’t been looking for a picture, had thought she was crazy, but now—

  Fifteen minutes later, Dylan sat on his attic floor with the picture in his hand.

  Any doubts he’d had about Alexandra King were gone, right along with any hope he’d had of sleep.

  ***

  Things were getting more difficult, and yes, he knew he only had himself to blame for that.

  The Grim Reaper tugged off the gloves and hat he’d been wearing and tossed them onto his dining room table. He carefully retrieved the hypodermic needle encased inside his jacket pocket and hid it in a cookie jar. He lived alone, so no one would bother it but him.

  His kill tonight had been a failure. He’d had to postpone it when he’d done a preliminary walk past his planned site of display and seen a patrol car parked in front of the area.

  He’d walked past each of the sites on his list. Police were watching each one.

  Not to worry.

  Charleston was full of haunted locations. Either the police would give up and leave a site vulnerable, or he’d find a lesser known location to use as his playground.

  Leaving the TV volume turned up loud so he could hear it, he stepped into the next room and felt his heartbeat begin to race, the sound thrumming in his ears, drowning out the early morning news anchor’s voice. His plan was precise. The least disruption could ruin everything.

  He turned on his lamp and leaned over his desk where the map was spread out with his notes marked cleanly in the corners. Each location was important. He’d spent months determining them and verifying that they matched his drawing to the degree.

  Five locations. Five points on the map.

  He’d only managed to mark off four so far, including the one the police hadn’t yet linked to him. His first. It had been his test run. Excitement chased away his anxiety as he remembered how easy it had been.

  He’d been so afraid, that first time, but he’d gotten away with it. No one had ever suspected him.

  Now he only needed one more. One more death to complete the pentagram on the map. One more victim before he could move onto his grand finale.

  His original plan had been to make Collins his fifth but now his plans had changed. Hearing the TV news reporter say the same name he’d been considering only seemed to validate that he already knew who the fifth victim should be.

  “No one at the private security firm where Alexandra King works could be reached for comment.”

  Alexandra King.

  She’d make the perfect fifth. A fitting tribute.

  And figuring out how to lure her into his trap would be exactly the challenge he needed to occupy his thoughts until the police got lazy.

  His lips tugged against the small scar on his cheek as they spread into a smile.

  Now all he had to do was plan, and wait.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Tell me again why we’re here.” Dylan held the door open to the Mystic Corner and gestured Alexandra inside.

  “I never told you why. I just told you to trust me.” She smiled as she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and brushed past him. Truly, it spoke volumes that he hadn’t grumbled too much when she’d asked him to drive her to the occult store after picking her up this morning.

  Dylan sighed and glanced around. “Charming place.”

  He reached to touch one of the small shrunken heads hanging on a display, his hand hesitating before pulling back and sliding into his pocket. He kept one eyebrow arched as he skimmed the section of antique-looking Ouija boards. Alexandra didn’t have to be psychic to read his mind. He thought this place was as strange as a fish on a bike.

  The friendlier of the two young men she remembered from the day before was stacking items on a shelf. Alexandra moved closer and tapped him on the shoulder.

  The young dark-skinned man did a double-take then smiled when he recognized her. “Hey! Meemaw said you’d be back.”

  Did she now? “Rex, is your grandmother available?”

  He glanced over her shoulder at Dylan. His smile dimmed, but he nodded. “Just go in the back. I think they’re expecting you.”

  “They?”

  He only nodded in reply.

  Alexandra hurried to the back curtained-off room, expecting that Dylan would follow. She’d decided it would be better for him to see certain things firsthand rather than attempt to explain anything about the black-eyed demon lady.

  Barbara was leaning over, churning at the contents of a small marble bowl and murmuring what sounded like a prayer from the Bible. She didn’t look up as Alexandra then Dylan stepped into the small space.

  The young sandy-haired man with the neck tattoo sat on the corner of the desk, not the least bit surprised to see her. He gave her a slight wave. “Name’s Connor.”

  She waved back. “Alexandra.”

  Barbara raised her voice when she said, “Go on. Ax’me.”

  Alexandra turned her attention to the black woman and smiled. “You know why I’m here.”

  “Chil’, I ‘spect ya last night.” She stopped churning and reached for a pouch. “Ya need annuddah one, right? Gave yours away?”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes. “You know, Barbara, I have a much easier time understanding you when you’re not putting on.”

  Barbara cackled in that quirky way she did. “Don’t spoil my fun, child.” She lifted her gaze toward Dylan. “Introduce me to this fine-looking man of yours.”

  She did, stepping back to allow Barbara to accept and then cling to Dylan’s handshake a little longer than was appropriate. Her brown eyes danced with mischief as she looked him up and down carefully. “Mmmm-mmm. Seen you in a dream. You’re hunting him, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” Dylan said, taking a step closer to Alexandra, his gaze zeroing in on the bookshelf where mason jars with hand-written labels revealed an assortment of strange ingredients. Gum Arabic. Lovage root chips. Cinnamon oil. A bunch of other things Alexandra herself didn’t recognize.

  “Calls himself the Reaper.” Barbara turned her back to them and began cleaning up the area she’d just
been using. “Saw that in my dream too. Plus, it was on the news this morning.”

  But Alexandra’s attention had caught and held on that mention of a dream. “Barbara, what did you see in your vision?”

  “Saw you and him.” She turned and nodded at Dylan, then shifted back to her work. “You’re getting closer to finding the man you’re looking for. You’re figuring it out. Only a matter of time now.”

  Alexandra hadn’t figured out a darn thing when it came to the killer. Well, other than he was a real nutjob who probably had a demonic parasite steering his ride on the crazy bus.

  “Did you see the killer in your dream? Can you tell us anything about him?” Alexandra stepped closer.

  Barbara shuffled around the desk and returned some items to a drawer. “He’s surrounded by the darkness. Too much darkness. Couldn’t see his face.”

  Alexandra wondered if the frustration building in her chest was the same as what her clients felt when she was unable to give them absolute information from her visions and feelings. She sympathized enough to know Barbara was only telling them what she did know. Which wasn’t much.

  Barbara pushed a drawer closed and straightened. Her caramel eyes locked onto Alexandra’s. “You be careful, child. He’s gonna come after you, and ain’t nothing you can do to stop that but be prepared.”

  Dylan’s body pushed against Alexandra’s as he stepped forward. “What do you mean by that?”

  Barbara’s hands found her hips as she looked Dylan up and down again, her expression surprised. “I mean what I said.”

  Dylan didn’t back down. “How should she prepare?”

  The older woman gestured to the bag Alexandra now held and addressed her directly. “Keep that close. Keep your fine man closer.” She tapped the side of her head. “Keep your wits about you.”

  “Can I get—?” Alexandra’s words were interrupted by Barbara’s.

  “Only one bag this time. No more.”

  “Why not?” Too late, she realized she might have sounded like a petulant child.

  The older woman chuckled. “Out of ingredients.”

  Alexandra bit her bottom lip to keep from asking for a list of ingredients so she could replenish them for the woman. She’d hoped to get protection for Dylan, too, but she sensed she’d be overstepping if she asked for a recipe. Alexandra held up the small pouch the woman had given her and smiled. “Thank you. I’ll find a way to repay you for this.”