Revenge: A Ghost Cats Story

by Jaycee Clark

  She sighed again. Fate definitely wasn’t going to let her day get any better, damn it. Not when her estranged mate just walked in.

  “Hello, Reya.”

  Chapter Two

  Craigen stood in the doorway, tucked his shades in the vee of his shirt and watched as she schooled her features.

  So controlled was Ms. Reya Lynx, owner of Horizons Gallery.

  She licked her full lips and he ran his gaze over her. No one had changed more, and yet changed less than Reya. She still favored long flowing lines of clothes, and they worked well on her willowy frame. Today she wore a dark blue sleeveless tunic pants suit that easily showcased the muscles of her arms. A long pendant hung down and glinted in the sunlight. The stone was dark and familiar.

  He grinned as he stared at it, watched her fist it in her hand before he let his gaze run back up to meet her eyes and let her know he remembered exactly where she’d gotten the stone.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Apparently, she remembered as well.

  Always a contrary woman.

  He chuckled. “Been awhile.”

  “I’ve been here three years.” Her eyes flickered just a tad, as if she wished she hadn’t said that.

  “So you have.” Each had steered the hell away from the other.

  He frowned when he realized he was actually, on some level, happy to see the woman. The energy that always followed her—followed them—flowed around the room and over his skin. He took a deep breath and smelled the shampoo he knew she still made herself using rosemary, flowers and a hint of citrus. Some light-as-air perfume that was new. Yet under both was the smell that would always and forever be Reya to him. No other woman, or being, was like her. It was a smell as sultry as the night and just as elusive as moonlight.

  Her stubborn jaw jutted out and he knew the frown between her brows would be next. That one there that caused a slight crinkle in the bridge of her nose.

  Damn, but he’d missed her.

  “Charles Carpenter, please meet an old…friend, Lorenzo Craigen.” Her voice could still melt the ice off the Sangre de Cristos or charm a single flake from the fallen snow. It was silky smooth, yet just a bit throaty.

  His gut tightened and he took another deep breath.

  She grinned, glanced down, then back up to meet his eyes. He didn’t miss the challenge in the pale depths of hers—a color somewhere between smoke and sky.

  An image of what they had looked like clouded with passion jolted through his brain, and he slammed the door shut on that one.

  He turned to the man she’d introduced him to. Charles Carpenter. He knew Carpenter. The man had owned the shop when it was Deep Cave Galleries. Hell, all Taos needed was another gallery. The streets were lined with the damn things. Art—or in his opinion, what was supposed to pass as art—sculpture, paintings, clothing, crafts—was often disguised junk. Whatever. Once the art was stuck in a place and the locals slapped a gallery sign in the front window… Ta-da. And it worked. More tourists stopped in and would pay some god-awful, hocked-up price for merchandise in a gallery.

  His gaze roamed around this shop and he had to admit it actually had an artistic feel to it. Horizons was known for its handcrafted and one-of-a-kind jewelry pieces that the people with too much money and time didn’t bat at eye at buying.

  Chunks of crystals and rocks glittered in display cases along with bracelets, necklaces, pendants, rings… The shimmering went on, contrasting against the dark velvet backdrops. Or in one case, sand. Black sand created a bed for the hammered bronze jewelry. Bracelets? No, arm bands and maybe a torc, pendant and rings.

  Craigen cleared his throat and looked back at the former owner of the shop and gave the man a bare nod.

  He caught the slight rueful look Charles tossed to Reya before the man said, “I’ll be in the back with Mica.” He patted her shoulder as he walked by.

  The movement didn’t really bother Craigen. Not really. They weren’t together. He’d know if they were. Yet he’d learned long ago, that other part of him could not stand another touching her. He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? Liking it or not, what was, simply was. Hell and damnation.

  When they were alone again, Craigen shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nice place you have here.”

  Reya shrugged one elegant shoulder and turned her back to him, reaching into the solitary display case with black sand and rearranging the ornaments inside.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  Her eyes rose to his, her gaze tumultuous beneath her lashes. He could all but see the anger swirling tighter and tighter around her. But then, like elusive smoke, it streamed away.

  He grinned. “You’ve gotten even better.”

  Her incredible eyes narrowed at the edges. “Some of us always had control of our urges.”

  Definitely still angry.

  To defend or deflect? Neither. Ignorance. His boots clicked across the hardwood floor and he laid a picture of a bracelet before her. “Seen this?”

  She dropped her gaze from his to pull the photo across the glass surface towards her. A frown settled over her features.

  “Wolf Moon.” She looked back up at him. “We sold the first several so quickly, and the demand was in, that it is one of the few things we keep in stock. Thankfully, the artist is agreeable to that venue versus a one-time creation like most of the pieces we feature here.”

  Craigen leaned over the display case and trapped her gaze with his. “Would the artist have a name?”

  “That’s confidential unless the artist deems otherwise, and this one hasn’t,” she said softly.

  His gaze dropped to her lips. “Maybe not, but I know you could persuade them to help us out. Especially since we’re dealing with murder.”

  One brow arched. “Isn’t that your job?” She tilted her head and studied him. “What’s this all about?”

  “Murder.”

  “Yes, you’ve already mentioned that, but what has this one to do with me? There have been others before this. Why are you here?”

  Reya was never easy. “The girl was wearing a bracelet, as you notice, that you carry. Her roommate works for you. Seems here would be a good place to start.”

  “True. So what is the poor girl’s name?”

  “Tanna Barvendez. Heard of her?”

  She studied the picture, reached out, traced the bracelet with her nail. “No. Not until this morning. Mica called hysterical and I rushed over and learned her roommate had been killed. You sure this is her?”

  He grabbed the photo up and tucked it into his breast pocket. “She here?”

  “Mica? Yeah.” Reya nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, motioning to the doorway behind the counter. “She’s in back. She mentioned the police might want to talk to her again.”

  He shifted his gaze to the doorway. “We didn’t get a lot out of her this morning.”

  Her hand skimmed across his. Just the barest of touches, a glance of her skin on his skin, but it felt like a sucker punch to his system. She quickly drew her hand away.

  To hell with this. “Reya, we need to talk. It’s important.”

  “Isn’t it always with you?” She tilted her head at that angle that told him more than anything she wasn’t in the best of moods. She might as well be twitching her tail. “Why is it that we only ever seem to talk on your terms?”

  That loaded gun was not one he was picking up today. Later, yes. Firing it, without a doubt. For now… He narrowed his eyes and watched her. Best way, just rip the band-aid off.

  Staring straight into her eyes, he took a deep breath and said. “This was Sael’s work.”

  She paled and swayed slightly.

  “I won’t let him come near you.” Craigen reached out and grabbed her hand. “I won’t.”

  She shook her head, her breathing shallow. Dark shadows danced in her eyes, widening the pupils. Memories etched pain across her face.

  “Reya,” he snapped. “Reya!”

  She swa
llowed, licked her lips and then cleared her throat. “Y-you’re wrong. You have to be. Sael… You—” She shook her head. “No.”

  “I hope I am mistaken.”

  Her eyes rose back to his, and at any other time he might have been amused at the fact she was trying to hide her fear from him.

  “He won’t hurt you.” He tightened his hold on her hand. “I swear it.”

  A slight tremor ran through her.

  “Sael?” She shook her head. “It can’t be. He’s dead. You know he’s dead.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Why would you say otherwise?”

  “Reya, look at me.” He tightened his hold on her hand until she complied. “Did I let you down before?”

  She blinked. “With Sael?”

  He bit down. “Yes, with Sael.”

  “No, no, you didn’t let me down with that.”

  Craigen took a deep breath. “We’ve both made mistakes.”

  And they had, both proud, both hurt, both refusing to budge.

  She swallowed and waved her other hand. “I know. I know. Hubris can be a bitch. Sorry. I know I can be petty.”

  “And selfish, but you’re still the prettiest, most intriguing damn woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and he wanted it to reach her eyes.

  “At least I’m not arrogant, rude and a dozen other things.” She linked her fingers with his.

  “Reya, we have to talk.”

  This time instead of arguing with him, she nodded.

  Relief loosened the muscles in his neck. “Good. First, I need to talk to Mica for a bit. I’ve several calls to make, leads to track down and then maybe this evening we can get together. How about tonight?”

  Again she only nodded.

  “I’ll be in the back talking to Mica if you need me.” He turned, heading to the doorway she’d pointed to earlier. “Be careful.”

  Craigen was almost at the doorway when he heard her.

  “He swore. Do you remember, Lo? Sael swore we’d both pay. We’d always pay.” She rubbed her arms. “I can still see his eyes, all golden, hating me…” She trailed off, still rubbing her arms.

  He took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she’d called him Lo. That more than anything told him how rattled she really was, even if he could see she was still too pale, her eyes too shadowed. He regretted that this—murder, Sael—was what bought him into her gallery today. Damn it. He’d given her space because of pride, then anger, then because he knew space was what she wanted. He’d wanted and dreamed of her for months. Hell, who was he kidding? Even pissed he’d wanted her like he’d never wanted another. He’d should’ve come in months ago—years, hell decades, ago and seduced her back to his side. Seduced her back under him. Either would have worked and been better than the months and years he’d spent alone.

  Instead, here he was with the past between them, bringing dark memories, troubles and blood to her door.

  He turned back, knowing that if he saw Sael now, he’d just kill him and be done with it, and this time he’d make damn certain the bastard was dead.

  “Lo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s mine this time.” She turned and faced him and he inwardly swore at the determination fueled by rage flashing in her eyes. “This time I take back my own.”

  He held her stare for a moment. Without a word, he turned and walked away. He’d almost lost her before and no matter what lay, or didn’t, between them, he’d be damned if he came even close to losing her like that again.

  No matter what she wanted.

  Chapter Three

  He’d lied to her.

  The late summer evening was slow to give up the light. It was almost nine and still there was enough daylight that the lighted lanterns on the tables didn’t do much to cast more glow than the fading sun. The little black iron tables made for cozy eating, the setting sun a nice romantic backdrop.

  She sincerely hoped romance had not been his plan this eve. But if not, then what was she doing here? Oh yes… Death.

  Reya studied the man across from her and wished her pulse didn’t still kick up when he looked at her like that, straight on as though he could see all the way to her soul. But with Lorenzo, that was normally how he was. Straight on, no lies.

  Which was why she was still so pissed at him, regardless of how damned good the man looked in a pair of jeans.

  He’d lied to her.

  The waitress brought them a bowl of thin, crispy tortilla chips, a small mortar of salsa, and took their drink orders.

  Reya wanted the house margarita. If she was dining with Lo, she knew she’d need all the help she could get to calm her nerves. He, as usual, just ordered water.

  “What?” he asked as the waitress walked away.

  “I’m here, so talk.”

  He merely picked up a chip, dunked it and said, “Still so blunt.” His gaze narrowed. “Still so pissed.”

  She arched a brow.

  He did the same before crunching another chip in his mouth. “You look great, by the way.”

  She ran a hand over her thigh, the silky material of her sundress reminding her how she’d stressed over what the hell to wear. “Thank you, but you already told me that.”

  One side of his mouth lifted on a grin and her stomach tightened. Why—well, she wouldn’t think about that. This man was the only one in history that kept her tied in knots every time she was around him. Who else could make her heart race, still make her wish for more between them… She was a damned idiot and always had been with him. Even before when they’d been together, so long ago it seemed, yet like yesterday.

  A wicked gleam danced in his eyes. “I did, yes, but it was either say you looked great again, or…” He leaned closer to her, his dark eyes dropping to her mouth.

  She pulled her bottom lip in. “Or?”

  His gaze ran from her mouth, to her chest, down to her thighs, and with him this close, she could feel the heat of his breath.

  “Or tell you I’d really rather take you back to my place, the moonlight shining through the windows, that silky dress on the floor and you on my bed,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I figured you’d rather hear you looked great.”

  “Either that or you chose safety over stupidity.” She shifted in her chair. “Why does it have to be your place?” Where the hell did that come from?

  “Because I want to claim you.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Again.”

  Her breath whooshed out. Lorenzo Craigen would only break her heart again if she let him. He was the only man who had that power, and she’d be damned if she gave it to him again. No she would not.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered as if reading her mind.

  “I remember now what I found so aggravating about you.” She leaned back in her chair. “You always tried to read my mind.”

  “Was that it? And all this time I’ve been worried it was something else.”

  “Oh there was plenty of something else.” She bit into her own chip, licking a drip of hot sauce off her lip. “Shall I remind you?”

  The waitress arrived with their drinks. After they’d placed their orders, she the spinach and mushroom quesadillas and he some combo plate, they waited to resume the conversation until the waitress left them in peace

  “So tell me, Merria, what have you been up to?”

  “My name is Reya.”

  “You just shortened it and changed the spelling. You’ll always be Merria to many, though I do wonder where you came up with the nickname.” The fading light glinted in his eyes.

  He knew damn well where she’d come up with it—he’d given it to her. And why had she picked that name? This name? Her name. Man ruined her brain.

  His smile slowly faded. “I’ve missed you.”

  Instead of agreeing with the truth of that statement, she looked down and took a drink of her lime and tequila. Their time had come and passed long ago. Long, long ago. It would
be nice to get some of it back. Not that she’d let him know that. She looked back up and again her stomach tightened at that intense look.

  “Why’d you come back here?” he asked, eating another chip.

  “I thought it time to come home.” It had been. Home had called to her as surely as any leader of any pride could call his lions. Little did she know he had come home as well, only days before her own arrival. They’d met at the local grocer and shocked the hell out of each other. After that, they’d kept their distance. Thank the Fates.

  “Do you like your job?” she ventured. Safe topics.

  “Do you like yours?” he countered.

  “Yes, I love the gallery. It’s one of the few things I’ve done that I’ve felt I’m where I’m supposed to be.” She twirled her straw between her fingers. “I haven’t felt that way in a long, long time.”

  His hand reached across and lay atop the hand she had on the table. “You’ve always been talented and I could always see you doing something artistic like this. You do belong here.”

  Sensing the dark currents that threatened the evening rising from the past, she tried to lighten the mood. She pulled her hand back. “You’re just trying to butter me up so later when you beg me to go back to your place, I won’t put up a fight.” She forced a smile. “Or at least not one you can’t win.”

  For a moment, she thought he would say something else, as a chill seemed to emanate from him, a muscle ticked in his jaw. Lo took a deep breath and then grinned, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “It won’t be me begging, Reya. It’ll be you.”

  “That sounds almost like a threat.” She shifted again in her chair, taking a deep breath and concentrating on shielding. “I don’t really care for men threatening me, or for sex and threats together.”

  “Threatening you?” He studied her, those dark eyes trying too hard to read her, not that he always had to. Sometimes she could swear they were still too connected, that the man could still read her damned mind way too easily.