Evil Eye

by Amanda McKinney

  “Boyfriends?”

  Thorne's lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don't know if you could call it a boyfriend, but she's been hanging around a boy who'd recently graduated. He's older than her.” Her jaw twitched.

  “What's the boy's name?”

  “Matthew Miller. I've only met him once. He dropped her off while I was outside. Arrogant fella.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Normal-looking kid. Dark hair, dark eyes, lean build.”

  Scar's back straightened. “Height?”

  “Tall... definitely tall. Over six feet.”

  A tingle ran up her arms. Dark hair, tall. “Do you know if they'd had any arguments lately?”

  “No. Hell, she wouldn't tell me if they did. She doesn't talk to me like that.”

  “What does he drive?”

  “Brown truck. Old.”

  “No white van?”

  “Not that I'm aware.”

  “Ms. Thorne…” She cleared her throat. “Surely you know about the news story two weeks ago…”

  “Yes… that’s what bothers me.”

  Scar began pacing in front of the fireplace. “Where was her last known location? Has anyone seen her?”

  “Someone said they saw her car parked by Hell’s Cove, a week or so ago.”

  The same location the mystery runner took off toward. “Who saw her?”

  “A regular at the library. Mrs. Hammons. Has a boat; saw the car from the water.”

  “What does Athena drive?”

  “Blue Volkswagen hatchback.”

  “She’s been gone two weeks. Why haven’t you reported her missing?”

  Ms. Thorne sighed. “She’s run away before, many times, actually. But never this long. The longest was five days. She always comes back.”

  “Anything she might have mentioned lately that seemed odd? Out of place?”

  “No.” She sipped her tea again and stared at the fire. The fire hissed as Thorne gazed into it. A sudden wave of heat swept over Scar’s skin. She took a step back and glanced at the flames flicking and dancing up the chimney, which had intensified in the last few seconds, it seemed.

  Blue flames. All of a sudden—blue flames.

  She looked back at Thorne, who was staring at her with a look in her eyes that sent a wave of goosebumps over Scar's body.

  “I can find out where Fiona is… perhaps we can make a deal.”

  Scar’s eyebrows tipped up. “How the hell could you do that?”

  “You find Athena. I’ll get you Fiona’s location.”

  Scar stared back at her, her mind reeling. “Do you know where she is, right now? Do you know if she's okay?”

  “No.”

  Her heart started to race. “How can you find out where she is?”

  “That's my secret.”

  Scar clenched her fists and crossed the room in two swift steps. “Thorne, I swear to God, if you know where she is right now...”

  Thorne's fiery gaze met hers. “I don't, Scarlett. But I can find out. What do you say? Do you think you can find Athena?”

  “I can find anyone, anytime. But the real question is, how can I trust you, Thorne?”

  The librarian looked out the window into the darkness. She squinted, as if contemplating her response. A heavy silence filled the room. Finally, she said, “I see things, Scarlett.”

  “See things?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I think they call those delusions, Thorne.”

  A subtle eye roll, then, “We all have our gifts. I happen to have more than others.”

  Scar looked the woman up and down. “Clairvoyance, then... you're talking about clairvoyance.”

  “You could call it that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Although Scar was open-minded to just about anything, she worked in black-and-white facts. Facts were solid. Reliable. Actionable. So typically, if someone told her they had the gift of clairvoyance, she'd be skeptical at best, but the last few weeks had taught her that anything was possible. Witches, magic... anything.

  “If you see things, then why can't you see Fiona right now and at least tell me she's safe?”

  “It's not that easy. There's things, steps, involved.”

  “A spell.”

  The librarian looked away.

  “Wait a second... why can't you see where your daughter is?”

  “The gift has limitations, as all gifts do. I can only see what people will allow. Athena doesn't want to be seen. She doesn't want to be found.” She looked down, shook her head. “Your friend does. Do we have a deal, or not.”

  Scar glanced at the fire, her stomach twisting with nerves. Did she have another option?

  No. At that moment, no.

  “You’ve got a deal, Thorne. I’ll find your daughter, and you’ll tell me where Fiona is.” She turned toward the doorway but turned back. “And if one hair is touched on her head, I’ll put a bullet between your bloodshot eyes.”

  “You might want to rethink that.” Thorne smiled, enjoying the threatening tit-for-tat between the two. “You have twenty-four hours, Miss Knight.”

  Scar looked at her watch—9:17—and turned.

  “Scarlett? One more thing…”

  She stopped.

  “This is between you and me, only. I don’t need more attention brought to myself—

  “You mean, you don’t need people knowing you’re a witch. Isn’t that right? Imagine what Krestel would do to you if she found out the town knew you were part of her coven. She'd kill you on the spot. Another dead body in Devil's Den.”

  A pause, then, “Maybe not the only dead body...”

  Her gut clenched.

  “A secret, Miss Knight, between you and me.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Adrenaline pumped through Scar's veins as she pushed out of the heavy, wooden door. She took a deep breath to clear the musty scent of the house from her nose, only to inhale a cloud of smoke from the chimney.

  She coughed, held her breath and stepped onto the driveway.

  Twenty-four hours.

  She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Ms. Thorne watching her from the window, casting a spell in her direction. Instead, three black cats eyed her from behind the curtain, which was almost as creepy.

  Twenty-four hours.

  She turned back and stopped cold.

  Shaded by shadows, Officer Luke West leaned against her Jeep, his foot propped up on her tire and his arms crossed over his chest.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” She squared her shoulders and walked over.

  “Same thing I was just about to ask you.”

  “That’s none of your business, really.” She reached for the door handle, only to be blocked by his massive body.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. This is my business. A historic landmark burned to the ground as a witness saw a man running from the scene. Screams arson to me. That’s the business of Devil’s Den PD.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Do what you need to do. But you won’t get a thing from Ms. Thorne’s tight, rotted lips. Now, if you’ll…” She reached for the handle, again.

  “And a missing teen? That’s also our business.”

  Her eyes rounded and she pulled her hand back. “How the hell…”

  He nodded toward the open window.

  She shook her head. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Well, that’s not very nice.” His lip curled to a smirk, which irritated her even more.

  She narrowed her eyes and took a step back. She needed to switch the subject and get rid of this annoying little gnat… give him a task, an order. Military men were born to take orders, right? “Have you organized a search party for Fiona yet? I think that’s the best decision right now. I can give you our office manager’s phone number. He can help get everything…”

  Luke clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no, Miss Knight. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.” He leaned in and whispered, “I can keep
a secret.”

  Fire brewed inside her. Who did this guy think he was?

  Maybe not the only dead body. Thorne’s last words echoed in her head as she stared back at the officer, who apparently was not born to take orders.

  Jaw clenched, she puffed out her chest and stepped up to him, inches away from his body. “Listen to me, Officer West. This isn’t some game. This is Fiona’s life on the line and if you heard every word that was said in there, then you know I’ve got twenty-four hours to find her. And if word gets out about the deal I made... I just can't risk it…” Her voice cracked, the emotion surprising her.

  He glanced at the house. “You really think you can trust ol’ Thorne? Seriously, Scarlett, come on.”

  “Scar. And,” she blew out a breath. “It’s all I have to go on right now, so…”

  “You really think she can find Fiona? That she can see where she is?”

  “Like I said, it's all I have to go on.”

  He looked thoughtfully at the house for a moment. “Evil Eye, then.”

  She cocked her head. “Evil Eye?”

  “Yeah, Evil Eye… the rumor…” He raised his eyebrows. “Wait, don’t tell me I know something that a Knight sister doesn’t.”

  “Go on…”

  “It’s the first rumor I heard when I came to town. Well, the second. The first was about the powerful witch that lives in the mountains. Anyway, the story goes that Krestel picks one witch from her coven to be her seeing eye in town. She gifts her with the power to see beyond what the naked eye sees—the future, things that aren’t in front of her, things like that. She knows everything. The gifted witch is known simply as Evil Eye.”

  Scar glanced at the black cats in the window. “Ms. Thorne.”

  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “Look, Officer West—

  “Luke.”

  “Luke. I know you and I didn’t get off to a great start five years ago, and you obviously still hold that against me, but I’m asking you to let this go. At least until I find Fi. Then do whatever the hell you want. Just stay out of my way until nine-seventeen tomorrow night, Luke. That’s all I need.”

  He narrowed his steely eyes, looking down at her, and she suddenly realized just how tall he really was.

  After a minute, he said simply, “No.”

  Her mouth gaped. She stepped back and began pacing. “You’re unbelievable…”

  “No, meaning, we do this together.”

  She stopped.

  He continued, “It appears there's a missing teenager in Devil's Den—Athena Thorne. You want her found so you can get the location of your friend in return, and I want her found because that's my job. But here's the catch—I get every inch of credit finding Athena Thorne.”

  “No, Luke, I work alone. You’ll just…”

  “Be in the way?”

  “Exactly.”

  He shrugged, turned. “Then I guess the information I have about Walter Thorne would be of no interest to you…” He started to walk away.

  “Wait. What? Walter’s in jail.”

  He turned his face, the light of the moon outlining the strong jawline of his profile. “No, Scar, he got out exactly sixteen days ago.”

  **

  Luke looked over at her as they bounced down the dirt road. Her long hair blew in the wind. The moon twinkled in her eyes, which were laser-focused on the road ahead, her mind everywhere else. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her back as straight as a rod. And interestingly enough, it wasn’t panic or fear he saw in her, but sheer determination.

  Determination to find her friend.

  He’d left his truck parked in a small clearing at the end of the road and jumped in with her—to her dismay. But he knew she’d cave. The only thing the Knight sisters were known more for than being total badasses was their loyalty to each other. Scar would do anything to find Fiona—a thought that both impressed him and made him uneasy.

  “When did you hear about Walter?”

  “A few days ago. My buddy is his parole officer.”

  “I’m shocked I haven’t heard.”

  “Maybe it hasn’t reached the gossips yet.”

  “He served his whole sentence?”

  “Yep. Every second.”

  “Good. Bastard should've gotten more time if you ask me.”

  “Everyone should get more time.”

  She glanced over at him. “Agreed. What else did your buddy say?”

  “Just that he's out and living with a former inmate not far from the pen. Signed up for anger management classes; already got a job bagging groceries.”

  “Where?”

  “Tanksville, about six hours from here. He's not allowed to leave for awhile.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “I wonder why Thorne didn’t say anything about it.”

  “It’s a good possibility that she doesn’t know. They weren’t married, you know.”

  “They weren't married?”

  “No. You didn't know?”

  “No, I guess I'd just assumed.”

  “Nope. Thorne called him her husband, but they'd never officially married. Anyway, no obligation for him to communicate with her, or try to see her.”

  “Other than a daughter, of course.”

  “I might be going out on a limb here, but anyone who would beat the shit out of their daughter’s mother, in front of their daughter, probably doesn’t care to foster a relationship.”

  She sat silent for a moment. “Do you know if Thorne visited him while he was in? If so, how often? Or, if anyone did?”

  He shook his head, and she cut him a glance as if he should know. What the hell? Like he should have all that information at the tip of his fingertips? Like he should have been monitoring Walter Thorne? Like he didn’t have a million other things going on?

  He bit his tongue and looked straight ahead.

  “Do you know Matthew Miller?”

  “The kid Thorne's daughter was seeing?”

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes, still obviously pissed about his eavesdropping.

  He grinned. For whatever reason, he enjoyed pushing her buttons. Or maybe it was just the fact he could, which surprised him. Scar was known to not allow much to ruffle her feathers, but it was obvious he did. He wasn't sure why, but he got to her. “Sure do. Arrested him two months ago for public intox and disorderly conduct.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Really?”

  “Yep. Punk kid.”

  “What happened?”

  “Him and a bunch of his buddies started a bonfire on Hell's Cove. Got drunk and got into a fight. Matthew pushed a kid off the cliff into the lake.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. The kid didn't want to press charges, so I got him for disorderly. He's a cocky brat, that I can tell you.”

  “Any other arrests?”

  “Two speeding tickets.”

  “Interesting... sounds like an aggressive troublemaker... a tall, lean, dark-haired troublemaker.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Sounds a lot like our library guy.”

  She nodded. Under her breath, she muttered, “Dammit, I should've kept going. I should've kept running after him.”

  “No. Being fearless isn't always a good thing, Scar. You have to be smart, too.”

  She shot him a look that would have most men shaking in their boots. Good thing he wasn't most men. She didn’t like him and didn’t bother to hide it. But that was okay. He didn’t give a shit. Why? Redemption, that’s why. He’d redeem himself by finding the very teen that was at the source of his slipup five years earlier. The slipup that he still got heckled for today.

  He should have been gentler during the interview with Athena. Should’ve taken a different angle. He knew that now. But instead, he’d barged in and asked her black-and-white questions about the horrific beating and scared the shit out of the poor eleven-year-old girl. Later, someone had snidely told him he should have worn “kid gloves.” What the fuck were kid
gloves? Anyway, Athena had closed up like a clam, only to open up in less than seven minutes to the woman sitting next to him.

  It still burned him. Not just because Scar solved the case in under ten minutes, but because of what the guys said after—well, one thing, particularly: “Ol’ West doesn’t even know how to talk to a woman.”

  It bothered him because they were right.

  Thanks to his ruggedly handsome good looks, Luke had always been popular in school, with his friends and the girls. But things slowly changed after his dad died and he spent every living second working his ass off to help his mom with the bills, which didn’t leave much time for socializing. Then, two days after graduation, he’d jumped head-first into the military and never looked back, which also didn't leave much time for socializing. He spent ninety-percent of his time around muscled-up, hot-tempered guys just like he was, and the other ten-percent with whatever naive, desperate-for-a-SEAL woman batted her fake eyelashes at him during his time-off. The type of women who hung out at every bar within ten miles of a military base. The type of woman that dreamed of being slung over a muscular shoulder, tossed on a bed, ravaged, all while listening to war stories about how he’d single-handedly eliminated ten terrorists with his bare hands—shirtless. He didn’t mind, though, he got want he wanted in the end. A hot, wild few hours with no strings attached. They all operated like that. Not a single guy in his squad was married—the job didn’t allow for it.

  Luke West had never had a long-term, serious relationship in his life. And suffice it to say, that took a toll on his communication skills with the opposite sex. Most of his communication with his comrades were grunts, curse words, and call signs. With women, it was grunts, dirty words, and fake phone numbers.

  No, he didn’t know how to talk to a woman. Women were a mystery, a riddle, an enigma that, quite frankly, were too much work.

  They were Pandora’s box.

  Pandora’s box of emotions.

  Just the thought made him itchy and want a shot of whiskey. Okay, three.

  But as he looked at Scar, under the pale light of the moon, she didn’t look like a naive, emotional, basket case. She looked totally in control, calm. Like she had a solid head on her shoulders. A solid, strikingly beautiful head.

  His gaze drifted from the loose braids in her hair, to her arms. The sister with the tattoos.