Darker Paths (The Witches of Canyon Road Book 2)

by Christine Pope

  “Well…you talk to ghosts….” Rafe let the words trail off, hoping she would get the hint.

  Which she seemed to do, although she looked even less thrilled with him than she had a moment earlier. “Just because someone dies unexpectedly, it doesn’t mean they’ll become a ghost. I didn’t feel anything of Marco at the hospital after he died. I think he’s moved on…and that’s a good thing, Rafe. Do you really want to think of Marco’s soul being in torment like that?”

  Of course he didn’t. Rafe wished he hadn’t brought it up, but it was a question that needed to be asked. And of course he should be glad that Marco had been enough at peace with his life that he had moved serenely on to the next world. Being able to talk to his ghost might have made the search for Miranda a lot easier, though.

  “No, of course not,” he replied. Because he could tell she didn’t want to pursue the topic any further, he decided he’d better let it go. Anyway, she’d looked so charged up about the prospect of working with a sketch artist that Rafe figured they might as well give it a try. Cat could be right. Visual aids often came in handy.

  “Okay,” he said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he actually was. The last thing he wanted to do right then was go haring back down to Albuquerque, but he didn’t think they had much of a choice. It wasn’t as though they had any other leads to follow. “Let me call Daniel.”

  The sketch artist was a woman in her late thirties, pretty in a thin, intense way. She set up her supplies in Daniel’s empty meeting room and then asked Rafe to describe Simon as carefully as he could.

  “Um, he’s tall and thin,” he began.

  “How thin?” she inquired. “Like, one-forty, one-fifty?”

  “Probably more than that,” Rafe allowed. “He had some muscle on him. He’s just thinner than me. Maybe around one-sixty, one-sixty-five?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Start at the top. Hair?”

  “Black.”

  “Eyes.”

  “Black.”

  “Complexion?”

  “A little darker than mine.”

  “Face shape?”

  Good question. The guy was thin — what else did the artist need? However, from the way she was looking at him expectantly, Rafe could tell she wanted a little more than that. “His face is thin, too. Um…his cheekbones aren’t as prominent as mine. I think his jaw was a little wider than his cheekbones.”

  “Good,” the artist said, working away on her large sketchpad. “Tell me about his eyes.”

  “Um, I already said they were black.”

  An annoyed little huff escaped her lips. Across the room where Daniel and Cat were seated, Cat also looked exasperated. Rafe got the feeling that if she’d been any closer, she probably would have smacked his arm and asked him whether he’d ever watched any police procedural shows.

  To which he would have answered no, because those sorts of things didn’t really interest him. But he knew he needed to be as accurate as possible now, or the sketch would be worthless. “His eyes are kind of deep set, but not too deep set,” Rafe offered. “And his brows are fairly straight, but lift a little toward the ends.”

  “Do they meet in the middle?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Eyelashes?”

  “Sorry — I don’t pay much attention to men’s eyelashes.”

  To Rafe’s surprise, the artist smiled a little. “No, I don’t suppose you do. All right, what about his nose?”

  “Longish. Straight.”

  “Wide nostrils?”

  “No.”

  A few seconds of silence while the artist worked on her pad. “Okay. Mouth?”

  “Not wide. I remember it kind of curled, like he was smirking at me.”

  “Thin or full?”

  “Um…sort of in the middle? I think his lower lip was fuller than his upper lip, but I can’t remember for sure.”

  “That’s good, Rafe,” she said, her tone encouraging. What, did she think he was some kindergartner who had to be coaxed into doing a good job? He wanted to catch this guy. “How does he wear his hair?”

  “It’s a little shorter than mine, kind of wavy.” Rafe closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember. “I don’t recall seeing a part. I think he might have combed it straight back, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “That’s all right. It’s still enough for me to work with.” She sketched in silence for a moment. “Any tattoos, earrings?”

  “No earring. If he had any tattoos, they weren’t any place that showed.” Rafe scowled slightly. Again, that wasn’t something he really wanted to think about…especially if the asshole did have tattoos somewhere under his clothes, tattoos that Miranda might have seen by now.

  That thought needed to get right out of his head. He and Miranda might have parted on the worst of terms, but he didn’t want to think that she would go immediately into Simon’s arms, no matter how hurt she was.

  At least, he hoped she wouldn’t. But Miranda and Simon had been together for several days now. Who knew what was going on between them?

  Anger flared in him, and Rafe tamped it down, practically visualizing himself stomping on it the way you might stomp on the last stubborn embers of a campfire to put them out. He didn’t have the luxury of anger right now. If he didn’t stay focused, he might never find Miranda.

  “I think that’s it,” the artist said. She turned the pad around toward him so he could see the sketch she’d made. “What do you think? Close?”

  Brooding dark eyes stared at Rafe from under level brows. The mouth of the man in the sketch was curled slightly, as if he were laughing at some private joke. Well, Rafe couldn’t argue with that — the joke was definitely on him, considering Simon had managed to steal Miranda right out from under his nose.

  “Yes, it’s close,” he said curtly. Too close. Just looking at the sketch awoke the anger in him again, and once more he had to push it aside. “It’s very good. Thank you.”

  Daniel got up from where he was sitting and gave the sketch a quick once-over. “Excellent work again, Samantha. If you’ll let me have it for a moment, I’ll get it digitized.”

  “Of course.” Samantha carefully tore the piece of paper from the sketchpad, then handed it to him. “It’s always a pleasure to come to your office, Daniel.”

  Those words made Rafe shoot a quick glance at his cousin. Was there something going on between him and the sketch artist? True, she was probably at least six or seven years older than he, but….

  It was impossible to tell from Daniel’s reaction. He did smile at Samantha, but it was a polite, professional smile, with absolutely nothing of intimacy in it. Excusing himself, he left the room, presumably to take the drawing to a big commercial scanner so that it could be rendered into electronic form and then sent to Rafe’s phone.

  “Do you work with Daniel a lot?” Cat asked, her tone almost too perky. It seemed fairly obvious that she was thinking about the same thing Rafe was.

  “When he calls me in. I also freelance for the courts. You know how it is.” Samantha had turned brisk, as if she’d realized that Daniel’s two cousins from Santa Fe had picked up on a few subtexts she would rather not have advertised.

  “Yeah, I’m a freelancer, too,” Rafe said, figuring it was probably better to stay on neutral ground. The ploy worked, because Samantha asked him what he did, and for a few minutes they shared a lively exchange on graphics in the virtual reality industry, and how sketch artists like her could provide images that would be digitized and used as the basis for the game characters.

  When Daniel returned, he looked pleased that everyone appeared to be getting on so well. However, all he said was, “The drawing has been scanned at a couple of different resolutions and sent to your phone, Rafe. Do you want the original sketch as well?”

  For some reason, he really didn’t. The thought of having his enemy’s likeness lurking around the house in physical form seemed like bad juju. “You can keep it here at the office, if that’s okay,” Rafe
replied, hoping his casual tone wouldn’t belie his true feelings on the subject. “It’ll be a lot easier to just show people the image on my phone.”

  “No problem. I have a file where I keep stuff like this.” Daniel hesitated, then said, “Thank you again, Samantha.”

  She took the dismissal for what it was, offering everyone a quick smile before she gathered up her things and left the meeting room. Daniel turned toward Rafe.

  “I kept a copy of the image, too,” he said. “If it’s all right, I’m going to run it through the criminal databases, see if I can find anything. If your guy’s been busted for anything anywhere, I should be able to track him down. It might take a little while, though.”

  “That’s all right,” Rafe replied, although of course he would have preferred for Daniel to have told him that the process would only take a few hours. “In the meantime, we can start asking around in Santa Fe, see if we can find anything.”

  “Do you know what’s going on with the funeral?” Daniel looked almost shamefaced as he made the inquiry, adding quickly, “It’s just that if it’s going to be on a weekday, I’ll have to shuffle appointments around, and — ”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet — ” Rafe began, but Cat broke in.

  “Actually, I got a text from Mom while you were working with Samantha. She had to go back and forth with the bishop, but the funeral is scheduled for tomorrow at 11 a.m.” She glanced over at Daniel. “I know that’s not a lot of notice, but — ”

  “It’s all right,” Daniel assured her. “I can make it work.”

  “And in the meantime, we need to get back to Santa Fe and see if anyone recognizes Simon.” Rafe extended a hand to his cousin. “Thanks for everything, Daniel. I think this is going to help a lot.”

  “No problem. And, as I said, I’ll run this guy through the databases. If he even has as much as a parking ticket, I should be able to track him down.”

  Cat beamed. “That’s awesome, Daniel. Thank you.”

  “It’s really no problem. Have a safe drive back to Santa Fe, and I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the funeral. If I learn anything before then, I’ll call.”

  Thanking Daniel again seemed kind of over the top, so Rafe settled for telling his cousin he’d look forward to the call. He and Cat took the elevator down to the lobby, then crossed the atrium to get to the parking structure. She backed out of their space, then said, “It would be amazing if Daniel was able to get an image match from one of those databases he was talking about.”

  Yes, it would…unless that match showed that Simon was wanted for rape and murder somewhere, or had a penchant for burning down houses. Somehow, though, Rafe doubted that anyone as canny and calculating as Simon would allow himself to get caught if he really had committed such heinous crimes. No, it would probably be something stupid like a traffic ticket that laid him low…if they were lucky.

  “I suppose so,” he said.

  Cat sent him a sharp sideways glance. “You don’t sound very thrilled about it. I’d think you’d want to catch up with this guy.”

  “I do…it’s just that if I think of him as being a worse criminal than he already is, then I’m going to worry about Miranda that much more. You know what I mean.”

  Her lips pressed together, and she nodded. “Right. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it that way. Well, maybe we won’t need the database at all. Maybe someone in Santa Fe will recognize him, will say, ‘Oh, that’s the guy who rented my casita. And he seemed like such a decent person.’”

  Having a local identify Simon would definitely be the easiest solution. However, Rafe knew that life seldom worked that way. It liked to play with you, torture you with false hope, draw things out a little longer to really make it hurt.

  It didn’t matter, though. One way or another, they’d track this bastard down…and then Miranda would learn the truth about what Simon had done.

  15

  Signs

  Miranda

  Simon hadn’t tried to kiss me after we got back from our dinner at Geronimo. I didn’t really know why, even though I’d halfway expected him to. But all he’d done was praise my performance again, then suggest we have some ice cream and watch a movie, which was exactly what we did. I had to admit that it was a good way to end the evening, a way to relax and exhale, and realize I’d managed to survive the ordeal. No, “ordeal” was probably the wrong way to think of that particular experience. Dinner itself had been wonderful, and although seeing the Castillo witch and warlock had been stressful, I’d passed the test. They’d had no idea who I was. If I wanted to, I could put on some appropriate illusion, hide my magical nature, and walk among them without them ever knowing.

  Problem was, I really didn’t want to do that. It was good to know that I could manage holding two different types of spells at the same time, but I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t be put in too many situations where that kind of control would be required.

  We ended the evening early, just a little after ten. Simon headed over to the caretaker’s house, and I walked down the hall to my borrowed bedroom. As I turned down the expensive duvet and carefully set the decorative pillows on top of the dresser to keep them out of the way, I wondered again why Simon hadn’t tried to kiss me. We’d just had dinner in a romantic restaurant, and I’d certainly fulfilled his expectations when it came to using my gift of illusion. One would think the time was right.

  Then again, maybe I was looking at this the wrong way. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about why Simon hadn’t kissed me, but why I was disappointed that he’d never even tried.

  Did I really want that kind of intimacy with him? Or was I only trying to use him as a substitute for Rafe?

  I honestly didn’t know. Once again I told myself that I had plenty of time to figure out my relationship with Simon. I shouldn’t be worried about forcing anything.

  Still brooding, I went into the bathroom and washed my face and brushed my teeth, then carefully applied moisturizer and some lip balm. When I slid into the king-size bed, one hand inadvertently moved to the empty spot next to me. Who did I really want to be there, anyway…Simon, or Rafe?

  My mind recoiled at that thought. Of course I didn’t want to sleep with Rafe. He was an absolute raging jerk, probably the biggest asshole I’d ever met, if I wanted to be perfectly honest. Still, I couldn’t quite ignore the way his kisses had set my body on fire.

  No, you will ignore the way he got to you, I told myself. In fact, you need to forget him altogether. What-might-have-beens aren’t going to help your current situation at all.

  That was for sure. I pulled the covers up to my chin and willed myself to put all that aside. A soft, comforting glow came from a nightlight in the bathroom, and the bed was supremely comfortable. I was safe here, safe from discovery by the Castillos. Now I needed to sleep, because I’d just had a crazy evening and was tired.

  Darkness stole over me, soft and gentle. I didn’t know how long I had been asleep before I heard soft footsteps in the hallway outside. That faint sound was enough to make me sit up in bed, eyes straining to see in the dim light.

  “Simon?”

  He came into the room. By that point, my eyes had adjusted enough to see that he was wearing only a pair of sweat pants, his smoothly muscled torso bare, painted with shadows. Without speaking, he approached the bed and then slid under the covers to lie next to me. Before I could open my mouth to protest, he was reaching for me, pulling me up against him. His mouth found mine, warm, insistent, tasting of mint from his toothpaste. At the same time, I could feel his arousal, feel his stiff cock pressing against my leg.

  For some reason, I didn’t try to pull away. Quite the opposite, actually — I clung to him, felt the wiry strength of the muscles beneath my fingertips. His hands moved under the tank top I wore to sleep in, fingers closing on my breasts. I gasped in delight, feeling how aroused I was, how a deep throbbing had begun between my legs, signaling my need for him.

  He pulled off my tank top, graspe
d the elastic waistband of my panties and pulled them down. Now I was naked, but I didn’t care. I gasped again when his fingers slipped inside me, stroking even as his mouth closed on my breast. Oh, yes, this was what I’d wanted, even if I’d been too much of a coward to admit it to myself.

  I reached for his sweatpants, loosening the drawstring, pulling them down. He didn’t have any underwear on beneath the sweats. Good, because then I had him in my hand, thick and heavy, so ready. Just as I was ready.

  In the next moment, I was beneath him, feeling his weight on top of me. I could sense how he was at my entrance, just beginning to push his way in, about to take the virginity I’d stubbornly hung onto but now couldn’t wait to get rid of.

  And then the wrongness of it hit me, and I pushed away at him — and realized I was pushing at air, that I was now sitting up in bed, gasping, as if I’d somehow known I would have to make some kind of physical effort to break myself free of the dream.

  My hand reached out and once again touched the empty space next to me. The sheets were cool beneath my touch. No one had been lying there. The dream had felt real, but that was all it had been — a dream. I’d been thinking about kissing Simon, and my brain had manufactured a sex scene with him. That was all.

  Still, it had felt real. Too real. I pulled in a deep breath and another, willing my heart to slow down. The horrible thing was, I could tell I was still aroused, an ache between my legs letting me know that my body had responded all too well to the phantoms my mind had created. It might have only been a dream, but it had been a damn realistic one.

  So what did it mean? That I really did want to sleep with Simon?

  The thing was, when I tried to imagine being with him, I somehow couldn’t. I could get about as far as kissing him, and not any further than that. For all I knew, even though he’d rejected me, I couldn’t quite shake off the belief that I was supposed to be married to Rafe. After all, I’d spent my whole life moving toward that eventuality. Maybe my subconscious mind viewed any kind of intimacy with Simon as a sort of cheating. Stupid, I knew, but emotions weren’t always logical.