Jenna Ryan - Night of the Raven

“I heard his truck.”

“Are you—?”

She saw him move, but not in time to avoid the fingers that curled around the nape of her neck.

He stared down at her. “The only thing I’m sure of, Amara, is that we need to get something out of the way before it gets both of us killed.”

“What? No.” With the truck at her back, she had nowhere to go, no escape. “Don’t you dare do this, McVey. I’m messed up enough already without adding sex to the mix.”

A dangerous grin appeared. “I wasn’t thinking sex quite yet, Red, but I could probably be persuaded.”

She planted her palms firmly on his chest. “You’re messing with my mind.” And tangling everything inside her into a hot ball of... She wasn’t sure what, but something that wanted very badly to take things a whole lot deeper a whole lot faster than she should.

“Lady, you’ve been messing with my mind for fifteen years.”

“Don’t go there.”

“Not planning to.” Eyes gleaming, he lowered his head until his mouth hovered a tantalizing inch above hers. “If you really want to stop me, Red, this is your last chance.”

“Seriously, McVey. We shouldn’t... I’m not...” She exhaled heavily. “I hate you.” Casting caution to the still-howling wind, Amara took his face in her hands and yanked his very sexy mouth down onto hers.

* * *

LIEUTENANT ARTHUR MICHAELS mopped the back of his neck as he climbed the stairs to his Algiers apartment. He’d taken a roundabout route from Jackson, Mississippi, to New Orleans—by way of Arkansas and an old friend, who’d given him both a bed for the night and a name: Willy Sparks.

Rumor had it Willy could outthink a fox, outmaneuver a weasel and poison an enemy so neatly that the best forensic teams in the country were left scratching their collective heads as to why the corpse they were examining didn’t simply get up and walk out of the room.

And speaking of rooms... He saw right away that the door to his apartment was still marked with the tiny paper he’d placed between it and the frame before leaving town. Absurdly relieved, he went inside, shed his jacket and cranked the high windows open.

One of his neighbors was having a party. Boisterous jazz, led by trumpet and saxophone, drifted through the openings. The smell of gumbo made his mouth water and his system long for a cold beer. Being a cautious man, however, he settled for water from the jug in his fridge.

He didn’t hear the sound behind him as much as sense it in the light brush of air on his neck.

It only took him a split second to unholster his gun, spin and aim at— Nothing, he realized. Funny, he could have sworn...

Several rapid eyeblinks later, he lowered his arm.

He continued to blink as the edges of the apartment fuzzed. His fingers lost sensation. The gun clattered to the floor.

“Son of a...”

“Ah, ah, ah.” One of the long shadows came alive in the form of a wagging finger. “Don’t be rude, Lieutenant, or I’ll go against orders and add unspeakable pain to your death. It’s a well-known fact that Willy Sparks’s mother is not what you were just about to call her.”

He couldn’t move, Michaels realized; not anything except his eyes.

He slumped to the floor. Hands groped his pockets, then rolled him onto this back like a discarded doll. He heard a series of beeps beneath his neighbor’s music. When they stopped, a low chuckle floated downward.

“You have a most obliging BlackBerry. Raven’s Hollow, Maine. That’s very far north, isn’t it? But you know, Lieutenant, I’ve heard the water’s much safer to drink up in Maine than it is here in the Big Easy.”

The BlackBerry hit the floor. Water gurgled down the drain. The music played on. His apartment door clicked shut. And Lieutenant Arthur Michaels thought of ravens....

Chapter Five

Lock it away, Amara cautioned herself. Bring it out later—because how could she not? But she’d kissed men before and would again, so...not a problem.

Unless she acknowledged the fact that ten minutes after she’d dragged her mouth from his, her senses continued to zap like an electric wire gone wild.

Did McVey feel the same? They were in his truck, driving. She couldn’t read his profile, and he hadn’t really looked at her or talked to her, so who knew?

There was that other thing, too; the part about her face having been in his head for fifteen years. What was she supposed to do with that weird knowledge?

He finally glanced over as they neared the outskirts of the Hollow. “You’re annoyed, aren’t you, Red? I can feel the vibes taking bites out of me.”

Amara flicked him a similar look. “Don’t flatter yourself, McVey. It’s been a very bizarre night. I was torn between kissing you and kneeing you. It just so happens I’m a pacifist.”

“Is that why I have four gouges in my left cheek?”

“You tackled me in my grandmother’s house. Maybe you’re renting it at the moment, but I didn’t know that going in.”

“Breaking in.”

Her lips curved. “I’m fairly certain that using a key to enter a property can’t be construed as a break-in. However, to answer your question, yes, I’m annoyed, just not for the reason you probably think.” Lowering the visor, she regarded the tangled mess of her hair, sighed and began rooting through her shoulder bag for a brush. “I liked it.”

“I know.”

She heard the amusement in his tone and told herself not to react. “I know you know. That’s why I’m annoyed. Tell me—” she worked the brush through the tangles “—do you eat midnight snacks?”

“Not anymore.” He swung onto Main Street, made a wide U-turn and stopped in a no-parking zone. “You might want to stay behind me when we go inside. I see two broken windows.”

“I see four. I hope whoever broke them likes mucking out stables. Male or female, when it comes to serious property damage, Uncle Lazarus is a tyrant.”

“You know your family’s a little scary, right?”

“Which side?”

“Take your pick,” he said as they approached the front door. “Now, unless your repertoire contains a curse for every occasion, remember to stick close when we go in.”

Low lights tinged with red burned throughout the bar. Kiss rocked the jukebox and glass crunched like pebbles underfoot. Oh, yeah, Amara thought, Uncle Lazarus would be plenty pissed.

To the left of the entryway, behind a long line of pool tables, a dozen broken chairs and tables sat in a cockeyed heap. Groups of customers continued to hurl insults back and forth across the remaining tables. Amara spotted more than a few drops of blood both on the people and on the floor.

“Well, hallelujah, Chief, you made it.” A tall man with receding brown hair, heavy stubble and bean-black eyes pushed through the crowd. He wore a tan T-shirt, a shoulder holster and a frown that became a sneer when he spied his newly arrived Bellam cousin.

“Spit and I’ll suspend you,” McVey warned, not looking at him. “I assume you two have met.”

“I know who she is.” A muscle twitched in Jake’s jaw. “She don’t look much different than she did the night she gave my brother Jimbo the screaming meemies up on Raven’s Ridge.”

“I imagine that was unintentional, Deputy.”

As a wave of people began to enfold him, Amara shrugged. “It wasn’t, actually. I meant to scare him, and it worked.”

“Jimbo was a year and a half younger than you,” Jake accused.

“He was also forty pounds heavier, six inches taller and trying very hard to coax me into jumping off the edge of the cliff.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“He said he didn’t like that word. Push, though...he liked that word a lot.”

Jake thrust his chin out. “He was a kid.”