Paula Graves - Forbidden Territory

And after a vision, Lily’s dreams were always nightmares.

BY FIVE O’CLOCK, the sun sat low in the western sky, casting a rosy glow over the small gray-and-white house across the street from McBride’s parked car. He peered through the car window, wishing he were anywhere but here.

When Lily Browning had hung up the phone, his first sensation had been relief. One more wacko off his back. Then he’d remembered Andrew Walters’s demand and his own grudging agreement. Call it following every lead, he thought with a grim smile. He exited the vehicle and headed across the street.

Lily Browning’s house was graveyard quiet as he walked up the stone pathway. A cool October night was falling, sending a chill up his spine as he peered through the narrow gap in the curtains hanging in the front window.

No movement. No sounds.

He pressed the doorbell and heard a muted buzz from inside.

What are you going to say to her—stay the hell away from Andrew Walters or I’ll throw you in jail?

Wouldn’t it be nice if he could?

He cocked his ear, listening for her approach. Nothing but silence. As he lifted his hand to the buzzer again, he heard the dead bolt turn. The door opened about six inches to reveal a shadowy interior and Lily Browning’s tawny eyes.

“Detective McBride.” She slurred the words a bit.

“May I come in? I have some questions.”

Her face turned to stone. “I have nothing to tell you.”

McBride nudged his way forward. “Humor me.”

She moved aside to let him in, late afternoon sun pouring through the open doorway, painting her with soft light. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she skittered back into the darkened living room, leaving him to close the door.

Inside, murky shadows draped the cozy living room with darkness. When McBride’s eyes finally adjusted to the low light, he saw Lily standing a few feet in front of him, as if to block him from advancing any farther.

“I told you everything I know on the phone,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not quite.”

Her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. Finally, she gestured toward the sofa against the wall. “Have a seat.”

McBride sat where she indicated. As his eyes adjusted further to the darkened interior, he saw that Lily Browning looked even paler than she had at school earlier that day. She’d scrubbed off what little makeup she’d worn, and pulled her dark hair into a thick ponytail. Despite the cool October afternoon, she wore a sleeveless white T-shirt and soft cotton shorts. She took the chair across from him, knees tucked against her chest, her eyes wary.

Her bare skin shimmered in the fading light. He stifled the urge to see if she felt as soft as she looked.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was long past his twenties, when every nice pair of breasts and long legs had brought his hormones to attention. And Lily Browning, of all people, should be the last woman in the world to make his mouth go dry and his heart speed up.

He forced himself to speak. “How long have you been a teacher at Westview Elementary?”

She answered in a hushed voice. “Six years.”

He wondered why she was speaking so softly. The skin on the back of his neck tingled. “Is someone else here?”

Suspicion darkened her eyes. “My accomplices, you mean?”

He answered with one arched eyebrow.

“Just Delilah and Jezebel,” she said after a pause.

A quiver tickled the back of his neck again. “What are they, ghosts? Spirits trapped between here and the afterlife?”

A smile flirted with her pale lips. “No, they’re my cats. Every witch needs a cat, right?”

“You’re Wiccan?”

A frown swallowed her smile. “It was a joke, Lieutenant. I’m pretty ordinary, actually. No séances, no tea leaves, no dancing around the maypole. I don’t even throw salt over my left shoulder when I spill it.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. The lines in her face deepened, and he realized her expression wasn’t a frown but a grimace of pain.

“Do you get headaches often?”

Her eyes swept down to her lap, then closed for a moment. “Why are you here? Am I a suspect?”

“You called me, Ms. Browning.” He relaxed on the couch, arms outstretched, and rested one ankle on his other knee. “You said you saw Abby Walters—how did you put it? In your mind?”

She clenched her hands, her knuckles turning white.

“Why call me?” he continued. “Do I look like I’d buy into the whole psychic thing?”

“No.” Her tortured eyes met his. “You don’t. But I don’t want to see her hurt anymore.”

He didn’t believe in visions. Not even a little. But Lily’s words made his heart drop. “Hurt?”

“She’s afraid. Crying.” Lily slumped deeper into the chair. “I don’t know if they’re physically hurting her, but she’s terrified. She wants her daddy.”

McBride steeled himself against the sincerity in her voice. “How do you know this?”

Her voice thickened with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I have a door in my mind that wants to open. I try to keep it closed because the things behind it always frighten me, but sometimes they’re just too strong. That’s what happened today. The door opened and there she was.”

Acid bubbled in McBride’s stomach, a painful reminder of too much coffee and too little lunch. “You actually saw her?”

Lily nodded slowly. “She was crying. Her face was dirty and she was afraid.”

“Can you see her now?”

Her quick, deep breath sounded like a gasp. “No.”

Tension buzzed down every nerve. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t work like that. Please…” She lurched from the chair and stumbled against the coffee table. A pair of cut-glass candlesticks rattled together and toppled as she grabbed the table to steady herself. Out of nowhere, two cats scattered in opposite directions, pale streaks in the darkness.

McBride’s heart jumped to hyperspeed as he hurried to Lily’s side. He caught her elbow. “Are you okay?”

Her head rose slowly. “Go away.”

“You can’t even stand up by yourself. Are you drunk?”

“I don’t drink.” Her head lolled forward, her forehead brushing against his shoulder.

“Drugs?”

He could barely hear her faint reply. “No.”

He wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her up. Her slim body melted against his, robbing him of thought for a long, pulsing moment. She was as soft as she looked, and furnace-hot, except for the icy fingers clutching his arm. Her head fell back and she gazed at him, her eyes molten.

Desire coursed through him, sharp and unwelcome.

Ruthlessly suppressing his body’s demands, he helped her to the sofa, trying to ignore the warm velvet of her skin beneath his fingers. “What did you take for the headache?”

“I ran out of my prescription.” She lay back and covered her eyes with her forearm, as if even the waning afternoon light filtering through the curtains added to her pain.

“I can call it in for you. Do you have any refills left?”

“Just leave me alone.”

He should go, and to hell with her. It was probably another con. But she wasn’t faking the pain lines etched across her delicate face. “I can call a doctor for you—”

“The prescription bottle’s in the drawer by the fridge.” Tears slid out from beneath her forearm.

Her weak capitulation gave McBride an uneasy feeling as he headed to the kitchen to find the prescription.

He was back in fifteen minutes, using the keys Lily had given him to let himself back into the house. It was a few minutes after six and night had fallen, cool and blue. He fumbled along the wall for a light switch, but couldn’t find one.