Jenna Ryan - Raven's Cove

“So basically, right off the map. We’re talking paved roads here, I hope.”

“In the town proper.”

“Meaning you’ve either been there or you’ve done your homework. Oh, sorry, I mean research, because you don’t actually have a home, do you? Captain Ballard called you a rogue cop with links but no ties to anyone or anything, just an uncanny sense of when and where you need to be.”

She saw the beginnings of a grin in profile. “You want to know why I was in your condo tonight.”

“Why, how long, how you got in—though that one I can guess—who sent you and any other details you think might be pertinent to the fact that I’m sitting in your truck en route to a town where both a three-hundred-year-old legend and, apparently, Daniel live.”

His features remained inscrutable. “My uncanny cop sense tells me you’re pissed off about pretty much all those things.”

She regarded Boris, comfortably settled on the seat behind them. “Whether Wainwright’s dead or not, Rogan, Daniel gave his testimony. Threatening me won’t change what went down afterward.”

“I agree. Is there anyone else you can think of, besides Wainwright, who might want you dead?”

“Not unless one of the artifacts I’ve acquired has a curse from a vindictive witch attached to it.”

“I think we can safely rule that one out.”

“I don’t know.” She rocked her head from side to side to alleviate the tension knots. “A few of the witches I’ve heard about uttered some pretty nasty things before they passed on. For instance, one of them was caged and left hanging in the woods to die of thirst and/or exposure. When everyone was sure she was gone, the town magistrates had her buried, cage and all. Two nights later, the cage was back hanging from the tree. The following day, the man who’d buried her fell into a grave he’d just finished digging and broke his neck.”

“Let me guess. No one wanted to touch the witch’s cage and/or her remains again.”

“You’re making fun of the story, but within a month, all three of her accusers choked on their tongues while they slept.”

“Sounds more like poetic justice than a curse.”

The amusement that rose felt good. A little out of place, but good. “Okay, we’re way off topic, so last word on this particular witch. The inquisitor who’d passed sentence on her had a fatal accident exactly one month to the day after the so-called trial ended. His horse threw him into a ravine. He landed faceup, eyes open, staring at the bottom of her cage.”

“Or more likely his wife pushed him into the ravine after someone let it slip that he’d been—let’s keep it polite and say he’d been having an affair with said witch, whom he probably offed because she threatened to have a chat with his wife if he didn’t set her up in the seventeenth-century version of a Salem penthouse.”

“Cynic,” she returned on a laugh. “I should have known you’d reduce a perfectly good story to a case of sexual spite. I don’t suppose you could do the same thing with that feather I got. …” She moved a doubtful hand between him and the dash where the feather sat, saw the expression on his face and gave her fingers a resigned flick. “Nope, guess not. The feather’s real, and for reasons as yet unknown, so is the threat.”

Superbright headlights came toward them, the first they’d seen in thirty minutes. “The caller wants me to suffer the way he did before he died. Any way I look at it, the name that best fits that threat is Wainwright’s. He went to prison, he escaped, he crashed, he died. Allegedly.”

“Seven other people have been murdered since the crash.”

“Did they suffer beforehand?”

“From what we know, I’d say probably not.”

“So that honor’s reserved for me.”

“Brings us back to my question.”

“Have I pissed anyone off to the point where he or she would want me dead? Answer’s no. Now it’s your turn. Where, when, why, how, what?”

The grin he shot her disarmed but didn’t deflect. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

“And maybe my mother will meet Bigfoot, but I doubt it.”

“Meaning you believe in witches and curses, but not myths and legends.”

“I believe in many things, one of them being your ability to circumvent. Why did you come to Salem?”

“Pretty sure I answered that. I thought you might be in danger, figured you probably were, in fact.”

“And the fortunate-timing thing?”

“Luck happens, Jasmine.” He kept an eye on the rearview mirror. “I wasn’t sent, although I did talk to Ballard’s replacement. She’s one of several cops being pressured about the validity of the coroner’s report regarding one Malcolm Wainwright.”

“Captain Ballard swore Wainwright died in that crash.”

“Yes, but Gus Ballard’s not here to stand by his conviction, and there are seven unexplained murders on the books.”

Since she couldn’t really argue, Jasmine moved on. “How did you know Daniel called me?”

“I didn’t. You just assumed.”

“But you knew he was in trouble.”

“At the risk of sounding uncoplike, duh.”

She slit her eyes at him. “How did you know he was in Raven’s Cove? Only his contact and one other person were supposed to possess that information.”

The grin hovering on his lips widened. “Ta-da.”

She hissed out her frustration. “I’ve got to stop being surprised. Okay, obvious next question. Why you?”

“Someone had to be the other. Better a mobile cop than not. In any case, with Wainwright’s now-alleged death, Ballard’s unswerving belief in it, plus a number of interdepartmental cost cuts, Daniel’s security-risk factor’s been dropped. He’s still officially in the program, but accessing his peripheral information isn’t as difficult as some of us think it should be.”

“In other words, money’s tight, something had to give and Daniel lost the coin toss.”

“Pretty much sums it up.”

“So you’re aware that Daniel’s contact is missing.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Is that why you showed up in Salem early? You were checking on him?”

Rogan squinted upward as the rain swept over them in sheets. “If I tell you Daniel’s contact lives in South Carolina, will that set off a whole new round of questions?”

“Maybe.” Leaning back, she studied him. “I’m not sure I trust you as a cop to tell me the absolute truth.”

“Probably a wise precaution given that we seldom tell it.”

That remark shouldn’t sting, but she knew she might have made another invalid assumption six weeks ago. He’d told her he cared, that he had feelings for her he’d never had for anyone else. Then he’d vanished.

From the driver’s seat, he slanted her an assessing look. “Are we done with the Q and A portion of our trip?”

“I’ll let you know when my head stops spinning and my thoughts make some kind of sense. I was planning to visit my mother in Washington next weekend, did you know that? She says the Olympic Mountains are beautiful in October.”

“They’re beautiful any time of year, and how would I know what your long-weekend plans were?”

“So you can’t read minds then.”

“Depends whose mind we’re talking about. I know you’re worried.”

“And here I thought I was hiding it so well.” She brought her gaze back to his face. “It was supposed to be done, Rogan, at least as done as it could be. Everyone except Daniel could go back to their lives. You, me, the cops from the safe house.” Curiosity sidetracked her. “How are they, by the way? I talked to Costello at the funeral. He said he took an early retirement and moved to Stockton.”