Even when she heard him begin to row again, she waited. The fog whirled around her, cold and wet. She should be home in bed. What did she care what this man was up to? After a moment, she peeked around the edge of the bow and saw that Jonah had reached the fishing boat.
He tossed up a rope ladder and climbed aboard stealthily. She watched, half expecting him to get caught. But then who else was out on a night like this? Just the two of them, it appeared.
She waited, wondering what he was doing on the boat. Looking for something to steal? A few moments later, he appeared again, swung down over the side and dropped back into the dinghy, snapping the ladder loose as if he’d done this sort of things hundreds of times. He probably had.
As far as she could tell, he hadn’t taken anything from the fishing boat—at least nothing large.
She stayed out of sight, listening to him row back toward her, realizing she should have left the moment she saw him get back into the dinghy. Now she was trapped. If she moved down the dock, he was bound to see her. And she wanted to avoid him at all costs.
Suddenly she realized that the rowing sound had stopped. The dinghy banged softly into the dock just yards from her. She felt the wood creak under Jonah’s weight as he climbed out.
She hunkered down, assured where she was in the dark shadow of a large boat’s bow, that he wouldn’t see her as he passed. She was debating whether or not she should follow him once he was back on shore when she realized she hadn’t heard him since he’d gotten out of the dinghy. Nor could she feel him coming. She held her breath, closing her eyes, willing him to get past.
“Hello?” he said, his voice deep, setting something inside her vibrating.
She jumped, her eyes flying open, to find him standing over her. How had he known she was there? He stood only a few inches from her and yet she hadn’t heard him approach. The man moved like a cat.
Her heart leaped to her throat as her hand dropped to her shoulder bag and the Beretta inside it, out of her reach. She straightened, suddenly aware of just how completely alone they were. What was it about this man that had her so spooked?
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, holding his palms up in mock surrender.
“Did I say you scared me?” she snapped.
He moved closer until she could smell his aftershave, a heady male scent, and see his features even in the muted dock lights.
“My mistake,” he said quietly, his voice sending a shiver through her, his gaze calling her a liar as surely as he was standing before her. “Lose something?”
She straightened, pulling out and palming her earring as she did, then looked down, pretending she’d dropped something on the dock. “My earring,” she said, keeping her head down.
“Let me help,” he said as he kneeled next to her. “What does it look like?”
“Small and silver….” He was too close. She could feel his breath stir her hair. She reached down and pretended to pluck the earring up from the weathered boards, sure he could hear her heart drumming in her chest. “I have it.”
He stood again, his gaze so intent she thought it would make her burst into flames. “So you do,” he said softly, his lips quirked into a mocking smile.
She squirmed, unable not to, with him this close and looking at her like that. He seemed to be waiting for her to tell him what she was really doing here. Fat chance.
She saw him look toward her hand clutching the Beretta through the leather purse. She relaxed her grip. And yet she felt as if she was risking a lot more than her life standing out here alone with him.
He smiled, obviously amused, as if he could hear the frantic pounding of her heart and knew exactly why it beat so fast, so hard.
“You’re still mad about last night,” he said.
Is that what he thought? “You mean because I went to dinner with a man whose name I don’t even know?”
“Jonah. Remember?”
She already knew that much—and a whole lot more, thanks to Marley Glasglow. She waited for a second name but it appeared one wasn’t coming. “Just Jonah?”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Jonah…Ries,” he said, his tone challenging.
“Ries?” She couldn’t hide her shock. “You aren’t related to—”
“Brody’s my cousin, not that either of us admit it willingly. Or claim any connection to the rest of the family.”
Ries. At least that explained why he hadn’t wanted to tell her his last name. Could it get any worse? So what was she doing still standing here?
“Last night I was telling you about the town,” she heard herself saying. “And you know more than I do. After all, your family’s been here longer than mine.” She cringed, remembering how she told him about McFarland Leary and his witch, both rumored to have been ancestors of the Ries family.
She felt herself getting angry again—at him for being deceitful, at herself for falling for it. She now not only knew what he was, but who he was. So why didn’t she just turn tail and run?
Because, blast the man to hell, she kept picturing him with Tommy on the shore, handing the boy a handkerchief and telling him he’d kick his butt if he caught him drinking again. Why didn’t that fit with what she knew about Jonah Ries?
Jonah said nothing, his face granite still.
“You couldn’t have grown up here,” she said, thinking out loud. The town was too small; she’d have known him.
“I left my freshman year in high school,” he said, narrowing his gaze at her. “Let’s see, that would have made you about…eight or nine?”
That could explain why she didn’t remember him. That and the fact that the Rieses all lived on the wrong side of town and kept to themselves. Talk about weird families. They gave new meaning to the word dysfunctional.
“Look, for what it’s worth, I really am sorry about last night,” he said, and glanced down the deserted dock. “You never did say what you were doing out here this late at night.”
He knew damn well that she’d followed him. She’d bet on that. “I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep either.” He kept looking at her with that same I-can-lie-as-well-as-you-can expression on his handsome face. “So we have that in common, too.”
“Too? I can’t imagine what else we could have in common.”
“We’re both from Moriah’s Landing and we both have insatiable curiosities,” he said smoothly.
“Do we?”
He smiled then. “So it would seem.” He looked past her as if he could see through the fog—maybe he had X-ray vision. Maybe that’s how he’d known she was hiding on the dock. “Is there someplace in town that’s open this time of night where we could get warm milk for you? I hate to see you lose any sleep.”
“Thanks, but I’m practically dozing off on my feet now.” She started past him. He caught her arm.
“I don’t like seeing you out this late at night alone,” he said.
She would just bet he didn’t. Hopefully, next time he wouldn’t see her. If there was a next time. “Thanks for your concern, but I can take care of myself.” His fingers felt as if they might burn her skin.
He let go of her arm. “I sure hope so.”
She didn’t like the way he said it, almost like a threat. For some reason, it made her think of the daisies. “By the way,” she said, sidestepping him, wanting to run because, as much as she denied it, something about him pulled at her like the moon on the tide, “next time you leave flowers on a woman’s doorstep, leave a card.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Her heart kicked up several beats as she saw the answer in his dark expression. She stopped moving. “You didn’t leave a bouquet of daisies on my doorstep this morning?”
He shook his head and frowned.
“If you didn’t leave them…” She was more anxious than ever to get away from him for reasons even she couldn’t explain. She turned, planning to take off, but he moved too fast.
He grabbed her again,
swinging her into him, one hand coming to rest at the small of her back, the other behind her head as his lips unerringly found hers.
His kiss was everything she’d imagined—and more. His mouth warm, firm, demanding, his breath stealing hers as he gave and took with equal parts passion.
She would have fought both him and the kiss, had he given her even half a chance. But he’d taken her by surprise—just as his kiss had—and left her reeling when it ended abruptly.
His gaze met hers in the glow of the street lamp as he released her. “I hate having regrets,” he said matter-of-factly, then turned and left her on the deserted dock without another word, leaving her to stare after him, the taste and feel of him still on her lips.
She cursed his black heart. It seemed he had no qualms about leaving her with one big regret—that she wouldn’t be kissing him again.
JONAH DIDN’T GO FAR. He waited in the shadows of a building, still stinging from the look in Kat’s eyes when he’d told her his name, and still floating from the feel of his mouth on hers. Damn woman. He couldn’t believe she’d followed him. Just what he needed. It was high time he did something about it. But what?
He didn’t have to wait long. Kat made a beeline for home, walking fast, obviously angry and, unfortunately, completely unaware of her surroundings. Didn’t she realize how dangerous that was?
For her own good, he followed her home again, angry with her, with himself. He should have been used to seeing that unpleasant reaction to the Ries name. He’d seen it often enough growing up here. He’d spent most of his almost thirty years trying to live down his family history. Away from here, it had been easy to become someone else, something else. But now that he was back, he was one of them again, whether he liked it or not.
It had taken everything in him not to try to convince her he wasn’t like the other Rieses. But it would have been a lie. And he would have regretted it—unlike the kiss. Her mouth had been full and wet, pliable and sweet. And all he could think about was kissing her again.
A few clouds played hide-and-seek with the moon now hanging over town, golden and growing larger with each passing night. This far from the water, away from the fog, it was clear. Because of that, he could be fairly sure he was the only one tailing her tonight. And just as sure time was running out for him. And possibly for Kat as well.
Kissing her had only convinced him he hadn’t been wrong last night. She was in danger. The feeling was too strong, as if whatever was after her was close by.
He realized he was racing the moon and howling in the darkness. He had no idea what was going on. Or what was coming in on the boat. Or what had happened to the last agent who’d come here on the same mission. But what threw him most was the feeling he got when he was around Kat.
He was going on nothing but instinct, an instinct he’d spent years trying desperately to kill. But unfortunately, you can’t kill who you are, he thought bitterly, and coming back to Moriah’s Landing had made that all too clear—had brought out his heritage.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. He’d always seen his ability to “know” things as a curse. But right now he would have given anything to see the future clearer. To see Kat Ridgemont’s future. And know how to save her.
Daisies. Someone had left daisies on her doorstep. What was that about? Nothing good, he was damn sure.
As he followed her at a distance through the park and town green, he thought again about trying to warn her. He’d seen the fear in her eyes tonight when he’d approached her. Now that she knew who his family was, she seemed even more afraid of him. She would have little reason to trust him, let alone believe anything he said.
She was in danger. But try to explain those instincts and what they foretold to a woman like Kat, who’d already made it clear that she didn’t believe in any of that “hocus-pocus, supernatural stuff.”
He’d forgotten how strong those instincts could be. But being back in Moriah’s Landing, he could feel their power escalating, his body and mind becoming more and more aware as the moon grew in the velvet sky overhead.
He leaned against the trunk of a tree, hidden by the dense foliage, feeling like a stalker as he waited for Kat to go inside and lock the door behind her.
Maybe he was the evil he sensed around Kat. There was a thought.
He watched her disappear into her house, listened for the lock and for the lights to come on, needing assurance that she was safe. At least for tonight.
Then he moved across the damp grass, the night air salty and clear. He knew he couldn’t sleep until he finished this. After reading about Kat’s mother’s murder, he had to see the spot. Had to test himself.
The gazebo came into view beyond the trees. His steps slowed and for a moment he wondered if this wasn’t the dumbest idea he’d had yet. Slowly, he walked toward the gazebo.
A slight breeze stirred the ivy growing up the white lattice sides. He heard a groan and realized he was no longer alone. He turned quickly. Darkness pooled under the huge oak tree nearby and for just an instant he thought he saw the dark silhouettes of the witches hanging from the largest of the tree’s branches, the limb groaning under their weight.
But then the leaves rustled, the limb groaned again in the breeze and the image was gone as if it had never been there.
He stood, stone still, listening to the sounds of the night, remembering everything he’d read in the FBI file that had come attached to his latest e-mail. Apparently, the local police records on the serial killings twenty years ago were missing. That left only the federal file.
Leslie Ridgemont had been found lying on her back on the far bench in the gazebo, her head hanging over the edge, the white scarf around her neck fluttering in the breeze.
The police believed that she’d known her attacker and possibly let the killer walk her home. She’d definitely let him get close enough to strangle her. But what had thrown them about the case were the two cuts on her throat near her carotid artery—a fact not released to the newspapers. But somehow the truth got out. That, Jonah knew, had started the rumor about a killer vampire on the town green.
He moved to the bench and closed his eyes, envisioning the scene that Arabella Leigh had found that night twenty years ago.
Concentrating, he recalled the photographs from the FBI file. He could see the body, the red-and-white snug-fitting diner uniform hiked up, the bare legs, no socks, spoiled white sneakers, the scarf, the cuts on the neck.
He opened his eyes with a start, his heart pounding. He’d seen it all as if it had been him finding the body instead of Arabella—except the face hadn’t been Leslie Ridgemont’s—it was Kat’s.
He stumbled out of the gazebo, feeling weak. It wasn’t just the uncanny resemblance between mother and daughter. He’d seen Kat’s face on the corpse—not her mother’s, and he knew, soul deep, that someone planned to put Kat on that same bench by the full moon.
Shaken to the core, he lifted his head, his gaze going straight to the three-story clapboard house as if something inside him knew—had known since the beginning.
She stood at the railing on the widow’s walk wearing a white nightgown. It fluttered in the breeze as she looked out toward the sea.
He felt a shudder rattle through him as he stared at her, his heart pounding. My God. Had she stood in that same spot the night her mother was killed twenty years ago, Kat would have seen the murderer. But would she have remembered?
Shaken, he turned to leave. Something moved at the edge of the trees. Someone. He caught the shine of eyes, eyes that only a moment before had been doing the same thing Jonah’s had—staring at Kat’s house and the woman on the widow’s walk. The same person who’d been following them the night before?
Jonah took off at a run toward the dark figure in the trees. That ever-growing moon slipped behind the clouds, leaving the night filled with darkness and even darker shadows. His body surged with adrenaline as he sprinted across the grass, a desperate need to stop the evil that he’d sensed w
as after Kat Ridgemont.
He reached the trees where he’d seen the figure, rounded the stand of oaks, but there was nothing in the cool darkness beneath the wide branches. No one.
Something on the ground caught Jonah’s eye. Next to the indentation of a footprint in the grass lay what appeared to be a glove. He stooped to pick it up, only to find the rough, worn leather glove was dry and almost warm. The man he’d seen watching Kat’s house had to have dropped it.
He swung around at a sound, saw a man running hell-bent toward Main Street, and went after him, knowing in every cell of his body that the person he chased would eventually hurt Kat if he didn’t stop him.
It wasn’t until he crossed Main Street that Jonah realized where the person was headed. St. John’s Cemetery, where McFarland Leary was buried. He could make out the tangled web of tree limbs, the dark jagged lines of the wrought-iron fence, the headstones glowing in the moonlight. Jonah felt his feet falter.
That moment’s hesitation was all it took. He sprinted across Main and up the brick sidewalk along the edge of the cemetery, but by the time he reached the huge wrought-iron gate at the entrance, he knew it was too late. From the back of the cemetery, Jonah heard a car engine turn over, then the grinding of gears and the spray of gravel as the car sped off west of town and out of his view.
Jonah swore, bent to catch his breath, his hands on his thighs, head down. In front of him was the gate to the cemetery. The gate to his own personal hell. He straightened and gazed through the twisted wrought iron, through the misshapen branches of the dark trees to where McFarland Leary lay restless in his grave, the stone stark white in the light from the moon.
“Not tonight, Leary.” Jonah took a couple of steps backward, heart pounding, his muscles suddenly weak as seawater. “Not tonight, you son of a bitch.”
Then he turned his back to the graves and headed toward the tiny apartment he was renting from his cousin Brody over the Wharf Rat. Home.
For the first time since he’d walked out of the FBI headquarters at Quantico, he felt as if he really had hit rock bottom.
Moriah's Landing Bundle Page 25