Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Before she could continue, Jack’s cell phone rang, nearly stopping her heart.

  Jack ended his conversation quickly. “O’Malley’s flight was cancelled, so there’s no rush,” he told her. “Sorry, you were saying?”

  Between bites and after careful consideration, Abby decided not to tell Jack about her conversation with Maxine, nor would she try and explain the man who may or may not have been following her. Much less the creepy phone call or the red car in the hotel parking lot. After all, she couldn’t be sure it was the same car, and wrong numbers happen all the time.

  “Actually,” she qualified, “I was just repeating what I told you earlier. I just stopped by to say thanks.” She folded both arms across her chest, careful to protect her injured wrist and end the cross-examination.

  Thirty minutes later, still unable to get the truth out of Abby, Jack shoved his empty plate aside and laid down a fifty before shrugging into his jacket. “Ready?”

  Outside, they hurried back through the blustery shadows to the car. The moment Abby realized Jack’s next stop would be her hotel, she froze.

  “What?” Jack asked.

  She just stood there, a gust of wind whirling dry leaves around her feet. Like they had before. When had she become such a coward? This whole cloak-and-dagger routine was ridiculous, and she wasn’t about to let some bizarre, over-blown, non-incident spook her any longer.

  But what about the red car that followed you?

  Must have been my imagination.

  You saw it.

  Boston is full of them.

  And the mysterious phone call. What about that?

  A wrong number.

  Someone was there.

  A childish prank.

  If you say so.

  Abby willed her practical side to shut up and go away as she faced Jack. “What do you mean — what?”

  “You stopped right in the middle of the parking lot.”

  Abby just looked at him.

  He held up both hands. “Forget it.” He headed for the car and opened the passenger’s door. “Get in.”

  She slid onto the seat. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

  Once inside, Jack fired up the ignition then faced Abby. “Look, I don’t know what the deal was this afternoon, and apparently you’re not going to tell me. But just for the record, I don’t think you should go back to that hotel.”

  Relief battled pride. “If you won’t take me, I’ll just phone for a cab.” So how in the hell had stupidity won out over both of them?

  Jack didn’t say a word.

  “Your call.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Sit still.” He accelerated just to make sure. “You’re not taking a damned taxi.”

  “Adam’s Inn. It’s on — ”

  “I know where it is,” Jack snapped.

  When they pulled into the hotel parking lot, Abby swallowed hard. They had passed several billboards along the way advertising the Halloween Ball. Something about the vivid images tweaked her consciousness. It seemed to whisper, tag you’re it! Like coming to Boston, this elusive challenge simply refused to be ignored. For whatever reason, she felt an overwhelming, unexplainable need to attend the gala event.

  Content, for now, to know at least that much, she took Jack’s hand and entered the hotel. As they walked down the dimly lit hallway, doubt smirked at her through long, sharp teeth from every dark corner. Why on earth had she ever insisted on coming back to this place?

  That’s when she noticed it.

  She grabbed Jack’s arm to stop him and whispered, “My door’s not shut.”

  Jack pushed her behind him and slowly eased the door open. Little … by … little. Pitch dark.

  He loosened the death grip she had on his bicep and mouthed, “Stay here.”

  “No way,” she muttered, following right behind him.

  Jack flipped on the nearest light and crept silently through the bedroom and bath. Satisfied no one was in her room, he turned on Abby. “Don’t you ever do what you’re told?”

  “Not really.” She pretended not to understand his thunderous look.

  He raked frustrated fingers through his hair. “Any idea who was in here?”

  Abby’s chest constricted as she felt the demons of the afternoon rear their ugly heads. She forced herself to ignore them and, instead, to look around paying strict attention to detail.

  Personal items — untouched.

  Suitcase — zipped tight.

  The amulet’s box — right where she left it.

  Everything else seemed fine. Nothing out of place. Neat and clean. Convinced all was well, her fear dissipated. “It doesn’t look like anything’s missing, and I did leave in a hurry.” Boy, was that an understatement. She had raced out of there on a dead run. “Maybe I just didn’t pull the door shut.”

  Jack eyed Abby. “Maybe’s not good enough. Either you closed it, or you didn’t,” he said. “And, don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “You know,” he said. “That don’t-you-dare-tell-me-what-to-do look.”

  Abby turned toward the dresser and proceeded to re-straighten her already meticulously lined up cosmetics. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Abby, this isn’t a game. Don’t make it one.”

  Abby hadn’t realized how serious Jack was until she faced him. His dark eyes mirrored every bit of the concern she had heard in his voice. “I’m not taking this lightly,” she insisted, desperate to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Good,” he said. “Then you’re coming home with me.”

  Abby shook her head. “I said I wasn’t playing a game, and I’m not, but, I am staying here.”

  “Suit yourself.” Jack stalked past her. Turning the knob slowly and deliberately, he added through clenched teeth, “Don’t forget to lock the door behind me. Wouldn’t want your room to be open all day and all night, too. Would you?”

  Abby secured the lock behind him and leaned heavily against the door. She knew, without a doubt, her arrogance and foolishness had just crossed the boundary of common sense. Restless, she roamed the perimeter of the room. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she had pulled the door closed on her way out. I did shut that door this afternoon. Hell, thinking back, she even remembered hearing it slam.

  But, nothing in the room had been disturbed. If they weren’t looking for something, what were they looking for? Someone? Her? She spent the remainder of the night fully dressed and sitting in the chair. Eyes glued to the doorknob, she cursed Jack Hawthorne for all he was worth, but not half as much as she cursed herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In the hallway outside Abby’s room, Jack fumed. Not only was she keeping something from him, but she was too damned stubborn to admit or give into the fact that she may very well be in danger. He looked around the semi-darkness. Damned, skanky hotel. He should have just thrown Abby over his shoulder and taken her back to his house. Now there was a thought. His mouth curved in a grin.

  One thing was certain. He sure as hell wouldn’t leave her here. Since she refused to come with him, he would just stay. He plopped down in front of her door and wadded up his jacket, tucking it behind his head.

  An hour later, Jack stretched his cramped legs and cursed his numb butt. The floor was hard. The door was hard. And all the physical evidence pointed to the fact that his head must have gone soft. He punched up his jacket and gritted his teeth certain this was going to be one damn long night.

  Suddenly, he heard the side door to the hotel slam shut. Its metal frame echoed in the confines of the entryway. In the dim light, he saw a man round the corner then stop short and stagger slightly, heading t
oward him. Jack pretended to sleep.

  “Hey, boy,” the man drawled as he nudged Jack’s shoe with his foot. “You okay?”

  Jack opened his eyes. A dusty pair of snakeskin boots stared back at him — extremely large boots. Standing over him, with a twelve-pack of long necks under one arm and a chip cocked forty-ways-for-Sunday on his broad shoulder, there stood one big, drunk biker.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just ticked off.” Jack jabbed his thumb toward Abby’s door. “My old lady threw me out, can you beat that?”

  “Women.” The man shook his bald head and hefted the Coors. “Wanna beer?”

  “No, thanks,” Jack said. “I can barely handle this one when I’m sober!”

  “I hear ya,” the man slurred sympathetically. “But you ain’t plannin’ on sittin’ here all night, are ya?”

  Jack’s internal radar went off like a lie detector. “She’ll cool off later.”

  “Maybe.” The biker grinned and gave one side of his mustache a thoughtful twirl. “Then again, if she was to come out and find you gone, that’d really teach her a lesson.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Think I’ll just hang around — ”

  “Hawthorne, is that you?” someone called from halfway down the hall.

  As the man approached, Jack recognized the familiar face. “What the hell are you doing here, Venucci?”

  Lucky openly eyed the biker. “I was on my way home and got a silent alarm call from here, but it turned out to be false. I was just coming in to get a cup of coffee.”

  Without getting up, Jack shook the large hand the man extended.

  “Enough about me.” Lucky poked his finger in Jack’s direction. “There must be quite a story behind this.”

  “You could say that.” Jack shifted his weight, reluctant to continue in front of the stranger.

  Lucky inclined his head, “A friend of yours?”

  “I just met Mr. … ?” Jack waited.

  “Smith,” the biker offered.

  “Mr. Smith stopped to see if I was dead or alive.”

  “Is that so?” Lucky turned to the big man, but neither one extended his hand. “Funny, at the first sign of trouble, most folks would’ve run the other way.”

  “Oh, hell, no.” The biker shrugged. “Trouble’s my middle name.”

  “I’ll bet,” Lucky said, a trace of an edge to his voice. Staring down the other man, he didn’t turn away to ask, “Mind if I join you, Hawthorne?” Without waiting for a reply, he slid his massive form down the wall. He elbowed Jack in the ribs. “How about it? Want a cup of coffee?”

  Jack licked his dry lips. “Sounds great.”

  “No problem.” Lucky flipped out his cell phone. “What do you think room service — or in your case hall service — is for?”

  “How about you, Smith?” Jack leveled a steady gaze. “Coffee?”

  “Too tame for me, Pal.” The biker shifted his twelve-pack. “Well, since you two are fixin’ to guard that door all night, I’ll just be on my way.” Halfway down the hall, Jack heard him cut loose a slightly off-key version of a classic country western song. “Somewhere on earth Garth Brooks has to be howling at the moon.” Lucky’s eyes narrowed. “Wonder what room that guy’s in?”

  Jack shrugged. “Just check the register under Smith.”

  “Yeah, right, like I’ve never heard that one before.” Lucky shook his head.

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  “I sure as hell don’t.” Lucky shook his head again. “Must be the country way of saying none of your damned business.” He settled against the wall. “So, what gives with your little camp out?”

  Jack laid his arm on the other man’s bulky shoulder. “It’s a long story.”

  Lucky checked his watch. “What the hell. I’ve got all night.”

  Shortly before dawn, Lucky headed back to the office. Within minutes, Jack dozed off, then jolted awake, disoriented and feeling downright nasty. It took a moment before he remembered why he was sitting in the hotel’s hallway, and he realized the night had passed without incident. He sat up and stretched then walked out a few of the kinks. Every bone in his body ached as he limped into his car.

  Halfway home, he rubbed his stiff neck and swore that anyone who was stupid enough to want Abby Corey was welcome to her. Unfortunately, the shrill ring of his cell phone drowned out the only pleasant thought he’d had for the past three hours.

  “Hawthorne.”

  “Are you still at the hotel?” Lucky asked.

  “Nope. I’m on my way home,” Jack told him. “Why?”

  “When I came in this morning, I talked to the patrolman working your accident — ”

  “And?”

  “And the mechanic that checked out the car noticed the brake lines had been cut.”

  “Sonofa — ”

  “Somebody tampered with the brakes, so whoever was driving that car was one screwed pooch.”

  “Abby.” Jack wheeled into a U-turn.”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “I’m on my way back. I’ll let her know.”

  “I want to talk to you, too. How about ten o’clock?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  • • •

  A thunderous, nonstop pounding on her door shattered the otherwise quiet crack of dawn, not to mention Abby’s brittle nerves. For one timeless moment, she just sat there. This was the bitter end. Thoughts of her damnable dream or vision or whatever the hell she’d experienced last night hadn’t given her a minute’s rest. Abby couldn’t shake the image of seeing herself so clearly … it seemed like a memory.

  The year had been 1692. She had been enjoying herself at Salem’s Harvest Festival. A full moon had hung in the dark autumn sky like a huge paper lantern. One minute she had been dancing and laughing with a man — the same handsome man who had proposed in her other dream.

  The next instant their rollicking good time had turned into terror. The once friendly faces of the town’s people had become distorted, angry. Separated from her fiancé and frightened, she had fled. This time, when the evil man in the red cape had followed her, Abigail instinctively knew she must run for her life. The brut had easily overtaken her, but seemingly from nowhere her fiancé had reappeared. The two men had struggled violently — and then she had awakened or snapped out of it … or whatever.

  “Abby, open up,” Jack shouted, stilling banging hard with one fist.

  Checking the peephole, she opened the door. “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I didn’t come here to exchange pleasantries.” He shoved his way into the room.

  “Obviously.”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Abby stared at his unshaven face, his crumpled clothes. The same clothes he’d had on yesterday? Where had he spent the night? She gave him a second look. Rumpled, dark hair. Five o’clock shadow turned to stubble. Red, irritated eyes. Not to mention his lousy disposition. “The only thing I want from you — ”

  “You’re coming with me.” He stopped directly in front of her.

  Abby hesitated, but like last night, she pushed her better judgment aside. “I’m not going anywhere — ”

  “Just once, will you shut up and listen,” he shot back, barely able to resist the itch to clamp a hand over her mouth — hard.

  She pursed her lips and swallowed the brash comment that teetered dangerously on the tip of her tongue. His eyes flashed an unmistakable warning that told her it was the smart thing to do. He really didn’t look like a man to be reckoned with.

  Nevertheless, she struggled to temper her anger and settled, instead, for a hostile glare. The scary thing was, in her head, Abby knew Jack wasn’t the type to get this irate over nothing. So, what could possibly have him so agitated? God,
she was tired, maybe she didn’t even want to know. Not true. Abby believed in facing everything head on, so she took a deep breath and braced herself. “I’m listening.”

  Jack looked her square in the eye. “You’re going home with me.” He pointed toward the suitcase in the corner. “Now pack.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Salem Massachusetts

  31 October

  Year of Our Lord, 1692

  The instant she looked away, the wind moaned and the frightened horse pranced. Amidst the brewing storm, Jackson hung his head. Unable to free himself, tears from his dark lashes splashed onto the amber stone at his feet. He watched in disbelief as the amulet hissed like a red-hot branding iron immersed into a trough of ice water.

  Abigail’s screams ripped through his heart, each one draining more of his life’s blood than the last. As the remainder of the mob caught up, the crowd circled her like starving vultures. In the light from their torches, he saw their hideous, hate-filled faces as the rope was tossed over the dead oak’s barren branch.

  “Bridget! Stop them!” When the raven-haired beauty only smiled, Jackson raised his dark head to the sky, howling his beloved’s name like a wounded animal. “Abigail … ”

  • • •

  Abby’s mouth fell open. Had Jack just ordered her to pack? She planted both hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”

  “Get out of my way.”

  Today, her eyes burned from a self-induced insomnia and her back ached from sitting ramrod straight in the plain, wooden desk chair all night. She was definitely not in the mood for this. And as if that wasn’t enough, she glared at Jack, it looked like the better part of her punishment, all six foot four of it, wasn’t over yet.

  Jack pushed past her, grabbed her suitcase and tossed it wide open onto the bed. He yanked the drawers out of the dresser and dumped them into the gaping luggage.

  “Stop that!” She snagged a lacy teddy in midair and stepped between Jack and the dresser.