Raven's Cove - Jenna Ryan

by Intrigue Romance

  “Not going to let it go, are you, Lieutenant?”

  “I might—eventually. Right now, I’m wondering why I didn’t see it at the safe house.”

  “Probably because you weren’t there long enough, and you weren’t looking, in any case.”

  “Not at Victor,” he agreed. “Only for trouble, which I realized I was in after a few short days on the job.”

  She turned to him. “Rogan, why does everything you say come out sounding like being anywhere within a two-mile radius of me is the cruelest form of torture?”

  “Simple answer? Because it is.” But his lips curved and his attitude lightened. “You also know who and what I am, and that emotional connections aren’t something I’m up for.”

  He saw the sparkle jump into her eyes and immediately recognized his mistake. “I don’t know how you felt at the safe house, Lieutenant, but you’ve been pretty up since we got to Raven’s Cove. And don’t forget Gus Ballard’s funeral. We were both up after the service—although I’m not sure our response to his death could be construed as entirely appropriate.”

  “It’s the circle of life, Jasmine, or in our case an affirmation of the possibility of it. Hence the response.”

  She gave the teasing finger she’d been sliding along his thigh a few light taps, then withdrew her hand and sat back. “I’ll let you know if I agree with you when I untangle that profound observation. In the meantime—fork in the road.”

  “I see it.” Steering left, he sent her an assessing glance. “You’re angry with me now, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe—a little. But realistically, how annoyed can I be when you’ve never been anything but straight with me? Some people think brutal honesty isn’t a virtue, but I prefer it to deceit.”

  Dammit, now, that stung. And it stuck. Thank God his phone rang on the dash.

  “Go ahead,” he told her when she glanced at it. “It’s probably Boxman bitching because the sheriff’s giving Cyrus a break on the possession-of-weapons deal.”

  “And like the rest of us has no idea what to make of the possession-of-rope deal. … Doesn’t matter, it’s Costello.” She pressed Talk. “Hey, Lieutenant. Problem? Please say no.”

  “Wish I could, but the fact is, one of Riese’s cousins called to inform her police guests that he heard a gunshot over at Wesley Hamilton-Blume’s house on Cliff Road. Could be the former deputy shooting targets. Could be his truck backfiring.”

  “Could also be a gunshot since we know there’s a murderer in the vicinity.” Rogan turned for the cliff. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

  “And once again, the gleam of anticipation appears in your eyes,” Jasmine noted. “Honest to God, I don’t know whether seeing that excites me or scares me half to death.”

  “Go with the first thing, love, and remember—I’m not going to let the murderer hurt you.”

  “Oh, I believe that,” she said softly. “I just wish I believed you weren’t going to let him hurt you.”

  * * *

  “YOU—WITH HER,” ROGAN said to Boris. “Both of you, with me.”

  Fog had crept up over the edge of the cliff. It crawled along the stony ground and curled around the foundation of Wesley’s oceanside rancher. One of two freestanding lamps burned at the end of a mud-and-gravel driveway, but the porch stood in shadow, and Jasmine saw nothing but black behind the windows.

  “I feel like the house is warning us off.” She set her chin on Rogan’s shoulder. “At the very least, the garbage on the porch is screaming that a slob lives here.”

  “Hope so, since the alternative is that a slob died here.” Rogan had his gun out as they approached the silent structure.

  Waves pounded the rocks below, but beyond that and the creeping fog, nothing stirred.

  Two rusty iron ravens guarded the stoop. Both had red-rimmed eyes and open beaks. Thankfully, neither moved.

  The stair treads gave protracted creaks with each pound of weight placed on them.

  Jasmine winced. “You’d think we were opening Dracula’s coffin.”

  Rogan swept a light through the porch debris. “Who says Dracula’s coffin would creak?”

  “It did in every movie I ever saw.”

  “I’ll take your word since I’m not a horror fan. Except for the odd werewolf movie.”

  “Then why did you call Boris Boris and not Lon?”

  He grinned back at her. “Boris and Natasha, Jasmine. Not Boris Karloff.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it again. This was no time for a discussion of his childhood cartoon choices.

  He pushed the unlocked door open. “Wesley, it’s Rogan. Are you here?”

  “No answer. Why is there never an answer?” Jasmine shone her flashlight inside. “Night falls, fog rolls in, people in spooky settings either lose their tongues or they die, leaving some poor unsuspecting bystander to find them.”

  “How unsuspecting can you be, with a cop in front of you and a guard dog behind?”

  “The whole horror genre’s completely lost on you, isn’t it? Oh, yuck.” Her beam found a cloudy glass case. “He’s got a snake.”

  “In a terrarium.” Rogan studied the motionless reptile. “It’s a constrictor. Kind of cool.”

  “Yeah—to another constrictor.” She tried not to notice the underwear and other assorted laundry pieces strewn across the living room floor, or the smell of rotting food that probably came from the kitchen behind it. “Even Daniel’s cottage isn’t this big a sty.”

  “He keeps a typical single-guy house, Jasmine.”

  “I really hope that’s a smile I’m hearing in your voice, because this is so not the way I envision you living.” She gave the dog at her side a rub. “Is anyone here, Boris? Find the intruder.”

  Now she knew she heard a smile. “We’re the intruders, not Wesley.”

  “Good thing Boris doesn’t know that, huh? He’s heading for the kitchen.”

  “Easier for him to get there than us.”

  At the edge of the dining area, the dog stopped and lifted his head. Lowered it, then raised it again.

  “Damn.” Jasmine sighed. “Here we go.”

  Barking in sharp bursts, Boris danced sideways. A second later, he lunged.

  As if launched from a cannon, a door flew back and a shadow sprang from inside.

  “Stay right here.” Knocking plates, cutlery and pizza boxes aside, Rogan dived over the counter.

  Unable to stand still, Jasmine ran in from the other direction. She arrived in time to see Rogan tackle the intruder to the floor.

  The man went down in a long sprawl. Unfortunately, as he fell, his grasping hands caught hold of her ankle. She lost her flashlight, but kicked free, scrambled backward and bumped into something lumpy. Assuming it was laundry, she pushed at the pile. Then looked down and spotted a foot.

  Gasping, she shot to her hands and knees, then shoved upright and away.

  The fallen man’s fingers clawed at her ankle again, but Rogan had a knee in his back and only needed to reach over and yank his arm away.

  “Pretty sure I told you not to move,” he said, wiping blood from a cut at the corner of his mouth.

  With her eyes glued to the unmoving foot, Jasmine inched toward him, pointed. “I think…” She firmed up her voice. “That big patch of dark over there. I think it’s Wesley. I don’t know if he’s alive or not.”

  “He’s not.” The muffled voice came from the man Rogan had planted facedown on the floor.

  Still on her knees, Jasmine took a suspicious look. “What did you say?”

  “I said he’s not alive.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Rogan sounded more disgusted than surprised.

  But all Jasmine could do was stare in exasperated disbelief as the man’s head came up far enough for her to make out his features.

  They belonged to her ex-husband, Daniel Corey.

  * * *

  “HE WAS DEAD WHEN I GOT here,” Daniel insisted. “I swear to God, he was. Tell them, Jasmine. I’m not
a murderer.”

  “He’s not a murderer,” she obliged, mostly for the benefit of Boxman and Costello, who’d just arrived. “An idiot, yes, but he wouldn’t slash anyone’s throat.”

  “Gun’s been fired, Corey.” Rogan bagged the weapon. “You’ve got blood on your hands and on your clothes. Since you don’t appear to be injured, I’m going to guess it’s not yours.”

  “I had to check the guy, didn’t I? Help me here, Jasmine?”

  She took Rogan’s arm and pulled him aside. “You believe he didn’t do it, right?”

  When he said nothing, she made a frustrated sound. “You’re being difficult.”

  “I’m being a cop.”

  “You’re being an ass.”

  “One and the same in some people’s books.”

  Raised voices reached them. “Come on, Rogan, it’s not fair to let Boxman bully him.”

  He regarded her for another moment, then raised his own voice. “Back off, Sergeant. Corey’s as much a witness as he is a suspect at this point.”

  “Yeah. No bullying the witness.” Jerking free of the larger man’s hand, Daniel escaped to where she and Rogan stood. “You’re looking good, Jas.”

  “Shut up and tell Rogan why you’re here. Short version,” she warned when he puffed up. “The sheriff’s en route and he’s getting tired of the extra paperwork.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Daniel turned. “I got here maybe five minutes before you did. Okay, fifteen,” he said at a narrowed look from Rogan. “We—the deputy and I—we had a deal. He’d tell me what he could about his stepaunt’s infamous brother-in-law, Solano Jenks, hook me up with some people who’d tell me more, and in return, I’d slip him whatever cash I could spare. Lucky for me, his taste ran more to beer than champagne, because middle-school teachers make squat for salaries in this town. I had an idea, you see, to—”

  “Screw up another long-standing federal investigation,” Rogan inserted. At Jasmine’s vexed expression, he smiled. “I don’t think your ex is impressed, Daniel. I promise you the feds won’t be.”

  “I was digging,” Daniel corrected, “with no plans for screwing anyone or anything. I knew I had to be careful. That’s why Raven’s Cove worked for me. I’d have a contact where I lived, one who was so far removed from the star player that no one would ever think to connect him. We’re talking steps and in-laws within a family network that’s massive in its immediacy. I mean, come on, who’s going to bother delving into the periphery of the periphery?”

  Rogan would, Jasmine realized. One look at his eyes and she realized he had.

  Snarling out a breath, she swung away. She didn’t know who to be more annoyed with—Daniel for being Daniel or Rogan for being so damn secretive.

  “Wesley wasn’t what I’d call a font,” Daniel went on, “but his snippets of information kept me pointed in the right direction. I gather you, uh, heard about the jailbreak.”

  Pacing past, Jasmine shot him a glare. “Most escaped felons would have left the area. You hung around and texted me, Daniel.”

  He returned her glare. “You’re supposed to be the sane one. I still can’t believe you came to Raven’s Cove after I specifically told you not to.”

  “Kind of the same way you were told to live an unobtrusive life within the confines of the witness protection program. Someone came after me the night you called. If Rogan hadn’t showed up, I might have been killed.”

  “Well, God, Jas, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Or this, either.” He swept a hand around the house. “Wesley was a source. I can’t see anyone in Solano Jenks’s organization wanting him dead. And he had absolutely no connection to Wainwright.”

  Rogan rested a hip against the sofa. “How many texts did you send to Jasmine?”

  “One.”

  “You didn’t tell her to run?”

  “That was implied in the ‘are you crazy?’ question. As for running, I’ve been doing that myself ever since I slipped out of that stupid jail cell Cutless threw me in.”

  “For your own protection.”

  Although Rogan’s expression gave nothing away, Jasmine sensed he was irritated enough to consider turning Daniel back over to Boxman.

  “Your contact’s dead, Corey, and so is Ian Cutless. Why? No idea, but my guess is it’ll boomerang back to you somehow.”

  “I didn’t kill them. Not any of them. Why would I? Come on, I’ve got two feathers.”

  “Jasmine has three.”

  “What?” He spun, gaped. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Dead man in the kitchen, Daniel. Slashed throat. Takes precedence.”

  Rogan pushed off. “I wouldn’t go that far. However, the fact remains, we have a ninth corpse. Your ex-husband was discovered at the scene and despite the fact that the victim’s throat was cut, a bullet’s been fired from his gun.”

  “Ah, yes.” Daniel cleared his throat. “About that. I was coming in. I thought I saw something move. Place was dark. I figured, okay, he’s gotten a cat. I turned on a light, did a little poking around while I waited. That’s when I saw the body.”

  “And panicked,” Jasmine supplied. “Started to run out, saw or imagined another shadow and—well, shoot first, ask questions later, right?” Her lips moved into a false smile. “It’s comforting to know you’re not a cop, Daniel.”

  Boxman trudged over. “Have a heart, Rogan. We found the guy at the scene, and he’s a leftie, to boot. Give me five minutes. I swear, there won’t be a mark on him when the buzzer goes off.”

  Daniel sidestepped. “Rogan! Jasmine!”

  “Rogan…”

  He glanced at her, but spoke to Costello. “Make sure the sergeant keeps it professional. Bullet’s in the side of the sofa.” His eyes cruised the cluttered living room as he headed for the porch. “I know,” he said to Jasmine. “I’m being an ass.”

  She refused to give up her mad. “Daniel’s a lot of things, many of them infuriating, but he’s simply not capable of committing a murder. I can’t believe you’d think he would.”

  “I never said I did.”

  “Then why…?”

  “Because he was here, and we need to know what he saw, heard, smelled, et cetera. The smallest clue can break the biggest case wide open.”

  She watched a visibly restrained Boxman scowl at her ex. “I have no idea what possessed me to marry that man. And right now, given your attitude, I’m starting to wonder why I fell— What it is I see in you.”

  A hint of a smile played on Rogan’s lips. “I knew you’d come around eventually, love.”

  “In terms of Daniel or you?”

  “Take your pick.” He opened the door. When she didn’t move, he pulled her outside. “You don’t want him, Jasmine, and I promise you, you wouldn’t want me for very long.”

  “Who says I want you now?”

  The smile widened, bringing an odd glimmer to his eyes. “There you go, then. You’re seeing the light already.”

  “What I’m seeing, Rogan—” she yanked her hand free “—is a man who uses his career as a reason to avoid personal relationships.”

  He crouched to probe the contents of an untied trash bag. “Are you talking about me or Daniel or both?”

  “I don’t want Daniel, remember?”

  He looked up. “Finish it, Jasmine.”

  “Finish what? Do you want me to tell you to go away, that I don’t want you in my life?” She lowered her lashes. “Or is it closer to the truth to say you don’t want me in yours?”

  When his eyes locked on hers, something jolted in her mind. She didn’t know what it was exactly, but she knew Rogan was the source, and there was pain and sorrow and regret all tangled inside it.

  He regarded her from his crouch. “I want you, that’s not the problem. And maybe I am making excuses for the choices I’ve made, for the choices I’m still making. …”

  She regarded him closely, not an easy thing to do with a clearly out-of-sorts Boxman flicking a colored light off and on behind them to in
timidate Daniel. “I sense a but coming. What is it?”

  “Buts lead to excuses. You deserve better than that.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he stood and walked to her at the top of the stairs. Taking her face in his hands, he brushed his thumbs over her temples and set his mouth on hers.

  The light continued to blink off and on, but for one dizzying moment, she saw fire rather than a flashing stop sign.

  When Rogan lifted his head, she summoned a small smile. “If you did that to shut me up—it worked.”

  His eyes roamed her face. “I did that for me, Jasmine. And because—” he shifted their position so she could see the object sitting on the porch rail “—I found the murder weapon.”

  * * *

  ANOTHER MURDER SHOULD have helped. It always helped. Why hadn’t it helped tonight?

  He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, fought for control. All his excellent ideas, his planning, everything he’d done to confuse and confound. It would all be for nothing if he couldn’t lock the worst of himself away.

  He’d see her dead, of that he was certain. That’s what this was about—him living and her dying, or more correctly, her dying so he could live without fear of dying twice.

  Moving his hands to his ears, he shut out what he didn’t want to hear, and reminded himself that she had three feathers. He could be rid of her anytime now. Any time at all.

  The realization helped where tonight’s murder had failed.

  His hands dropped. His mind and his heart hardened.

  The tortured raven of death had done his job. All that remained was for him to do his.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The knife, likely one from Wesley’s kitchen, rode off to the county seat along with Daniel’s gun, a bullet that had been removed from the sofa and a sheriff who promised to put the lab work through ASAP.

  Rogan didn’t foresee any surprises in terms of the test results. Neither did he expect a clear set of fingerprints to magically appear, but rules were rules, so he, Boxman and Costello went through the ritual dust, sweep and search drills. They left the snake with a neighbor, secured the scene and finally, at 2:00 p.m. the following day, fell into their respective beds.