“Excuse me, but where do you think you’re going?” I asked.
“I figured I’d put my underwear in with yours. That way they could all get to know each other.” One brown eyebrow lifted. “Unless you want to make some formal introductions right now?”
I ignored the sexual taunt. Oh, all right. I pretended to ignore it. My body had other reactions, but I took control. Barely. “You’re not living with me,” I said icily. “You’re visiting.”
He studied me, spending an inordinate amount of time on my breasts, and then he sighed. “Which room you giving me?”
“Gentleman’s choice.”
He grinned.
“Any room you like upstairs. Mine is off limits.”
His look seemed to say We’ll see about that, and he said nothing. He pressed something into my hands: the jewelry container I’d dropped in the foyer last night. It felt cold, and fear slicked my spine. “Oh. Thanks.”
He studied me, frowning. “What?”
“It’s just . . . um, nothing. I need to bring this to Patsy and see if she can sense the spirit that tried to hurt me.”
“Murdering ghosts? I don’t get it. Christ. This is one fucked-up little town,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll see you in a sec.” He sauntered away. A moment later, I heard him climbing the stairs. He was whistling “Don’t Be Cruel” again.
I smiled.
“Elizabeth.”
The angry male voice startled me. I looked up, shocked to see a huge wavering shadow. It exuded a terrible chill that stabbed at me like tiny knives.
Something hard and sharp and cold punched me in the chest.
I flew across the kitchen, smacking into the pantry door. Big male hands enclosed my throat and squeezed.
“You love me,” whispered a man’s anguished voice. “I’ll make you remember that you’re mine. I’ll make you remember, Elizabeth.”
Chapter 4
It is cold.
I can’t see because of the cloth tied over my eyes, but I know we’re outside. I smell the crisp scent of pine and hear my captor’s footsteps crunch the snow.
My hands are bound. He’s tied my feet together, too, boots and all. I’m wearing my new dress—it’s brown velveteen and copper silk with pretty bows on the bodice and at the cuffs of the wide sleeves. I’d been wearing the matching hat. Its band is lined with copper silk roses.
I don’t know what happened to it. My hair is loose and unpinned.
He must’ve done that.
After he hit me.
The blow to my jaw knocked me out. I awoke in his arms, blindfolded, my extremities tied. The left half of my face throbs with pain.
He puts me down.
I feel so weak. I am weighed down by the dress, and by guilt. It didn’t have to be this way. But I made my choice. Perhaps I deserve my fate.
He stretches me out, and, beneath me, I feel the snow all around. I smell the fresh earth, and I know his terrible purpose.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper.
He leans close, like he used to when he wanted to whisper sweet nothings, and says, “You did this . . . when you betrayed me.”
I cry. The tears fall down my cheeks, drip into my ears.
He puts his hands around my throat and squeezes.
The pain and the pressure burst in my head, crowd my throat. I cannot cry anymore, or scream. Panic screeches through me. I kick my bound feet, writhe, and, in my mind, beg and beg for my life.
It’s all useless. There is no escape.
He squeezes and squeezes until I cannot draw another breath. The pain fades, and I feel so light, so free. I drift up among the tall pines, and I see him undress the woman, stripping away the pretty dress.
Then I hear the rasp of the shovel and the thud of dirt. I feel caught by something, snagged by purpose. I cannot leave. Not yet. Sensations are fleeting . . . all, but one.
It is cold.
Chapter 5
“C’mon,princess,time to wake up.”
In the murky dark, the calm voice offered me a rope of light, so I grabbed onto it and clung.
My eyes fluttered open. I was lying on the kitchen floor, propped in Tez’s arms.
My head hurt.
“What are we doing down here?” I asked hoarsely.
“You can’t handle your tequila,” said Tez. The relief skittering across his face surprised me. Was he just a good cop, easily empathetic? Or did he feel like he had a genuine connection to me?
“Do let me up, Tez.”
“No.”
I stared at him. There was something hard in his eyes, and I recognized that brand of determination. I’d seen it in the mirror often enough. “Please. I can’t continue this conversation prostrate on the floor.”
“Fine.” He scooped me up and stood swiftly—without so much as a grunt of effort. “I think we should call your wolf friend and get a security detail on your house. And you’re gonna tell me who’s trying to kill you.”
“I have no idea.” I gazed at him, realizing that I was shaking. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been so frightened. “It was the ghost. Only this time, I saw a . . . shadow.”
“You’re okay, Ellie Bee.” He took me into the parlor and gently placed me in a toile wingback chair. He knelt next to me and showed me his cell phone. For a moment, I couldn’t comprehend the image on the tiny screen.
Oh, my God.
It was me, unconscious, leaning lopsided against my pantry door. The obvious bruising around my neck startled me. I put my hand on my throat, which still felt tender. I’ll make you remember, Elizabeth.
And he had. But I knew those were not my memories. I knew they belonged to the dead woman I’d found. I didn’t understand my own connection to what was happening. It had all started with that damned ring box.
“If you were human, you’d be dead.” He examined my neck. “You’re already healing. This is the same, er, spirit that attacked you before? The thing you told Damian about?”
I nodded. “That box is from Patsy’s home—the mansion that once belonged to my family. I have to believe that it has something to do with the past, with another Elizabeth, and this ghost is just . . . confused.”
He kissed my forehead. I found the gesture oddly touching. It seemed that Tez was as capable of showing tenderness as he was of making sexual overtures. “We’ll figure this out.” He tucked his cell phone away.
“Why don’t we go see Queen Patsy as planned, and discuss this situation with her?”
“Damian first,” he said. “You’re not gonna be stubborn about getting some protection ’round here, are you?”
“Of course not. But I don’t think a few extra lycanthropes prowling around will help.”
His expression was concern edged with suspicion. “You sure you don’t know who this guy is?”
I shook my head, fear sliding through me once more. “But he seems to know me.”
I told Tez I needed a minute to freshen up, and went downstairs to my room. I sat on my bed, clutching a throw pillow to my chest, trying to gather my wits. If I was able to use my lungs, I might have a hard time catching my breath. And if I had a heartbeat, it would be racing. I didn’t have the physical reactions anymore, which was good, because they would have made what I was feeling much worse.
Someone, something, was trying to kill me. Or rather, trying to kill her, the other Elizabeth.
Again.
I pushed away the horror gathering like spiders in my stomach and allowed my thoughts drift to Tez. He was acting very protective, and I attributed such posturing to his law-enforcement background. At least, that would be the logical conclusion. I couldn’t dismiss his gentle demeanor, or the sincere concern he displayed for me. Was it possible he truly cared for me? Or was this another case like those he must’ve solved in Tampa? He was an intelligent man, and one of the most stubborn I’d ever met.
I liked him very much.
After making sure I was truly all right, Tez had pocketed the box and s
tarted prowling around the kitchen, looking for clues. I’d noticed him flaring his nostrils, and realized he was trying to scent my attacker. Did ghosts have scents? I wasn’t sure what to do about Tez’s worry, or about his rather large and strange assumption that he somehow had the right to protect me. What also struck me as a little . . . well, desperate, was how much I liked how he treated me, even the rawness of his words and actions. I felt incredibly like a woman adored.
Maybe I was just unused to the concept of someone caring about me in a wholehearted way. I very much wanted to experience what other couples, especially the ones who’d fallen in love in Broken Heart, felt for each other. I don’t know if it was part and parcel of immortal connections, or just incredible luck, but I’d never seen such solidarity between lovers. What would it be like to feel absolute trust? To know your best friend was also the person who drove you sexually wild? To never doubt for even a nanosecond that your husband would fight for you, rescue you, love you no matter what?
Maybe I’d read too many romance novels. It was probably coloring my perceptions of my friends’ relationships. And it was certainly contributing to my rose-colored thoughts about Tez and our potential as a couple.
Well, then. First things first. I went into the bathroom and brushed my hair, fixed my makeup. Then I changed into black capris and a red sleeveless top. I also changed into a pair of black stilettos—which immediately made me feel better. Who needed prescription drugs when there were shoe stores?
When I got back upstairs, I found Tez waiting for me in the kitchen. He led me into the parlor and had me sit at the table. Then he sat down across from me and pointed to the cup of tea, jasmine by the scent.
“You were pretty shook up. Thought some tea might soothe your nerves.”
“You’re not having any?”
“Coffee’s more my style.”
I could almost hear the “not sissy tea” tacked on to the end of his sentence. I doubted a cuppa could do much to alleviate my fears. But it was a nice gesture all the same. A jar of honey sat nearby. I picked up the teaspoon sitting inside it and stirred the sweet substance into the tea.
“This was very kind of you,” I said, “but Queen Patricia is waiting for our arrival.” I hated to be late to any appointment, and was especially respectful of the queen’s time. She was a very busy woman—ruling two different species and raising triplets.
“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s comin’ here.”
Startled, I dropped the spoon on the table. The honey splattered on the white tablecloth. I stared at the glistening gold drops, then lifted my gaze to Tez. “Why?”
“Your iPhone accidentally slipped out of your purse and dialed her number.”
He said it so casually that I didn’t quite register the words for a moment. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I could take a long, deep inhalation. I missed not being able to inflate my lungs to create some inner calm.
“Let’s be clear. You took my cell from my purse, snooped through my contact list, called Queen Patricia, and invited her for a visit?”
“Icicles are hanging from your words.”
The whisper of humor in his tone angered me.
“You had no right.”
“No, I didn’t.”
His admission stalled my response. So did his steadfast gaze; I supposed this might be his “cop” stare. Or maybe I’d just seen too many episodes of Law & Order.
“Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, I suppose.” I finished sweetening my tea and sipped on it.
“Bullshit. I violated your privacy to do what I thought was best for you.”
Carefully, I put down the china cup. The ritual of tea wasn’t calming me any better than pretend breathing. He’d done it again—made my control vanish. “Ah. You know what’s best for me,” I repeated.
“Rewind, princess. I said ‘thought,’ not ‘knew’.”
He took my hand and turned it over, then traced the lines on my palm. The light touches sent shivers right up my arm. He stared at my hand for so long that I cleared my throat and whispered, “What?”
“Everything in me wants to claim you. Protect you. Take you.” He snared my gaze again. I saw his vulnerability and confusion. He believed in what he was saying, and, my goodness, I believed it, too. My undead heart went ba-da-bump.
“I don’t mistake your sympathy, or your perception of me as a victim, as anything other than kindness. To suggest that we somehow have an emotional connection, mysterious and uncontrollable, is ludicrous.”
Tez let go of my hand, but his gaze roved my face. I had no doubt he was very good at determining the validity of someone’s statements through their facial expressions. I didn’t quite like the idea that he was examining my words with the same microscope used to determine the veracity of a perpetrator’s confession. Especially since some untruth might be clinging to my words. We had a connection—I just wasn’t sure what to do about it. I’d never been so emotionally walloped before.
Tez tensed, and looked over his shoulder.
Knock, knock, knock.
Obviously, Tez’s senses were far more honed than mine. Only after I saw him glance at the door did my hearing pick up the shuffling of feet, the low murmur of voices, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, the irritated sigh of Queen Patricia Marchand.
I rose from the table, and Tez did, too. He reached the door before I did, drawing his gun and peering out the peephole.
“Is queenie a blonde?”
“Yes,” I said crisply. “Please don’t call her that to her face. She’s Queen Patricia.”
“You called her Patsy.”
“Well, she’s my friend, not yours. Open the door.”
He sent me a hard look, but did as I asked. Patsy stood with her fist raised to knock again. Her hand dropped, and blue eyes targeted mine. Within her annoyed gaze lurked worry. I wondered what Tez had told her. Or maybe the concern was related to what she’d wanted to tell me. I wasn’t the only one with information to convey.
“You gonna let us in? I’m fucking freezing.” She swept past me, and behind her came her husband, Gabriel, then Damian. Lorcan and Eva had also made the trip.
Everyone crowded into my foyer. Tez slipped to my side, sheathing his gun in the shoulder holster.
“Well.” I smiled brightly and clutched Tez’s arm. His muscles tensed under my fingertips. “Shall we go sit down?”
I steered him into the formal living room. Everyone else followed. With two couches and four wingbacks, I had plenty of seating for guests.
“Would anyone like something to drink?” I asked.
“Don’t hover, Elizabeth,” said Patsy. Gabriel sat next to her, but I noticed there was some space between them. Usually they were quite affectionate with each other; however, they weren’t even holding hands much less exchanging the usual tender glances. It didn’t take a psychic to sense their emotional distance.
I sat on the couch and Tez joined me, squeezing between me and Damian. I looked at him with eyebrows arched, but he merely smiled and turned his attention to the queen. He pulled the silver box and his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Here’s what the asshole did to her,” he said as he worked the phone’s tiny buttons to bring up the photo of my injured neck. He handed over the cell and then gave Patsy the silver container. “We think it’s related to whatever the hell this is.”
Patsy grimaced as she looked at my photo. I felt on display, even though full disclosure seemed the best recourse. I did not like being thought of as a victim. She tossed the phone to Damian so he could see the dreadful photo, too. Then she studied the box, turning it over in her hands.
“Is there a ghost?” I asked.
Patsy looked around, and shook her head. “Nothing here now,” she said, “and I don’t feel any spirit imprints on the box. Maybe we’re dealing with something demonic.”
I’d feared that might be the case. If Patsy, who was the most powerful ghost whisperer in Broken Heart—if not the entire paran
ormal world—couldn’t sense a spirit, then it wasn’t in the vicinity.
“Demonic or not, this entity was not in my house before Rand delivered the jewelry box. There has to be a connection.”
“And with the skull?” asked Damian.
I nodded. I told the whole story again, from the first attack to finding the grave to meeting Tez in his jaguar form. Tez took the story from there, explaining how he’d chased off the person who’d struck me from behind and helped me get home before the sun rose.
“You did not see the intruder in the woods?”
Tez glanced at Damian. “I don’t know how it is for you, but I don’t process information the same way when I’m in my other form. I may not be able to pick out the bastard in a lineup, but once I catch his scent, he’s toast.” He grimaced. “But the rain washed everything away. Nothing registered.” He tapped the side of his nose.
“I’m sure the storm washed away any tracks he might’ve left.” Damian scowled. “Was it the phantom who tried to strangle Elizabeth?”
Tez sidled a glance at me. “I sank my claws into flesh.”
“Two different people, one human and one not, both after me on the same night?” I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I hate to keep saying it,” said Patsy, “but this feels demonic. We might need to get Phoebe in for a consult.” She looked at me. “What happened during today’s attack?”
“I was holding that infernal box. Tez went upstairs, and I heard this man’s voice yell my name. Then I saw a big black shadow. It pushed me with so much force that I hit the wall. He—it tried to choke me again. I passed out.”
I told them about the vision I experienced—about the death of the woman in the brown dress. I saw Patsy and Eva share a significant look. Eva had chosen to sit in one of the wingbacks and Lorcan was stationed behind her. For some reason I couldn’t discern, woman’s intuition maybe, I deducted they were being rather cool toward each other. I frowned. In all the time I’d lived in Broken Heart, I’d never known my friends to be mad at each other for any length of time. No relationship was perfect—of course, I knew this. Perhaps I was putting too much stock into the coincidence of both couples having tiffs right before visiting me. I think this entire situation with the violent spirit and the murdered woman, and Tez, had me rattled.
Cross Your Heart Page 6