Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4

by Heather Graham

  Someone was out there in the night.

  Stalking her.

  It could be the breeze, she told herself. The rustle of crisp leaves as the wind moved through ancient and gnarled trees.

  It could be her mind, betraying her.

  Then she heard someone twisting the back door knob and caught her breath.

  It was real.

  Her fingers curled tightly around her pepper spray. She didn’t know whether to freeze or run back and look, but at least her pepper spray was aimed and ready.

  There were two locks, she reminded herself: the lock on the knob and a dead bolt above. No one was getting in that way.

  But there was a small glass-paned window in the rear door, too. If the intruder smashed it in, then reached through for the knob and the dead bolt...

  “Devin, you there? Devin?”

  She jumped at the sound of Rocky’s voice on her phone. “Yes,” she whispered. “He’s at the back door.”

  “It’s locked, right?”

  “Yes. But...”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t hear anything. I think he moved,” she said.

  She was shaking, she realized, but then something snapped inside her and she realized she was angry even more than she was afraid. She moved quickly across the room, phone in one hand, pepper spray in the other. She wasn’t going to crouch like a cornered rabbit by the wall. If someone came in, she was going to get them first.

  Light suddenly flared out front, quickly growing until it sent an amber glow through the drapes and into the parlor.

  “He’s out front and something...something’s happening,” she whispered.

  “I’m on your street. Stay where you are.”

  Devin hugged the wall, silent, watching the mysterious glow.

  And then she smelled the smoke.

  “Fire,” she said. “He’s trying to burn me out.”

  * * *

  Rocky jerked his car onto Devin’s lawn, shocked to see that the lawn on the left side of the house was ablaze.

  He slammed the car into Park and jumped out, pulling his gun. Racing to the front door, he shouted her name. He could feel the heat of the fire ripping through the slight chill of the night, but despite his fear for Devin he realized that it hadn’t been set where it would ignite the house.

  The front door flew open. Devin was there, a fierce light in her eyes along with the fear, her dark hair spilling over the long white T-shirt she wore. Unharmed and well, pepper spray clutched tightly in her fingers.

  Not a typical damsel in distress, he thought wryly. She might welcome help, but she was also ready to fight to her dying breath. “It’s all right,” he told her, reaching her and lowering her hand. “It’s me.”

  “The yard’s on fire.”

  “Yes,” he said. He had his phone out as he scanned the yard and dialed 9-1-1—and then Jack Grail.

  “A fire?” Jack demanded. “Someone set a fire in her yard?”

  “Yes, it seems to be in a circular pattern,” Rocky said, then turned to Devin.

  “Get back inside and lock the door,” he told her.

  “Like hell! Everyone knows not to split up,” she said.

  “Devin—get in and lock the door. No one’s in there, and you’ll be safer inside.”

  And there wasn’t going to be anyone in back, either. Whoever had been here had escaped into the woods and was probably long gone by now.

  They’d come to torment Devin, not to hurt her.

  But why?

  Even though he knew he wouldn’t find anyone, he wasn’t about to take chances with Devin’s safety. He moved carefully around the house, circling toward the back.

  As he suspected, he didn’t find anyone. And though he scanned for footprints, he didn’t find any of those, either, because the ground was too hard.

  By the time he circled back to the front door, he could hear the sirens of the fire truck and police cars that were on the way.

  The fire had already died down, though, which meant that with the moonlight, he could see the pattern burned into the lawn.

  It was a pentagram—a pentacle, actually. A five-pointed star surrounded by a circle.

  He headed back to the front door, where she’d been watching for him, and she opened it as he reached it.

  “Gone?” she asked.

  “Yes, we’ll get men searching the woods, but...yeah, long gone. I’m betting he took off the minute he lit the fire.”

  A fire engine arrived then. Men started working on what remained of the blaze, and the chief approached Devin and Rocky.

  “Chief Lindy,” he said. “Anyone hurt?”

  “No, we’re fine,” Rocky said.

  “What happened?” the chief asked.

  Rocky presented his ID and told Lindy, “Someone was walking around her house—apparently trying to break in. But I believe his real intent was to set that fire.”

  Devin looked at him, then to the place where the firemen had already put out the blaze.

  Chief Lindy followed her gaze. “Looks like he used an accelerant to draw a pattern. We’ll get our experts on it,” he said grimly.

  “Thank you,” Rocky told him.

  Police cars were already pulling onto the grass. Several officers got out, but Jack was the first one to reach them. He looked haggard.

  “You all right?” he asked. Frowning, he, too, studied the burned pattern on the lawn. He turned to Rocky. “So...someone came here to burn a pentagram into Devin’s lawn?”

  “Looks that way,” Rocky said.

  “Why?” Devin murmured.

  “I don’t know,” Rocky said. “Jack, can you get your men searching the woods for anything they can find? And maybe try to get some prints off her back door—that’s where he was trying to get in, right?” he asked Devin.

  She nodded.

  “Of course,” Jack said.

  While Jack gave his men directions, Rocky put a call through to the Krewe. Sam answered on the first ring; he sounded damned sharp for someone who, like Rocky himself, had been up all night.

  “We’ll be right there,” Sam promised.

  Jack returned, and he, Rocky and Devin went inside to talk.

  Her raven cawed in protest and instantly flew over to settle on her shoulder. She apologized to Jack, who told her not to worry—he liked birds.

  Devin “wore” the bird well, Rocky thought. Her hair was as shimmering and dark as Poe’s blue-black feathers.

  “I have coffee on,” she said.

  They headed to the kitchen. Neither of them asked her anything; she simply began calmly relating what had happened in chronological order.

  “I wasn’t sleeping well,” she said, almost apologetically. “I decided to get up and try to work. And then...well, honestly, first Poe started acting strangely. And I realized I was hearing something move outside the house. But it’s an old house and old houses creak. So do the trees, and there are a couple of old oaks growing very close to the house, so I thought maybe it was just the branches scraping against the walls. But then I distinctly heard someone trying the back door,” she said.

  “What did you do?” Jack asked.

  “I grabbed my pepper spray and called Rocky,” she said. “And as we were talking, I saw the glow of the fire behind the drapes and started smelling smoke.”

  “You got here quickly,” Jack told Rocky.

  “I was on my way, anyway,” Rocky said.

  “Why?” Jack asked him, then looked at Devin. “Have you been getting threats?”

  “No, no, not at all,” she told him.

  “Are you Wiccan?” he asked her.

  “No,” she said.

  “And we haven’t released the detail about the
pentagrams on the bodies,” Rocky said.

  “Yeah, but stuff leaks. Cops talk,” Jack said, shaking his head. “You know, you tell your wife, she tells her sister...no matter how hard we try, information gets out there.” He looked at Devin again. “Do you think this was an actual threat or just a warning to get out?”

  Devin shook her head. “Jack, I swear, I have no idea.”

  “I don’t think you’re safe here,” he said.

  “Where can I go?” she asked. “Besides, you don’t know any more than I do whether this guy wanted to hurt me or just scare me. At least you know Brent Corbin wasn’t the one trying to break into my house tonight.”

  “True, and also true—though not likely—that this might just be some kid getting up to mischief and not connected to the murders at all,” Jack said. He cleared his throat. “Your great-aunt was Wiccan, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack looked at Rocky. “The Witch in the Woods,” he said softly.

  “What?” Devin demanded.

  Jack said, “I’m sorry, Devin. I know she was a really nice woman. When we were kids, though...she was the Witch in the Woods. A lot of our moms came to see her.”

  Devin’s jaw tightened. “She read palms, tea leaves and the tarot,” she said. “Mostly she read people. She didn’t tell them their fortunes—she made them think about their situations and what they could do to change them.”

  “I understand that,” Jack said. “Once we grew up, most of us got that. I’m just telling you what we thought as kids. And now here you are, living in her house and writing stories about witches. Maybe someone thinks you’re Wiccan, too, and that somehow your return caused Melissa’s killer to start up again.”

  Or even that you’re the murderer, Devin.

  Jack didn’t say the words out loud. They were there nonetheless.

  Rocky felt his muscles tighten. “Jack—”

  “Hell, Rocky,” Jack cut in. “Don’t go getting mad at me. I’m just throwing out theories.”

  Rocky knew that; he might have come up with the same theory himself.

  “Let’s just get to the real point,” Devin said accusingly. “You think I could be the murderer, don’t you?”

  “Just calm down,” Jack said. “I know you’re not, it’s just that right now none of us have any real idea what tonight’s events mean.”

  “I just—I just can’t understand why anyone would come after me,” she said.

  “Give it some time, and then, if you think of anything that might help us...” Jack said.

  She smiled dryly. “I know the drill. I’ll call you. And I’ll think,” she promised.

  Jack let out a sigh. “All right. I’m going to go home and get a few hours of sleep. But if anything comes up, call me.”

  “I think we should try to get some sleep, too,” Rocky said.

  “Sleep?” Devin asked skeptically.

  Rocky smiled. “You’re coming with me.”

  “To sleep?” she asked.

  Jack coughed, grinned and turned away.

  “I’m getting you a room at the hotel,” Rocky said.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke before she could.

  “Please, I’m begging you,” he said, knowing his exhaustion was clear in his voice. “I’ve been up all night talking to your friend Brent, so no protests, okay? At least for today, you can’t stay here alone. Not after what just happened.”

  She let out a sigh. “What about Poe?”

  “He’s a bird,” Rocky reminded her.

  “Yes, but I can’t just leave him.”

  “He’ll be all right for now. We’ll come back and get him later if it looks like you’re going to be away for long,” he promised. “Hey, Poe and I—we’re close, you know. I’ll make sure he’s not neglected, I promise you.”

  It was as if Poe understood. He let out a caw and flew to his cage.

  He was ready to do his part in solving the crimes, even if that meant staying there alone—and standing sentinel over the cottage in the woods.

  CHAPTER 13

  Rocky thought that he was dreaming when he first heard the knock on his door. It felt as if he had barely fallen asleep, and he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  It was still early in the morning, but at least it was daylight. By the time Devin had gathered a few things and they’d gotten to the hotel, Angela had already seen to it that Devin had a room on their floor—one between the suite the Krewe had taken and Rocky’s own. They meant to keep her close.

  They’d all been exhausted. When his head had finally hit the pillow, it was past six. Many guests were already waking up to begin their days.

  He knew he’d left the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, so it couldn’t be a maid.

  And if it were an emergency, his phone would have rung.

  He jumped up, grabbed his Glock and walked to the door in his briefs. Looking through the keyhole, he saw that it was Devin.

  He threw open the door.

  She stepped back in surprise, and he realized she wouldn’t have been expecting him to open the door with a gun in his hand.

  “Are you all right? Did something happen?” he asked her quickly.

  “No. Nothing happened. I’m fine. And I’m sorry.” She indicated the Glock. “I guess that actually is a gun and you’re not so happy to see me.”

  He leaned out through the doorway, frowning, and scanned the hallway in both directions.

  “What is it, then?” he asked.

  “May I come in?”

  He opened the door and let her in. Backing away, he wished he’d taken a moment to grab one of the hotel robes, even though she herself was wearing nothing but a theme-park nightshirt.

  He was definitely glad to see her.

  “Hang on,” he said quickly. He slid his gun back into the small holster by the bed and pulled on the hotel robe.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, belting the robe. “You can’t be here just to say good morning.”

  She lowered her eyes for a long moment. “Wow, you’re making this kind of difficult.”

  “I’m making things difficult?” he asked.

  Difficult? He couldn’t even seem to belt the damned robe.

  Her eyes met his. “Yes. I guess I was having a fantasy thing going on in my head,” she said huskily. “I knock on your door. You open it. I step closer to you, and...and you whisk me into your arms. I thought you’d felt the same way at my place, except Auntie Mina always seems to appear at the most inappropriate times. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I just wanted—”

  She didn’t get any further, because he stopped attempting to belt the robe and pulled her into his arms.

  “Is this what you had in mind?” he whispered.

  Talk about a fantasy...

  “Yes...this,” she said.

  He let his hands fall to the hem of her cotton nightshirt and slowly drew it over her head. Then he shrugged off the robe; no sense hiding anything now.

  Her fingers slid along the waistband of his briefs, hovering lightly in front, a smile curving her lips.

  “The gun is gone—and I am happy to see you,” he said. Then he slipped easily out of the briefs and drew her to him again.

  “In fact, you’ll never know how happy,” he said huskily, tightening his arms around her, feeling the length of her against him, breathing in the perfume that was all her.

  For a brief moment he just held her in his arms, felt the silk of her skin, and thought that, yes, there were moments when he had to believe a greater power was smiling down on them. He remembered seeing her on the road when she’d flagged him down, how she had appeared almost mythical, black hair streaming in the breeze, shimmering in sleek darkness. He remembered her eyes, so blue, as
if they contained all the colors of the sea and the sky. He had been almost mesmerized when he had first seen her.

  But then, of course, reality had intruded in the form of a body in the woods.

  But now there was a different reality. And he thought they both deserved the luxury of enjoying this moment in all its beauty.

  She was real, not some mythical apparition, and her hair was dark and rich and like velvet where it touched his naked flesh. Her eyes were a more magnificent blue, and the way she moved against him was raw and carnal, but still as elegant as a whisper of silk. The mere touch of her fingers as she stroked his face was arousing; the pressure of her lips against his shoulder awoke a storm of fire that shot through him, flesh and blood and bone.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting her head so that she was looking up at him again, and he smiled slowly.

  “I think this is witchcraft,” he told her.

  “What?”

  “Magic,” he said, and kissed her, feeling her lips part beneath his and sensing her hunger in the way her mouth moved, welcoming his.

  The kiss grew fevered, then he broke it off, gasping for air, and slid his hands down her back, along her arms, to her spine again, pressing her closer and closer to him. He needed to taste her flesh, and he let his lips and tongue taste her throat, her breasts. He felt the catch in her breath, felt the way she seemed to melt against him, and then he gasped at the way she touched him in return, every touch of her fingertips...lips...tongue more erotic than the last.

  He wasn’t sure how they reached the bed, but somehow they were there, and he lifted her, kissing her all the while and reveling in her answering hunger, her passion.

  In the delirium he somehow made himself pause; he hadn’t come prepared. She understood his hesitation and smiled, and whispered softly that she was on birth control.

  Then they were together again, on his bed, naked and entwined, touching each other, seeking each other’s most sensuous secrets. Their bodies twisted and turned; they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Urgency filled him, the need to touch her, to give to her, to be certain that she felt the same blaze that seemed to rule his every movement. His mouth teased down her abdomen to her inner thighs. She was liquid beneath him, arching, writhing, whispering, though he couldn’t make out the words. When he rose and straddled her at last, she wound her legs around him, and he thrust into her slowly, reveling in the way her tight flesh gloved his sex and in the look in her eyes as he leaned low against her, caught her lips in a kiss and began to move.