American Witch, Book 1

by Thea Harrison

  Maybe he hadn’t liked the man he had seen when he had taken a good, hard look at himself. He had turned single-minded like a shark intent on the most important meal of its life. So what? Who fucking cared?

  When he and his coven finally destroyed their quarry, they would be doing the world a goddamn service. Then he could go sleep on a beach in the Maldives for a year and decide if he cared about living the rest of his life.

  But he wasn’t finished yet. Taking an exit ramp at this late stage in their hunt Was. Not. An. Option.

  He couldn’t even be done for one goddamn evening. Halfway back to the apartment, he punched Steven’s number. When Steven replied, he told him about the package of documents he needed for Molly’s new identity.

  “Send me photos for a new passport and driver’s license,” Steven said. “Digital is fine. I can print them up here, and I’ll FedEx everything to you in forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll take photos tomorrow after work. I also need Maria and Henry to deliver a reliable car to the safe house. I don’t want Molly to see their faces. They can park it at the end of the lane and leave the title work in the glove compartment. Have them text me after they make the drop-off.”

  “Got it,” Steven said. “I’ll let them know. What else?”

  “That’s it.” He would have to do the rest himself. Sometime in the next two days, he needed to stop at a bank to make a withdrawal.

  They talked a few minutes more, then he ended the call. By that point he’d arrived back at the apartment where he spent the rest of his evening organizing the case files he had brought home and preparing for the staff meeting.

  When he finally finished, it was midnight and he was facing another short night of sleep. He took a half hour, as he always did, to review everything that had happened and what he thought might come.

  By Monday night, Tuesday at the latest, the police would figure out Molly was missing. By then they should have also made connections between Molly and Nina Rodriguez.

  That week there should be two arson reports to review. The autopsies on Austin and Nina might be done by Wednesday. He was not convinced the verdict in the autopsies would matter to anybody except Molly. For her sake, he hoped the coroner could confirm she hadn’t caused Austin’s death.

  Then there were those who would be searching for Molly in order to silence her. Molly had felt certain Russell had dictated Austin’s actions, and Maria had seen a link between the Seychelles file and their quarry. So it was logical to see a potential connection between Russell Sherman, the Seychelles file, and their quarry as well.

  Sherman had wanted so badly to make friends and begin exerting influence over Josiah on the night of Hell Party. Now Josiah was inclined to let Sherman catch his prey.

  The next morning he rose at five. After meditating and an intense tai chi session that had sweat pouring down the hollow of his back, he showered and ate, and checked and replied to coven email.

  Then, even though scanning the city for sparks of magic was one of Anson’s duties, he did his own search as well. Every day he looked for threats or anomalies. Molly was such a statistical outlier, he didn’t expect to find any disturbance of her caliber again.

  No, if his quarry made a slip, it would be something subtle and possibly hard to define, so he quietened his mind and listened carefully. Beyond the robust roar of the city waking to a new workweek, he felt nothing. A very minor magic spark here and there, but that was all.

  In fact, that was the most remarkable thing about Atlanta—the lack of a major magical presences. Looking out his window at the sunlit city, Josiah smiled. He didn’t buy that kind of innocence for anything.

  He pictured the face his quarry had worn over a hundred years ago, in a different place and a different life. But faces could be changed with plastic surgery. Josiah had altered his features, and so had Maria.

  You’re here, he thought. You’re either in the city itself, or you’re living somewhere nearby. And you’ve killed off any other major Powers that might have been here, or you’ve imprisoned them and are draining them to extend your own life, just like you did to me.

  Maybe you’re a sycophant, or maybe you’re the governor. You might be a prison warden. That could have its uses. Maybe you’re masquerading as a senator. You would like the taste of political power in Washington.

  But no matter what you look like or what you call yourself now, I’m going to find you and finish what should have been done a long time ago.

  I’ll finally kill Grigori Rasputin.

  Chapter Twelve

  Monday was a bitch. Two cases left over from the previous DA came to a head while information came in about the weekend murders faster than he had anticipated.

  Josiah navigated carefully through all of it. With staff members, he maintained a calm, laid-back facade. He asked to be copied on every report relating to the weekend activity and directed several interview requests from the press to one of the senior assistant DAs.

  But when a phone call came in from Sherman & Associates, he chose to take that personally.

  Russell’s deep voice boomed over the connection. “Josiah, good of you to take my call.”

  “Russell.” He shut his office door. “What can I do for you?”

  “I hate to bother you on a Monday, but I’ve just had some detectives here asking a lot of questions about Austin and his wife. They wanted to go through his things, but of course I had to turn them down. Like every other lawyer, Austin has privileged information in his office.” When Russell chuckled, he sounded like how Josiah imagined a toad would when it cackled. “They’ll have to come back with a warrant, I’m afraid. But I wanted to let you know, man to man, it’s nothing personal. We want to cooperate with whatever they’re investigating. We just have to follow the rules.”

  Josiah swung his chair around to look out his window. Like any lawyer with magical aptitude, he had developed a highly refined truthsense. He was interested to note that Russell had told only one lie so far.

  Russell had no intention of cooperating with any investigation. That meant he was calling to pump Josiah for information.

  “None taken, Russell,” he replied easily. “I’m sure the detectives will return shortly with the right paperwork.”

  “Do you know what’s going on? Or perhaps you know but you can’t say?”

  There it was: the ask.

  “You know I can’t speak about ongoing investigations…” He let his voice trail away reluctantly. “But I’m surprised the detectives didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what? Austin’s not answering his phone, and he hasn’t shown up for work today.” Russell paused, then chuckled again. “So I tried calling his wife, but I’m not sure she’s on speaking terms with me after that party. Austin’s been miserable over the past few weeks. Between me and thee, I think she might have left him for good.”

  None of that was a lie either. Josiah picked up his pen and twirled it between his fingers as he injected a note of concern into his voice. “I shouldn’t say anything, but some reports have crossed my desk this morning. Brace yourself. It’s bad.”

  “For God’s sake, man. I know it’s just after lunch, but should I be drinking a scotch?”

  Josiah replied gently, “This is not the kind of conversation to have over the phone. Let the detectives do their work. After they come back with a warrant and make everything official, maybe you and I can meet for lunch.”

  “All right.” Cautious pleasure entered the other man’s voice. “Let me treat you to the best steak you’ll find in the state. How about lunch on Friday? I’ll email you the details.”

  “You bet.” As he hung up, he was sure about one thing—the detectives might not have told him yet, but Russell already knew Austin was dead. What the man really wanted to ascertain was what the DA’s office knew.

  And he wanted to find out what happened to Molly.

  Josiah was ready to leave the office hours before he finally did at six thirty. By th
en the urge to drive out of the city beat like a drum underneath his skin. He needed to see for himself that Molly was okay.

  It was a warm, late-spring evening. He mentally swept his car for devices. He didn’t find any, but things had ratcheted up to a new level of tension, so he implemented the next stage of precautions and drove his car to a local YMCA, where he parked and kept a sharp eye on his surroundings as he strode to a Camry parked down a neighborhood street.

  Within minutes, he sped down the highway in the new vehicle. After stopping at the country store for more supplies, it was close to eight o’clock by the time he pulled up to the safe house.

  He parked behind the house, then gathered the shopping bags and strode to the back door, picking up speed as he grew closer.

  Part of him had waited all day for this moment. Before he could fit the key into the lock, the back door opened and Molly stood on the landing. She smiled warily. “I got worried when I saw the strange car.”

  He was unprepared for the spike of fierce gladness that drove through him at the sight of her. As he stepped inside, it brought them close together on the small landing. He looked at the empty coffee carafe she gripped in one hand. “Were you going to try to brain me with that? It’s not much of a weapon.”

  “There aren’t many options lying around. I grabbed what was available.”

  He kept weapons in the locked safe, but she didn’t need to know that. He looked her over. She had washed her clothes and wore her jeans and shoes from Saturday along with another of his T-shirts.

  Her blond hair was sleek and clean, and the dark circles that had hollowed out her eyes looked lighter. She still needed a couple of weeks of rest and good nutrition, but she looked worlds better than she had yesterday.

  She stood close enough that he could feel her body heat. He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “Are you wearing makeup?”

  “As it so happens, yes, I am.” Frowning, she leaned backward and pivoted in one neat, fluid movement, heading down the stairs to the basement. “I wanted to see if I could make the last of the bruises disappear.”

  “Good. I need to take some photos.”

  “Why?” She put the carafe back in the coffee maker and stepped out of the way as he approached the fridge.

  He knelt to put away the new food—two Cobb salads, garlic and butter dinner rolls, containers of yogurt, more sandwiches, and a bottle of wine along with an opener. As he straightened, he noticed a few wrappers from the chocolate bars in the small wastebin nearby and smiled to himself. “For your new passport and driver’s license. Do you have a preference for your new name?”

  “Let me think about it.” She regarded the wine bottle with obvious yearning. “From the country store?”

  “Yes.” He regarded the bottle too and said drily, “They didn’t have the best selection.”

  “I don’t care.” She sighed.

  “Let’s get business out of the way first. Afterward, we can open the wine and eat some supper.” He frowned at how the neck of his T-shirt gaped on her and then looked down at himself. He still wore his work clothes, a dark suit with a blue dress shirt. “But first I think we should change shirts. What I’m wearing will still be too big for you, but I think we can arrange the collar so it doesn’t show.”

  She hesitated. “Okay.”

  He stripped off his jacket and shirt. The cool air licked his bare chest and arms as he held them out. Looking steadily into his gaze, her fingers brushed against his as she took the clothes.

  Something electric and raw hovered between them.

  He almost moved forward, almost reached to pull her into his arms, but then she spun to walk rapidly into the bedroom and slam the door.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. His body felt like it had caught fire.

  She’s a new widow. You need to stay on track.

  This can’t happen.

  A few minutes later she walked out again, wearing his shirt and dark jacket, and waited expressionlessly while he stared at her.

  His suits and shirts were tailored to his frame, but she had rolled up the sleeves and her long, leggy body carried the look far better than he had anticipated. He was unprepared for how the sight of her in his clothes would hit. The electric, raw tension vibrated higher.

  Finally she asked, “Well? Will it do?”

  Blindly, he turned toward the stairs. “Like I said, I think I can make it work. We should use the blank wall in the living room as a backdrop.”

  She followed him. He listened to the soft friction of cloth, the sounds of her footsteps, light and graceful.

  You can’t act on this. You can’t.

  In the living room, the automatic timers on the lights had clicked on. She walked over to stand at the wall while he jerked out his phone and angled the camera for a headshot. Zoomed in. Watched the screen rigidly as she licked her bottom lip. Her gaze was shadowed with thoughts he could only guess at.

  He had already taken a few shots before he noticed that the shirt collar had gaped enough to show the tip of her lacy bra. “Hold on,” he said tersely.

  She held still as he strode forward to adjust the collar. The back of his knuckles brushed the tender skin at her neck. The sensation of touching her shot straight to his groin. They both sucked in a breath.

  “Take the damn picture.” Her voice sounded low and strained.

  He strode away, adjusted his camera again. This time when he looked at the screen, he saw the tension in her expression, the taut way she held herself.

  Whatever else she thought of him, she felt this too. This inappropriate, all-consuming thing. How much more excruciating could it get?

  “Try not to look like a felon,” he advised.

  Surprised laughter brightened her expression, and there it was, a sparkling glimpse of just how beautiful she would be when she found happiness. As he stared, his thumb pressed down. He clicked several shots.

  Her laughter faded. “Did we get it?”

  He came back to himself and scrolled back through the photos. “Yes. These will do.”

  Tension returned to her features. “Good.” She left the room.

  He glanced out the window. Darkness had fallen some time ago. There was nothing like a dark night in the country. It felt like the house was surrounded in velvet.

  They had barely touched, and it had still left him struggling for self-control.

  I can’t stay, he thought. Having made that decision, he went downstairs. She had shut herself in the bedroom again. A moment later she reappeared, wearing his T-shirt and carrying his suit and dress shirt.

  She held out the clothes. This time he carefully avoided any contact with her fingers.

  Their eyes met.

  He lunged forward the same moment she stepped toward him, and they didn’t kiss so much as collide together. He hauled her against his chest while she wrapped both arms around his neck, mouth slanting under his.

  Her lips parted. With a deep sense of relief and excitement, he delved into her. Her mouth was soft, wet silk. The curved heat of her body shifting against his bare skin made hunger spike uncontrollably.

  He couldn’t get enough and ate at her while cupping one of her breasts. The soft mound filled his palm, and he stroked her nipple through the barrier of her bra and the T-shirt, making her gasp. As he fondled her, she ran her hands down his chest, igniting him everywhere. The hardest erection he could remember having strained against the zipper of his dress slacks.

  This was insanity. A recipe for disaster.

  He was damned if he was going to stop it now.

  * * *

  That day Molly had slept late, eaten chocolate for breakfast, and read some of the thriller. Then she slept some more. Even though most of the day had gone by in a blur, she was glad when Josiah arrived and even more glad when he pulled a bottle of wine out of his shopping bag.

  Oh, yes please, wine. The fact that he’d bought it showed he was starting to think about things other than what was useful or what furthered his ob
jectives. If she had learned one thing over the past twenty years, she knew life should be about so much more than meeting one’s ambitions. Or, in his case, being driven by revenge.

  Then he took off half his clothes. When he shrugged out of his suit jacket, she saw where he was going and had a moment to brace herself. But then the material of his shirt fell open as he unbuttoned it, and everything inside ground to a halt.

  He had whipcord strength bound with heavy muscles on a big frame. His shoulders and arms flexed along with the accordion shadows of lean ribs as he stripped off his shirt. He was deeply tanned everywhere, not just his face and neck, and his broad chest and flat stomach were sprinkled with dark hair that glinted in the basement light.

  Her throat went dry. God, she wanted him. He glanced at her, eyes glittering, the bones of his face tight. He looked at her like she was his only meal for miles around, and she wanted to say come and get it.

  She thought running away to change in the bedroom would help, but then she slipped into the clothes that were still warm from his body. Immediately, she was enveloped in his scent, and it made things worse. Made it unbearable. Needing him became a scratch under her skin that she couldn’t reach.

  Watching him watch her, take photos of her while he wore nothing but the dark slacks of his suit. Could he see through the lens of his phone how she fought to hide her erratic breathing?

  She ran away the first chance she got, tore off his clothes only to put on his T-shirt again, and tried to give the shirt and jacket back. All the while the need for him was running fast and liquid in the back of her mind like frenetic music she couldn’t silence.

  Until she stopped trying and a force greater than she was drove her forward.

  Coming into full contact with his body caused an explosion of sensation—the taste of his mouth, his hard muscles sliding against hers, his heat, his scent, my God, those big hands roaming over her with such shaking greed.

  Tearing her mouth away, she rubbed her face against the crisp hair of his chest and gasped, “I’m still leaving.”