Night of the Raven. Jenna Ryan
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“What?”
“You heard me. You arrest him and nothing. No repercussions, no threats, no embellishing the whole suddenly sordid affair to your grandmother.”
Okay, he was lost—and beginning to question her sanity. “What suddenly sordid affair?”
She poked him again. “I snuck out of my grandmother’s house once, just once, so my friend and I could spy on her older sister’s date with the local hottie, and wouldn’t you know it, Uncle Lazarus spotted me. He dragged me back to Nana’s and informed me I’d be mucking out his stable for the rest of the summer. Yet here you stand, still employed and without a speck of manure on your hands.” She indicated herself, then him. “I’m a female, you’re a male. It’s not fair.” Huffing out a breath, she sat, yanked the door closed and flopped back in her seat, arms folded. “I should have put two curses on him.”
McVey climbed in beside her. “You put a— What did you do to him?”
She gave her fingers a casual flick. “What any self-respecting Bellam in my position would have done. I put a spell on the midnight snack Nana told me he always ate before going to bed. He had severe stomach cramps for the next three days. Some of my relatives swear they heard him laughing hysterically while the doctor was examining him. Other than cleaning his stables, I didn’t hear or see him again for the rest of the summer. He’d always been a loner, but Nana told me he became even more of a phantom after his...spell of indigestion. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I was fourteen when it happened, and except for a mutual relative’s funeral, our paths haven’t crossed again.”
McVey’s lips quirked as he started the engine. “Note to self. Grudges run in your family.”
She sent him a smoldering look. “Not a problem in your case, seeing as Uncle Lazarus’s grudges don’t appear to extend to men.”
“I was referring to you, Red.” The quirk of his lips became a full-fledged grin. “I’m not overly fond of stomach cramps.”
On the heels of that remark, wind swooped down to batter the side of his truck. McVey heard a loud crack among the trees crowding the house and glanced upward.
“Stomach cramps will be the least of your problems if one of those evergreens destroys Nana’s roof.” As Amara spoke, the porch light went out then stuttered back on. “That’s not good.”
“Tell me something that is.”
Overhead, a fierce gust of wind brought two large branches crashing down into the box of his truck.
“Dodgers probably lost by a landslide.” He handed Amara his cell phone. “Do me a favor and speed-dial Jake. Tell him I’ll need more than fifteen minutes.”
“I can help you pull the branches from the—”
That was as far as she got before three shots rang out behind them.
She started to swing around, but McVey shoved her down and dragged the gun from his waistband. Keeping a hand on her neck, he risked a look, saw nothing and swore softly under his breath.
Amara pried his hand free. “Who is it?” she asked with barely a hint of a tremor.
“No idea. One of my backups is in the glove box. It’s loaded. Use the keys.” He gave the door a kick to open it. “Meanwhile, stay here and stay down. Unless you want to be pushing up daisies next to your Bellam and/or Blume ancestors.”
“McVey, wait.” She grabbed his arm. “I don’t want you taking a bullet for me.”
“Don’t sweat it, Red.” He risked a second look into the woods. “Chances are only fifty-fifty that those shots were fired by someone in Jimmy Sparks’s family.”
* * *
HE DISAPPEARED SO QUICKLY, Amara had no chance to ask what he meant. Or to wonder if she’d heard him correctly.
For a moment she simply stared after him and thought that somewhere along the line she must have fallen down a rabbit hole into a parallel universe where police chiefs looked like hot rock stars and any vestige of reality had long since been stripped away by a raging northeaster. Who was this stranger with the wicked sexy body and dark hypnotic eyes?
“More to the point,” she said to her absent grandmother, “why didn’t you mention him when I called you last night?”
Knowing she needed to think, Amara tucked the question away. Three bullets had just been fired at close range. A glance through the rear window revealed nothing except the moon, a scattering of stars and no flashlight beam. Actually—had McVey even taken a flashlight?
“I need you to step on it, Chief.” Jake Blume’s unexpected shout sent Amara’s heart into her throat and almost caused her to drop the phone she’d speed-dialed without thinking. “You there, McVey?” the deputy yelled again. “Come on, what’s taking you?”
“McVey’s busy.” As she spoke she pulled the key out of the ignition. “My name’s Amara. We’re still at Shirley Bellam’s place.”
“You fooling around with my superior officer out on the edge of the north woods ain’t exactly my idea of help, sweetheart. Now, I don’t give a rat’s ass why you’re in possession of McVey’s phone. I just need you to put him on it.” He waited a beat before adding a reluctant, “Please.”
Amara tried one of the smaller keys in the glove box lock. “What you call fooling around, I call dodging bullets while your superior officer goes all Rambo and takes on an unidentified shooter in the woods. Trust me, his plate has more on it than yours does at the moment.”
“Wanna bet?” The deputy’s tight-lipped response gave way to a resounding punch. “You said Amara, right?” Another punch. “You wouldn’t be that little witch bitch who used to come here in the summer, would you? Because if you are, you scared the bejesus out of my kid brother by telling him you could talk to ravens.”
“Does it matter if I’m her?”
“Makes us cousins is all.”
Since he practically spit the words out, Amara assumed the idea didn’t sit well with him.
Behind her, three more shots rang out. She shoved another key into the lock—and breathed out in relief when the compartment popped open to reveal a 9 mm automatic. “Thank God.”
“Depends on your point of view,” Jake muttered. “As I recall, your last name’s Bellam.”
Irritated, she regarded the phone. “Did I mention someone’s firing a rifle out here? I’ve counted six shots so far.”
“Rifle shot, huh? Could be Owen thinking the sky’s fixing to fall on his cabin. Old Owen ain’t been right for years.”
Parallel world, Amara reminded herself. “Will ‘Old Owen’ know the difference between McVey and a piece of falling sky?”
“I said it could be Owen,” Jake countered. “It could just as easily be one of your backwoods cousins looking to shoot himself something feathered for the upcoming street barbecue.”
Now she frowned at the phone. “You people are deranged.”
She heard a grunt and a punch. “This from a raven whisperer?”
“I can’t talk to—” She spun in place as three more shots sounded. “The whole world’s deranged. Later, Deputy.”
Tossing the phone aside, she firmed up her grip on McVey’s gun and slid cautiously from the truck.
The wind blew in wild circles and made pinpointing the shooter’s location next to impossible.
Amara searched the dark woods. Would Jimmy Sparks abandon all discretion this way? She didn’t think so, but then, what did she know about the man’s psyche? Maybe he’d sent a hothead after her.
Heart pounding,