Cursed. Lisa Childs
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turned her head to where he stood with the Copper Creek sheriff near the police cruiser. Even though he talked to the older man, his gaze was fixed on her, his steely blue eyes just as hard and cold as they’d been when he had pressed the gun to her chin.
The sheriff jerked his balding head in a couple of quick nods, as if obeying the younger man’s orders. Tall and broad shouldered, the stranger held himself with a confidence and authority born of power.
Despite the water running down his leather jacket and darkening the denim of his jeans, he seemed oblivious to the rain—focused only on her. As it had from the cards, energy flowed from him and spread through Maria so that her skin tingled with awareness and fear. She had never felt such a connection to another human being.
He had to be the one.
His conversation with the sheriff ended with the lawman hurrying back inside the open doors of the barn. So he approached her alone.
Her heart pounded with the urge to run, but before her feet could move, he was in front of her, his long legs needing only a couple of strides before he stepped close to her. So close that Maria had to tip back her head to hold his gaze as her heart continued to pound out a frantic rhythm.
“Who are you?” she asked.
His hand slipped inside his leather jacket, and she tensed, expecting him to withdraw the gun he’d put there before he’d begun CPR on Raven. But instead he took out a wallet and flashed it open to an FBI badge.
She blinked back the raindrops clinging to her lashes and read his name. Seth Hughes. And he was a special agent. But it didn’t matter that he had an FBI badge; he could still be the one she’d run from in fear all these years. He could be the witch-hunter.
Anyone could be the witch-hunter.
“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he said.
Tracking her down, he’d said earlier. The ominous words turned her colder than the rain that seeped through her clothes to her skin, and she shivered. “Not me.” She shook her head. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“No,” he said with absolute certainty. “You’re Maria Cooper.” He reached for her now, his big hand clasping her wrist as he turned her around.
That flow of energy between them grew more intense, her skin heating beneath his hand. Despite her empathetic gifts, she’d never reacted to anyone’s touch the way she did to his. It had to be a warning...
“I’ll scream,” she threatened him. “Sheriff Moore is just inside the barn. He’ll hear me. You won’t get away with it.”
“You’re the one who won’t get away,” he said as cold metal clamped around her wrists. “Maria Cooper, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”
“Under arrest?” She jerked around to face him. “What are the charges? Assault?” She grimaced over having almost stabbed him. “You never identified yourself. You just pulled that gun on me.”
A muscle twitched along his jaw. “I didn’t have a chance to identify myself. I had to assess the situation.”
“You can’t arrest me for trying to defend myself,” she pointed out.
“I’m not arresting you for trying to kill me.”
“I didn’t...” Until tonight she had never raised a hand, let alone a weapon, to another human being. She was all about healing—not hurting.
Had her potion or her prayer worked on Raven, bringing that gasp of breath to her lungs? Had she done enough for the girl to survive?
Agent Hughes ignored her denial and led her toward the dark SUV parked behind her pickup truck. After opening the back door, he put his hand over her head and guided her onto the seat.
Hating that even her hair tingled from his touch, she pushed against his hand. Then she twisted around on the seat, keeping her legs out so that he couldn’t lock her inside the vehicle. She was afraid to get into a SUV with him, afraid of where he might take her.
Of what he might do to her...
“If not for assault, why are you arresting me?” she asked. “What are the charges?”
“Murder.” That muscle twitched again along his jaw as he stared down at her.
“I didn’t hurt Raven,” she said. But it must not have looked like it when he walked into the barn and found her alone with the unconscious girl. “And she’s going to live.”
She has to...
“Your arrest has nothing to do with her,” Agent Hughes said. “Yet. You’re under arrest for multiple counts of first-degree murder.”
She would have laughed—had he not looked so deadly serious. So instead she shook her head. “I’m not a killer.”
“You’re not just a killer, Maria Cooper—you’re a serial killer. And while Michigan doesn’t have the death penalty, some of the other states where you’ve killed do have it. You won’t be able to hurt anyone else where you’re going.”
She didn’t need any special gifts to know he was talking about sending her straight to hell.
* * *
Seth had promised to call them when he found her. But breaking his promise would probably be a bigger favor to them than keeping it. Maria Cooper was a dangerous woman.
And he had locked himself inside the tiny interrogation room at the local jail—with her. Just the two of them. The table between them was so small that every time he moved, his knees bumped against hers. That contact, however slight, sent blood rushing through his veins, roaring in his ears. What the hell was wrong with him?
Over the years, he had connected with victims...through evidence left behind at the crime scenes. And he’d had those damn vivid dreams ever since he was a kid. But never before had he had such a reaction to a suspect, as if inexplicably drawn to her no matter the atrocities she’d committed.
He pushed back his chair, but it bumped up against the cement-block wall behind him. And she was still so close he could feel her. To slow his pulse, he drew in a deep breath, and her scent filled his lungs—that sweet, smoky mixture of lavender and sandalwood that had his stomach knotting with desire...and apprehension.
He closed his eyes, but then the images from that damn dream—that wasn’t a dream—flashed through his head. Her hair skimming across her slender shoulders. Her naked back, turned toward him, the moonlight playing across her honey skin and that trio of tattoos. She stood and faced him, the gun in her hand. The shot echoed inside his head, and he winced and opened his eyes.
“The caffeine’s giving you a headache,” she murmured, gesturing toward the paper cup of sludge sitting between them.
His stomach roiled at the thought of how long it had been sitting in the bottom of the pot in the sheriff’s office.
“You should drink herbal tea.”
“I need the caffeine.” To stay alert. To keep his wits about him. “You sure you don’t want some? It’s going to be a long night.”
“It already has been,” she remarked with a wince of her own. “You finished reading me my rights.” She gestured at the paper she’d signed acknowledging that he had. “Why haven’t you locked me in a cell yet?”
Because while he’d put her under arrest and read her the Miranda rights, she wasn’t really under arrest. He had a warrant only to bring her in to question as a material witness in all those murders—not for committing the actual murders. Seth really didn’t have enough to arrest her for murder yet, even though she was his prime—his only—suspect. He had enough only to question her involvement. Fortunately, she’d waived her right to legal representation during this interview, so whatever she said he would be able to use against