In the Air Tonight Read online

  “She can’t stay here,” the kid continued. “I was going to have Mrs. Noita take her. But now…”

  “Can’t you leave her upstairs where she’s comfortable?”

  “She sneaks down here whenever she can. Scares the crap out of me sometimes.”

  “It’s a cat,” Bobby said.

  “Sure it is,” Todd muttered.

  “What about Natasha?”

  “No pets at her place.”

  “Give her this place.”

  “It isn’t mine to give.”

  “I can’t.” I tried to put Samhain on the counter. She clung to me like a baby monkey—with claws.

  “I don’t think you’re going to be able to get rid of her,” Bobby said.

  “I have a job. What will she do all day?”

  “Same thing she did here. Sleep on the back of the couch, maybe on your pillow.” Todd’s lip curled, and he sneezed just thinking about it. “You find the athame?”

  “No,” Bobby said. “Did Anne carry it with her?”

  “I doubt it. Like I said, an athame wasn’t her ritual instrument.”

  “Do you have security cameras?” Bobby asked.

  Todd’s eyes widened. “You think someone stole it?”

  “Yeah,” Bobby said, and we exchanged glances.

  We had a pretty good idea who’d stolen it too—the tall brown-haired woman who’d murdered my pillow and mattress. But we’d never seen her. A video would be very helpful.

  “Sorry, dude. No need for cameras. The people who come here are peaceful. Harm none.”

  “Yet you sell knives.”

  “Athames.”

  “Which are sharp enough to kill.”

  The thought seemed to upset Todd so much he went into another sneezing fit.

  Bobby lifted his chin in my direction. “Maybe you should…”

  I went upstairs to gather cat things—food, bowls, litter box, toys. I had to set Samhain down to do it, but in the apartment she let me.

  I came down the stairs, hands full; the cat hovered at my heels as if she were herding me. I reached the last two steps, and Bobby spoke.

  “Did the couple with the triplets have a name?”

  I paused. Samhain bumped her head against my ankles. I couldn’t move. My ears strained; what was coming next was important.

  “Taggart,” Todd said.

  Or not. Never heard that name in my life.

  I lifted my foot, planning to take the final steps and rejoin them.

  “Henry and Prudence Taggart.”

  My heel caught. I pitched forward, everything in my hands flew upward, and I fell downward. It was only two steps. I shouldn’t bruise too badly. Then Samhain appeared right in my path. I was going to fall on her if I didn’t—

  She flew across the floor as if the wood had been greased like a bowling alley. Her claws scrambled for purchase. There wasn’t any. She clumped against the counter at the same time all of her necessities rained around me.

  *

  The return to New Bergin was uneventful. They’d had enough eventful already.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Bobby asked.

  “As okay as I was the last three times you asked.”

  “Bruises and strains don’t hurt right away.”

  “I caught my foot. Scared the cat, dropped the stuff. Not a mark on me. I swear.”

  But there was something wrong. Bobby could feel it. Or maybe it was just the cat, which had decided her favorite place in the world was lying across the back of his seat.

  If he got too close, she batted at his head. Claws sheathed, lucky him, it was still distracting. Raye had tried to get the animal to rest in her lap, on the seat, the floor, the dash. Samhain preferred staring at the back of Bobby’s neck.

  “I should buy a carrier,” Raye said, and Samhain growled. “You can’t just sit wherever you want.”

  “Are you talking to the cat?”

  “Someone has to.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. Samhain stared out the back window. “She isn’t listening.”

  “Oh, she’s listening. She’s just pretending not to.”

  “You’re not going to become one of those cat ladies, are you?”

  “Spinster schoolteacher with a cat? I think I already am.”

  “Twenty-seven does not make you a spinster, and one cat doesn’t qualify you for cat lady. Relax.”

  She was so tense her fingers were white from being wrung in her lap, and he could almost feel her vibrating. No wonder the cat wouldn’t sit by her.

  “You should eat,” he said.

  They’d skipped State Street Brats, not wanting to leave Samhain in the car alone. But that meant neither one of them had imbibed anything but coffee. If Bobby hadn’t been doing just that for most of his adult life he’d be jittery. Raye had to be.

  “Not hungry,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  The question came out too loud and too sharp as evidenced by Raye’s widened eyes and Samhain’s smack on the back of his head.

  “I just…” She glanced out the window. “Have so much to do before tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “We call it Monday. First day of the workweek.”

  “You’re not going to work.”

  “Am too.”

  “Someone’s trying to kill you.”

  “Thanks to a world full of crazies, the school has more security than Area Fifty-one.”

  He cast her a glance. “Area Fifty-one?”

  “All I’m saying is that I’m safer at school than at home.”

  “I’m with you at home.”

  “Twenty-four/seven?”

  “Don’t you want me to be?”

  She hesitated, and he experienced a moment of uncertainty. He shouldn’t have touched her, but all he wanted was to touch her again. However, if she didn’t want him to— “If you’d rather I stay somewhere else, I can talk to Johnson and—”

  “I don’t want you to go.” She set her hand on his leg, her fingers stroked, but absently, a movement meant to soothe not arouse. “It’s just … you will go.”

  He would. He had a job, a life, a history in New Orleans. “Maybe you could come with me.”

  Her hand froze. “I don’t think so.”

  He was more disappointed by her words than he’d thought he could be. “You might like it in New Orleans. You won’t know until you try.”

  “It isn’t the place for me. I’m sorry. And the more we…” She shrugged. “The harder it’ll be when you leave.”

  It was pretty hard right now. Just her hand on his knee and he was having a difficult time focusing on the road.

  The cat batted him in the head—twice. There was something about that cat.

  “We don’t have to,” he began.

  “I know. But…” She let out a breath. “Even though we shouldn’t, don’t you want to?”

  “Raye, if you take your gaze off the…” He frowned at the fields, which appeared recently planted. What could they plant in the fall? Did he care? “Look at me, and you’ll see how foolish that question is.”

  She turned her head. He lowered his eyes, indicating her hand, which had crept upward as she stroked. Her fingertips were centimeters away from his erection.

  She stilled; he could swear his penis stretched ever nearer. Seconds later her thumb brushed the tip and he cursed, his palms clenching the wheel.

  “Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t sound sorry, and she didn’t move her hand.

  The next hour was one of the most excruciating of his life, and he’d had some pretty excruciating hours. He didn’t think an erection could last that long without chemical aid. Then again, he’d never had occasion to find out.

  Outside Raye’s apartment, they gathered the cat’s things, as well as the cat, and hurried up the steps.

  “Detective!”

  Bobby ran through a litany of curses in his head before he turned. “Chief.”

  J
ohnson contemplated Bobby’s hands, full of litter box and Meow Mix, which he’d lowered so they hid his arousal, before moving on to Raye, who had her hands full of Samhain and kitty toys. “You spend the day getting a pet?”

  “Long story. We’re kind of in the middle of it.”

  “I’ve been waitin’ on you.”

  Bobby’s teeth ground together. “Problem?” He hoped with all the hope he had that there hadn’t been another murder.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’ll come by the station in a bit.”

  “Now would be good.”

  Bobby’s penis thought now would be good too, but not for what the chief had in mind.

  “We—uh—haven’t eaten. I’ve got a pretty bad headache.”

  Raye choked. Bobby kept his gaze on Johnson. If he glanced at her, he wasn’t sure what he’d say or do.

  “All righty. I’ll just see you at the station in … an hour?”

  “Um … yeah. We’ll be there.”

  “We?” Raye repeated.

  “You can’t stay here alone.”

  “I don’t—” she began.

  “I’ll send a man over.” Johnson backed away. “In an hour.”

  “Okay,” Bobby said, but the chief was already headed toward the station.

  “You think he bought the headache excuse?” Raye asked.

  “Not a chance.”

  Chapter 19

  Though Bobby wanted to throw open the door, toss everything, including the cat, on the couch, then toss Raye on her back on the bed, he couldn’t. There was still a murderer on the loose. He made Raye stand just inside the door with Samhain while he checked the apartment.

  “It’s all good,” he said as he came out of the bedroom.

  Raye, crouched next to the closed door, straightened and a bell jangled. She must have been picking up a toy she’d dropped. But … hadn’t he told her to leave the door open? He couldn’t remember.

  What if there’d been someone here? What if she’d had to run? Every second counted. However, the sight of her, even with an armful of cat toys and cat, made every thought but one disappear.

  She must have seen the intent in his eyes because she shook her head. “Let me get her settled.”

  And though his body howled, so did Samhain, at least until her vittles and water were set down and her restroom facilities established.

  “All right,” Raye said. “What—”

  His mouth came down on hers. For an instant Bobby thought the cat was yowling again, but it was merely need screaming through his blood. He’d spent the last hour with an untamed erection, the soft stroke of Raye’s hand on his thigh, the murmur of her voice, the scent of her skin—

  He couldn’t take it any more. He lifted her into his arms and did what he’d been imagining.

  She bounced when he tossed her on the bed. He shut the door, flicked the lock. He knew the cat couldn’t open it, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Not with this. Not with her.

  Raye’s face flushed with laughter. Her lips, damp and a little red from his, parted. He licked his own and tasted her. The beast that had been mumbling just below the surface of his blood roared. He pulled his shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes, laid his gun on the bedside table, and shucked his pants. His skin heated beneath her gaze.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she said.

  “I’m a guy.” He flexed his biceps like Arnold. “I’m manly, not beautiful.”

  “Can’t you be both?”

  His arm lowered. “I’ll be anything you like.”

  Something flickered across her face, and his playful mood died. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  He didn’t believe her, but when she held out her arms he went into them and forgot everything but the desire to surround himself with her.

  He should have slowed down; he should have taken his time, but his body kept shouting that there’d been foreplay enough in the car. She seemed to agree because when he began to unbutton her shirt, she shoved away his hands and did it herself, so fast he was afraid she lost a few buttons.

  She pressed the front clasp on her bra, and her breasts sprang free. He reached for them, and his fingers closed on nothing as she sprang off the bed, removed her shoes, then tossed every last stitch away.

  He would have enjoyed the view—creamy smooth skin he wanted to lap like a cat, raspberry nipples that begged him to discover if they were as sweet as they looked—but she pressed his shoulders onto the bed and straddled him.

  His gasp was a curse when she took him inside. Her mouth captured his. Her hips rocked, back and forth, lift and lower—the speed blinding. He placed his palms on her waist, tried to set a rhythm, but she had her own, and he was helpless to fight it. He could barely think beyond, yes, now, more.

  “Raye,” he managed—a warning, a promise. She arched, taking him even more deeply, and as she tightened around him, her breath caught, her breasts jiggled, enticing him to taste.

  Not raspberries. Better. Heat and life. Sweetness and light. Raye.

  Together they gasped, moaned, came.

  She collapsed on top of him, as boneless as he felt. He wanted to lift his arms and hold her, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and inhaled the scent that both matched and enhanced her taste—sweet and spicy, cool and warm.

  She was everything.

  He must have dozed because when the bedroom door rattled, he came awake with such a start she slid off his chest, mumbling words he couldn’t understand.

  He turned his head, hand reaching for the gun on the table, then falling away when he saw the paw that shot through the gap between door and floor, curving upward, yanking on the portal and making it clatter.

  “Stop that,” he ordered. Samhain only did it again.

  He laid his arm over his eyes. As annoying as it was to be woken like that when all he wanted to do was stay here and sleep all tangled up in her, he was due at the police station. He peeked at the clock.

  Five minutes ago.

  *

  I was in the middle of a lovely dream of a future without maniacs. No knives, witches, or ghosts. Just me and Bobby, maybe a baby or two. A boy with his hair and my eyes, a girl just the opposite.

  Foolish dream. I knew that even while I was having it. The ghosts had been with me always. Why would they suddenly go away? And how would I explain them to a husband who didn’t believe and to children who wouldn’t understand?

  Ghosts. There was something about ghosts that needed my attention.

  I opened my eyes. Twilight and I was alone. If the pillow hadn’t smelled like Bobby I might have thought I’d imagined everything. Then Samhain landed on the mattress, and I knew that I hadn’t.

  “Is he gone?” I asked.

  The cat blinked.

  “One for no, two for yes.”

  Samhain blinked twice.

  I stared at her. “That was just a coincidence.”

  Her freaky blue eyes closed, then opened.

  Great. I was halfway to being a cat lady just by talking to her. If she started answering …

  I got out of bed, padded into the living room naked. When I heard a creek on the landing, I dived into the bedroom, scaring the cat so badly she jumped straight up in the air, hissed, and scooted under the mattress. I nearly followed. Managed not to only by remembering that the chief had promised to send a guard to stand outside my apartment while Bobby was at the station.

  I got dressed before I peeked out the window. In New Bergin the choice of officers other than Johnson was limited. I was glad to find Larry Abel leaning against the railing, his gaze on the quiet town. The last time I’d seen Brad I’d duped him. I’d prefer not to see him again for a very long time. Knowing Brad, he would pout.

  I poured a glass of wine. The bottle was almost gone. If I wasn’t careful I’d have to buy more sooner than usual—something a kindergarten teacher shouldn’t do in a town like this. Everyone would notice. They
would talk. I should be more worried about that than I was.

  “Henry?” I said, not too loudly. I didn’t want Larry to hear, think there was someone inside and burst through the door.

  Henry didn’t materialize. Had he ever when I called? Then I remembered the rosemary I’d scattered over the threshold upon our return and hurried to the door.

  But the line of the herb had been disturbed when Bobby left. I found only a few leaves in place, the rest scattered by his feet and the wind.

  “Henry!” I said again—more urgently but no louder. I received the same results.

  I needed to speak with him before Bobby returned. Perhaps Anne’s Book of Shadows would light the way.

  The volume was still in my pants, one of the reasons I’d tossed off my own clothes rather than letting Bobby do it. The second reason being my impatience to have him inside me.

  My cheeks heated. I’d never wanted a man that badly, never felt for anyone what I felt with him. I’d wanted to whisper in his ear, against his skin and mouth, things I’d never thought, heard, dreamed of in my life. I’d managed not to by making the encounter all about speed, about need. Only in that way could I keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. Now was not the time to fall in love, and Bobby Doucet was not the man to fall in love with. He was as haunted as I was.

  I pushed aside such thoughts. I had things to do and very little time to do them in.

  I found my pants, removed the book. The handwriting throughout matched that on the first page, which claimed the book as Anne’s. The same writing that had then made the book mine. Those words were still there. Had I thought they wouldn’t be?

  Only if I’d imagined them, and I knew better.

  “All right,” I said. “I don’t suppose you have a spell for calling reluctant spirits.”

  The pages fluttered in an invisible breeze. I lifted my hands as if they burned. They kind of did. The pages stopped fluttering, several stood on end. It was almost as if the book itself were thinking, searching, maybe listening. Then they slowly fell away, yawning open near the end of the pages that held writing. Many more remained in the volume that didn’t.

  I took a healthy gulp of cabernet, set the glass down, swallowed. The page twitched as if saying, Look at me!