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She turned her head, widened her eyes and sank to the bed. “What do you think is going on? Tell me before I go off the deep end here.”
“I think,” he murmured, flicking a damp lock of hair from her shoulder, “something or someone was threatening your sister and she decided to hightail it out of Santa Cruz and Papa Bud’s commune. She made a stop in the city with that hippie bodybuilder and then didn’t feel safe, so she took off.”
“And she left her stuff, the tools of her trade, her witchy accoutrements. Why?” She spread her hands as if hoping to find the answer in the lines crisscrossing her palms.
“Isn’t it clear? She doesn’t want to be associated with the tools of her trade. She doesn’t want to be identified as a witch.”
Christina puffed out a breath. “It sounds more sensible when you say it, but that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“What did Libby say?”
“There’s a war against witches.” She bounded up from the bed and paced the floor, threading her fingers in front of her. “How do you think the Bureau is going to react when we hand them this motive for the killings?”
“Do you think they’ll be less interested just because the victims are witches?” He fell onto his side and propped up his head with his hand, his elbow digging into the bed—her bed.
“No. I don’t know. Rich will think we’re nuts. He’ll think I’m making things up.”
“Proof is proof. Evidence is evidence.”
“We don’t have much of either.” She stopped beside the bed and rested her knee on top of it. “What are the chances that my own sister is involved in this?”
“She’s not involved, Christina.” He rolled to his back and crossed his hands behind his head.
“She obviously knows what’s going on. She knows she’s a target.”
“That’s a good thing, and we have a good starting point here. Libby mentioned another coven. I say we do a little research...tomorrow.”
“You’re right. I just wish I didn’t have to worry about Vivi on top of everything else I’m worried about.”
He sat up and cocked his head. “What else are you worried about?”
She nibbled on her lower lip. Eric Brody sprawled across her bed, for one thing. And continuing to lie to him about their daughter for another.
She closed her eyes to block out the vision of him, still in his trunks, lounging on her bed.
Bad idea. She felt his warm breath on her cheek as he rose from the mattress and took her hand.
“Your sister’s going to be fine, Christina. Whoever drew that symbol on your windshield and blew past you in the car is just playing games, and if he isn’t, if he means you harm,” he said as he wedged a finger beneath her chin, “he’s going to have to get through me first.”
She blinked. She’d honestly forgotten about her newly acquired stalker, but she could do a lot worse than having Eric in her corner. She never thought she’d be able to say that again.
She curved her lips into a smile. “Thanks. That makes me feel warm and fuzzy.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” He pinched her chin.
“I’m serious. I—I’m glad you’re here, Eric.”
“I am, too, and I’ll be right next door all night if you need anything or if you have any bad dreams.”
“You know I probably had that dream about Vivi around the same time she took off. She was communicating with me.”
“You’re probably right.”
She searched his face for any hint of humor, but saw only concern. That’s what she’d always loved about Eric—he was a tough guy with an empathetic soul. He’d had enough tragedy in his young life to be able to truly feel what others felt.
His hazel eyes darkened to bottle-green, and she parted her lips. He brushed his mouth against hers so quickly, she might have imagined it.
“Call me if you need me. I’m leaving my side of the door unlocked tonight.” He waved his hand in the air. “But I am closing it. Apparently, Darius likes nail polish and perfume.”
She nodded stupidly and stared at his broad, bare back as he headed into his own room.
Eric clicked the door shut, and then smacked his forehead with his palm.
He had no self-control. A kiss? It’s not like she was falling apart at the seams. Christina Sandoval did not fall apart at the seams. She didn’t even have seams.
A sniffle. A teary eye. That’s as far as it went with Agent Sandoval. She didn’t even seem remotely bothered by the recent threats to her. She seemed strangely removed from those threats. Something else had her going—jumpy, tentative. Something more than her sister, since she’d been acting jittery ever since he walked into the station this morning.
