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A few drops of Raintree blood stained her knife and her hand. Sitting in the dark, Tabby pulled both to her face and inhaled. She closed her eyes and imagined the power she could not yet take into her own body. This was Raintree blood. It wasn’t as powerful as a finger or an ear or even a tiny slice of skin, but still…Raintree. She’d been so close, so very close.
It was time to sit back, think on the situation and come up with a foolproof plan. She wouldn’t have her time alone with Gideon, more’s the pity, but he would be well dead before the end of the week.
And he wouldn’t be going alone.
EIGHT
For a long while Hope sat in a chair by Gideon Raintree’s bed and watched him sleep. He tossed and turned, and then finally fell into a sleep so deep it was like death. The motionless silence scared her far more than his restlessness or the rambling or the gash in his leg.
After he’d fallen to the bed and passed out, she’d removed the bandage from his thigh, intent on calling someone if it looked half as bad as she remembered. Somehow it didn’t. It was a nasty cut, no argument, but she was no longer convinced that he needed professional doctoring. It was odd, though, to see an obviously strong and healthy body laid low so completely.
She’d removed his trousers, and then she’d cleaned the wound and rebandaged it. Through the entire ordeal, Raintree barely stirred. It had been a bit tougher to take off his shirt and tie, but she’d managed. She’d left his underwear in place. Her dedication only went so far.
With a damp washcloth, she’d wiped grains of what appeared to be sand from his face. Whatever it was, there wasn’t much of it. A few specks had stuck to his goatee and his cheek, and she gently wiped away a granule that had settled near the corner of his eye. She didn’t think there was enough of the substance to get any kind of analysis on, but she saved the washcloth, just in case.
She’d never actually undressed an unconscious man, and Gideon Raintree was most definitely all man. There was a dusting of hair on his chest, and his limbs were heavy and well-shaped with muscle. He had strong arms that were nicely muscled without being bulky. There was something about a man’s forearms and hands, when they were built just so, that could make any woman’s thoughts wander.
Besides, she couldn’t look at those hands without remembering when he’d touched her. They’d both been fully dressed, and it had happened so quickly, and yet it had been intimate. Unexpected and powerful—and intimate.
Hope didn’t want to think about that moment, not the particulars or the whys or the hows, so she attempted to concentrate on Gideon’s health and well-being and put everything else in the past. This time of the night, a generous five o’clock shadow was growing in around his neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, making him look a tad grungy. It was almost a relief to realize that he could be less than perfect.
Through all her ministrations, she’d left the charm he wore beneath his suit around his neck. Since she didn’t believe in lucky tokens or anything of the sort, she wasn’t sure why she left the doodad alone; it just didn’t seem right for her to remove it, since he believed it had some sort of power. Then again, she also couldn’t explain why she was wearing the charm he had given her last night. It wasn’t like her to believe in such nonsense.
When her initial round of totally inept doctoring was done, Hope sat in an uncomfortable chair she’d dragged from the corner of the room. She didn’t want to leave Gideon alone or be too far away. What if he needed her? Silly thought, but still…she didn’t leave.
He didn’t have a modern digital clock by his bed but instead used a vintage windup alarm clock that was probably older than he was. The bedroom phone was another landline. All his talk of electricity and ghosts…she didn’t believe him, but obviously he believed. She’d seriously considered that he was dirty; it had never so much as crossed her mind that he might be mentally unstable.
She’d used his bedside phone to call her mother, and also to call the very irate motel manager in order to tell him where she’d left his truck. He did have a spare set of keys in the motel office, thank goodness, and an officer who was still on the scene had agreed to give him a ride to his vehicle.
Hope fidgeted as she watched Gideon sleep. His story was ridiculous. It didn’t make any sense at all. Ghosts. What a crock. Harnessing electrical energy? Also too fantastic to buy. She should be able to completely dismiss everything he said as impossible or continue to go with that “mentally unstable” possibility, but there were a few other things to consider.
His record as a homicide detective.
The old cars he drove and the odd way her car had malfunctioned.
His lack of decent electrical toys and televis
ions and phones.
The exploding streetlamps on the riverfront.
The way he’d knocked her out of a bullet’s path before it had been fired.
The unexpected orgasm.
Hope no longer believed in things she couldn’t see with her own eyes or touch with her own hands. Her mother was partly to blame. Growing up with crystals and incense and chanting and auras had been embarrassing for Hope on more than one occasion. She’d made an effort every day of her life to remain firmly grounded in reality.
But her mother wasn’t entirely to blame. Jody Landers had been the one to finally and completely blow her orderly world to pieces.
She’d loved him. Love was yet another elusive thing that could not be held or touched or smelled. Yet her love for Jody had seemed so real for a time. It had filled her world and made her happy. And it had been a lie. Turned out Jody had targeted her from day one. Their meeting had not been chance; his love had not been real. He’d been a low-level drug dealer who’d wanted a cop in his pocket as he moved up the chain of command. When she finally caught him and discovered what he’d been up to, he’d claimed that he had come to love her. But she didn’t believe him, not then and not now, four years later.
She’d eventually been promoted to detective in spite of the embarrassment. Jody was in prison and would be there for some time to come, but there were still people in Raleigh who believed that she’d known all along what kind of man he was. She hated to admit it, but it wasn’t only her mother’s welfare that had brought her home. She’d grown tired of the suspicious looks, the whispers that would never die.
She couldn’t allow herself to be tainted again by association with the wrong kind of person, the wrong kind of man. She was not going to be a gullible patsy ever again. So what the hell was she doing here? She didn’t owe Gideon Raintree anything. Not her time or her faith or her loyalty.
Watching him sleep began to get under her skin in a way she couldn’t explain away. She squirmed a little in her uncomfortable chair. This was his bed, his house, and watching him was so personal, as if she were once again spying on him, trying to discover what made him tick so she wouldn’t get caught in the cross fire.
Gideon seemed to be sleeping well enough. His breathing was even and steady, his heartbeat—which she’d checked a time or two—was strong. With that in mind, Hope shook off her inexplicable need to stand guard and left the bedroom. She was thirsty, and she was hungry. She was tired, too, but she didn’t think she would be getting any sleep tonight. In the kitchen she noted the old propane stove, rather than the electric stove he should have had. No microwave. Cheap toaster. She opened a few cabinets, searching for something to eat, and found one deep storage space that held two additional cheap toasters, as well as an assortment of blenders and at least three coffeepots. Her heart crawled into her throat, and she settled for toast and peanut butter and a glass of milk, all of which were consumed at the kitchen table, where she could look out over the deserted beach. In the darkness she could barely see the waves crashing onto the sand, but they did catch the moonlight as they danced to shore. It was almost mesmerizing.
