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“Where’s my car?” she asked. “Still on Prospect Street?”
“No, ma’am. Your friends took care of everything.” He opened a door, revealing the first-floor lobby. “They all love you something fierce. I don’t think I’ve ever been so subtly threatened with the loss of life and limb if I failed to release someone from my custody.”
Her chest clenched, a wonderful and awful sensation. Somehow, she’d discovered some humans as good as animals, and she was lucky enough to call them her friends. She braced as she swept past him. Conrad jumped up from a stiff, uncushioned chair. His hair stuck out in spikes, and his five o’clock shadow lay thicker than usual along his strong jaw. His wrinkled white T-shirt might have coffee stains. Worry radiated from him, magnified by the lines of tension around his bloodshot eyes.
He looked awful, and her guilt surged anew. This man worked a high-stress job he managed to handle with detachment. And yet, Jane had worried him to incredible depths.
Would she do it again and again until he snapped, and the curse took effect?
The moisture in her mouth dried. Barely a beginning, and I’m already planning the end.
“I am so angry with you,” he growled at her.
“I know. Just know you aren’t as angry with me as I am with myself,” she rasped, moving toward him. Walking...jogging... He opened his arms at the last moment, and she just kind of fell into him, wrapping herself around his big, powerful body. They clung to each other for a suspended minute, the only two people in existence.
She breathed deeply, inhaling the incredible spiciness of his scent. So good. Too good. The type of aroma a girl might miss when it was gone. “Where are the others?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shirt.
“They’re at the cottage, awaiting your return. Come on, sweetheart,” he said, already far calmer.
Oh, how she loved when he used that endearment. Her breath caught. Well, not loved. But liked, only liked.
He led her outside, and she let him, morning sunlight blistering her eyes and blurring her vision. Yes, sunlight not sadness at her doomed future.
Wow. Her hope must have withered in that jail cell.
“No more of Ana’s coffee. Promise me.” Conrad helped her into the passenger seat of his car.
“No more,” she rasped, shuddering as she recalled its effects. “At least I can now report why Ana failed to notice the thorn apple. That cold brew is disgusting, and the caffeine must have dulled the initial effects as she drove to the gate.” As she settled in, the comfort of it all zapped what remained of her strength. By the time her agent had settled behind the wheel, she had hooded eyelids and fought her latest yawn. At least she’d adjusted to the brightness, her eyesight clear.
He eased the car onto the main road, then reached over and claimed her hand, twining their fingers. Her insides squeezed. The best thing for them both? Solving this case. The sooner she cleared her name, the sooner everything could go back to normal. Whatever normal happened to be.
“Has anyone questioned the Kirklands for their actions on my property?” she asked. “They might have planted evidence to frame me for Ana’s murder.”
He groaned a little. “Jane. Come on. You know better. The security footage shows that they did nothing wrong. They entered a public property to view the graves of their ancestors. There’s no probable cause. So they carried a shovel? So what? They can say they found it on the grounds and moved it out of the way.”
“Then we nail them for theft. If they found a shovel on the grounds, it’s mine and I want it back. It’s invaluable to me, so yes, I’m pressing charges.”
“It’s not your shovel. You have two and both are accounted for. I checked. Someone else could have left it. Or, the Kirklands can say they were digging up weeds on a loved one’s plot.”
“A lie! I never allow weeds to grow.”
“They’ll accuse you of terrorizing them for no reason.”
Frustration ate at her, but still she said, “Fine. I get what you’re saying. You believe with every fiber of your being that someone will make a blockbuster movie about Ana’s death one day—the Curious Case of Cemetery Girl and Super Accuser—and I’ll be cast as the villain.” Honestly, that one stung a bit.
Although, it wouldn’t be the worst movie ever made. A surprise hit, probably. Lots of people rooted for the bad guy nowadays.
“What kind of creature even are you?” Conrad asked with all kinds of awe. Yes. Awe.
She shrugged because she didn’t know the answer. Perhaps time would tell. “Look. We both believe the Kirklands planted evidence against me or at least planned to open coffins to search for gold.” She stretched as best she could, a yawn finally slipping free. “Maybe both.”
