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And why should he? He’d told Mary he’d take out those juicy women at the lodge, and he would. He just needed a plan, and right now he didn’t want to take the time. He wanted something fast. Fast and hot.
The luscious detective flashed across his mind, and he felt a blinding rage. Transferring her desire for him—the attraction he’d sent her!—to Hale St. Cloud? The bastard who’d taken Charlie’s place in Pops’s affection? Charlie’s fucking boss, for fuck’s sake? She deserved to die. A slow, sensual, spiraling death while he made love to her with all the power of his sexual gift.
His hard-on was immediate, and he crouched over the bar, drinking at the beer, making it look like he was gulping it down, but not making much of a dent. Couldn’t do that too long without someone getting wise, but no one was looking, anyway. There was one skanky-looking woman with long, dark, stringy hair swaying to a country-western song he thought he should know but couldn’t place, and there were a couple of guys in cowboy boots and plaid shirts watching her, but otherwise the place was empty.
Charlie’s mind slithered back to the detective. Not pregnant anymore. Focused on another man. Thinking about being a mother and stepping into Kristina’s shoes and becoming a wife, too.
Not gonna happen.
He went into the bathroom with vague thoughts of masturbating and taking care of this woody. Jesus. But he didn’t have a plastic bag with him. That was out in his white truck, the Bancroft Development truck, so he was stuck trying to mentally get himself under control, a real bitch.
A few minutes later he hurried out to the truck, grabbed a bag, and stroked himself in the gloom of late afternoon, the dark red-haired detective in mind. It took seconds, and when he was finished, instead of release, he felt building fury. She was his.
The skank swayed out of the bar with one of the cowboys, and they moved to his truck, a black Dodge Ram. Watching them, Charlie popped open the glove box and slid out his knife. He was hard again already.
But just as he was opening his door, another truck came splashing through the mud puddles and the rain and came to a stop between Charlie and the couple in the Dodge truck. Charlie hesitated, and two women jumped out of the truck, whooping and hollering as they ran inside the Crab Shack. Right behind them came a couple of cars and more women. Goddamned happy hour.
By the time they’d all gotten out of the rain, the Dodge Ram was rumbling out of the parking lot and back up to 101.
Briefly, he thought about going back inside and juicing them with some Good Time Charlie pheromones. He could probably pick up two or three easily.
But there was danger in crowds . . . and besides, he was getting a real cranking hard-on for the detective. With a vision of her swaying in front of his eyes, he followed the Ram onto the highway and headed north, because she would be panting her way to Hale St. Cloud’s house so
on enough.
He was going to have to ditch this truck soon. It didn’t have the Bancroft logo on it, but he wasn’t really supposed to even have it. He had appropriated it for the RiverEast project and had just kind of kept it. That project was being overseen by a larger construction company that dealt with high-rises; they had been hired because Bancroft Development wasn’t in that kind of commercial construction. They were strictly penny-ante, in Charlie’s opinion, and had to rely on experts to actually build the structure. But Bancroft Development owned the land, so Charlie and some other guys were on-site to monitor the construction.
But, well, now things had changed. Charlie was through working for the company that, by all rights, should be his. He was going to have to ditch the Bancroft truck sometime soon, but that meant stealing a car or renting one, and he just didn’t have time.
He needed to lure that detective to him.
Pulling out his cell phone, he saw that his hands were shaking, and he gazed at them in wonder. What the hell? He was morphing into something else. Something more powerful.
It was . . . awesome.
CHAPTER 28
Ravinia knocked on Catherine’s bedroom door, tried the knob, and when it turned in her hand, she stepped inside the gloomy space. She heard Catherine rustle in the bed and reach for the lighter to light the lamp.
“Ravinia,” Catherine said when the wick was lit and the soft glow pushed the evening shadows back to the corners of the room.
“When is Earl coming?” Ravinia asked.
“Tonight, late.” She threw a look toward the windows that faced west. “I don’t think he made it to Echo in this weather.”
“But he is coming tonight, here, to . . . switch things around?” Ravinia asked.
“Yes. And I’m afraid you’ll have to help him. I don’t have the strength, and someone needs to stay inside the house. They won’t expect you to stay around. You never do.”
Ravinia had no problem with the task. Her only complaint was the blasted weather.
“Be patient,” Catherine warned. “Unless something unforeseeable happens, Earl will be here.” She exhaled heavily. “I may need you to do something else for me, too.”
“What?”
“Let’s wait until after . . . everything gets taken care of. I’ll be coming downstairs in a few minutes. I can smell that Isadora’s making dinner. Chicken? We’ll eat and then move to the great hall, and I’ll let everyone fuss over me. You’ll leave early, as you always do. Go to your room and wait. When everything quiets down and everyone’s in bed, watch out your east window, toward the graveyard. Earl will give you a signal. A quick flash of light.”
“What if someone else wakes up and sees it?”
