Love Spell (21 page)

His sleep had been dreamless until the very end. At first, he dreamt about his last phone call to Molly, from three nights back. Just as in real life, he’d reassured her he was safe, and well out of range of Jane. The similarities ended there. Instead of reprimanding him sternly, the way she had, she was suddenly there next to him, wearing traditional Brazilian garb. In her hand she held a squirrel that leapt on him and scampered up his arm. The squirrel attempted to viciously thrust a walnut into Clint’s forehead, but he swatted the creature away. Molly disappeared, and Clint was left to combat the squirrel alone. Every time he batted the vermin away, it came back with a vengeance. Then it started talking to him in a clipped, Asian voice.

“Rise and shine, my little pet.”

Seriously annoyed, Clint punched the forest creature. When it bounced back, he prepared himself to take a swing, but stopped as something wrapped around his throat. That was when he opened his eyes to see a hazy image of a woman floating above him, shrouded in the gray light of predawn. The figure had one hand around his neck, and the other hand around a walnut. Only it wasn’t a walnut. It was a .45 Magnum.

“Awww, dang,” he muttered. “Good morning to you, too, Jane.”

“You’ve been a very, very bad boy, Clint,” Jane said coldly, but with a predatory hint he couldn’t miss. “Do you know what I do with bad boys?”

“Ground them from milk and cookies?”

She slapped him, and then proceeded to demonstrate her point.

Lindsay’s dreams had been refreshingly comfortable, right up until the end. Cradled in the supple grass of a warm, forest meadow, gentle sunlight streamed down on her and all the world was at peace. After a long, relaxing while, she watched a six-year-old version of herself run out of the woods, and cavort through the meadow, laughing and doing cartwheels. Lindsay called to the girl, who stopped, looked at her, and came over.

“Would you like to play with me?” Little Lindsay asked.

“I would
love
to play with you, Lindsay,” her present self answered.

“How do you know my name?”

Lindsay smiled down at the girl. “Because I’m you. You when you’re all grown up!”

The girl gasped in awe. “Wow! I get to be
beautiful
!”

Lindsay felt her cheeks warm. “Why, thank you. But you’re very beautiful as well!”

Small Lindsay hung her head, and tugged at a curly, red lock of hair. “No I’m not. All the boys at school tease me and call me names. Even Mommy says I need to be prettier.” She perked up suddenly. “But Daddy loves me, and tells me I’m his beautiful angel. And you’re very, very beautiful!” She eyed Lindsay skeptically for a moment. “Are you
sure
you are me as a grown up?”

Lindsay put on a brave smile to hide the pain she felt at the recollections her younger self brought. “Yes, Lindsay, I’m what you grow up to be. A smart, independent business woman who can take care of herself.”

“Wow. That’s exciting! Do I get to marry a real live prince?”

The mature, independent businesswoman felt her tongue catch. “Um… not really?”

The girl’s face fell for a moment, and then brightened again. “Well, it’s okay if he’s not a
real
prince. But is he a nice person? And handsome? And charming? Is he tall? Can he dance?”

Lindsay hemmed again, and she could see concern in her companion’s eyes. She decided to go for a half-truth. “Well, he’s tall, and…, yes, I guess he is rather handsome and charming. I’m not sure if he dances, but he plays guitar and he draws.”

“I like drawing! Do you like drawing? Can you draw a picture of your husband for me?”

“Well… he’s… not exactly my husband.”

Young Lindsay’s nose wrinkled. “Then whose husband is he?”

“I mean I’m not married.”

“You’re not
married
?”

“Er… no.”

“How old are you?”

Lindsay blushed again. “I’m twenty-four.”

The girl’s mouth fell open. “You’re
old
.”

“Thanks,” Lindsay responded wryly.

“Well, I’m sure
I’ll
be married by the time I’m old like you,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “And it’s okay if he draws instead of dances. We can draw together, and he’ll show me his drawings, and I’ll show him my drawings, and we can get matching refrigerator magnets and hang our art up.”

The private investigator grinned. “I’m sure you will, Lindsay.”

The girl nodded with assurance, and then looked back up at her future image. “What should I call you?”

“Call me Lindsay. Remember? I’m you!”

“Well… maybe. The future me will be married before I get old. But at least I know I’ll be the most beautiful girl ever!” And she twirled happily. “Come on, grown up Lindsay! Catch me if you can!” The girl sprinted away as fast as her little legs would carry her, a mass of auburn curls bouncing on her head.

Lindsay laughed despite herself, but when she tried to run she found that her legs responded slowly, the way they usually did in dreams. In mere moments, the young Lindsay had disappeared into a copse of firs at the edge of the meadow. Then the noise started, like a thunderstorm. Tremendous bangs shattered the peace of the meadow, and raindrops started falling from a clear, blue sky. The banging intensified, seemed to grow closer, and Little Lindsay was nowhere to be seen. And then the big Lindsay woke up.

The bothersome noise didn’t stop.

She sat up, stretched luxuriously, and yawned wide. Downstairs, Clint was obviously being an idiot. She resented the fact that he woke her so early, but she reminded herself that she had too much work to do to sleep in. Besides, she typically woke before sunrise anyway. No biggie. She slipped a robe over the nightgown she’d found in the closet, and retired to the kitchen. She cleaned the filter on the percolator, scooped in a handful of the coffee stored in the cupboard, and started the machine. It was going to be a great day.

Bang. Slam.

Lindsay rolled her eyes, and put some water on to boil after pulling out a package of rolled oats. She carefully measured out the oats, and set them aside for when she was ready to cook them. The refrigerator had a variety of fruits, along with milk, juice, and cream cheese for the bagels in the breadbox.

Crash! Crunch! Muffled scream.

Okay. The scream was worrisome. Lindsay switched off the stove, and grabbed the largest blade she could from the knife block on the counter. She crept to the stairs, and peeked down. Seeing only blackness, she took one step at a time, keeping the knife ready. Curt grunts, slaps, and other, harder-to-identify noises grew louder as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Across the great room, she noticed a shaft of light peeking out from under Clint’s door. It was clear his room was the source of the commotion. She crossed the great room quickly, bending to scoop up a beanbag for a shield. She paused at the door, wondering what to do next. The smart thing would be to knock politely and wait for an answer.

She did the adventurous thing instead. She kicked it.

Her foot hit wrong, and the door barely broke free of the latch. Lindsay bounced off, and fell back on her rump. The ruckus stopped immediately. A second later, the door jerked open. Staring down at Lindsay was the Asian woman she’d hit with her car in San Francisco. “Jane,” Clint had called her. Jane leapt toward Lindsay with a snarl. Lindsay scrambled backwards, and whipped the knife in front of her, keeping with her self-defense training. The move must have surprised Jane, because the blade slipped across her thigh. Jane hissed, but didn’t stop coming. Her foot flashed out, and Lindsay yelped as the kick hammered her hand, sending the knife flying across the room. Jane came down hard with an elbow strike that took Lindsay in the sternum, knocking the wind from her. The lights flicked on, and Lindsay saw naked hatred glinting in the other woman’s eyes.

Lindsay watched in horror as the next attack blurred in for the kill. Just as Jane’s foot connected, she lurched violently to the side as the sound of cracking wood split the air. She shouted something in Mandarin, and went down hard, clutching her head. Lindsay half rolled, half flopped to her hands and knees, and struggled against the pain in her chest to stand again. She was vaguely aware that Clint broke his guitar across Jane’s head, and was now struggling to pin her. One part of Lindsay’s brain noted that he actually looked really good without his shirt. The more sensible part of her mind urged her to get the kitchen knife, and she staggered toward it. She didn’t see the new shadow until a military-style boot came down on her hand the instant she laid hold on the knife. Lindsay cried out in pain, and another hand grasped her hair firmly, and pulled her upward. Lashing out blindly, she made contact with something solid, but got nothing more than a grunt and a hard shove for her efforts. She tripped on one of the beanbags, but was grateful for the soft landing.

“Enough!” The cock of a pistol punctuated Jane’s command.

Clint really didn’t think he’d ever get used to being held at gunpoint. Across the great room, the same two toughs that had accosted him in San Francisco were covering the room with their guns. One had a cast on his right arm, and wore butterfly strips and a glare on his face that was aimed directly at Sully. Jane drove her elbow into Clint’s solar plexus, and he doubled over with a groan. She had him in a choke hold before he could draw another breath.

“Tie her,” Jane said simply, nodding at Lindsay. “Two bullets: one for stealing Clint, one for hitting me with her car. And do it outside. I don’t want the mess, and there’s plenty of water out there.”

The thugs nodded curtly, and the man with two good arms hauled Sullivan up a second time. The other man panned his weapon back and forth between Clint and Sully. Clint fought Jane’s hold, and managed to heft her smaller frame from the ground. He swung around, Jane still clinging to him. He felt no remorse in using her as a human shield. Stumbling toward the nearest thug, he hoped she’d also make good battering ram. Without warning, long fingernails clawed sharply into his nostrils. An instant later, stars burst before his eyes as crushing pain exploded in his groin. Clint curled into a fetal position and flopped onto his side with a moan. He felt his pinky fingers being wrenched back, but he fought to throw Jane off anyway.

As if the sound was coming from the other end of a long tunnel, he thought he heard “Ohmigosh, Clint!” Through the involuntary tears, he thought he saw the man with two good arms roughly seize Sullivan’s wrists, while the other poked the business end of his pistol against the underside of her throat. Clint struggled to stand, but a punishing kick bit into his ribs, knocking him onto his back. A second blow collided with the side of his head, and his vision shrank into darkness.

“There’s plenty of water,” Jane had said.

Yes
, Clint thought.
Plenty to hide the body of a skinny little redhead detective
. And then there was nothing.

NINETEEN

Clint had no idea how much time had passed since the boot to the face. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. A few seconds of chaotic confusion followed, and then his vision returned, revealing Jane’s heel planted firmly in his solar plexus.

Jane?
His thoughts cleared instantly.
Wait, what? Sully! Where is she?

“Gah!” he yelled, shoving Jane off. “Sully!” He jumped to his feet, but crashed again as Jane hooked a foot around his ankle. He kicked free and was back on his feet in a heartbeat. There might still be a chance to save…

Violent splashing echoed through the back door. Two subdued pops and a cry cut the still of the early morning, and then all was silent again.

“Sully…”

Suddenly, his whole world shrank to the mournful notion that Lindsay Sullivan was floating face down in the Puget Sound.

Guilt cascaded over him. All that time wasted on goading her with witticisms and snide remarks. Was it really a surprise she’d finally turned “ice queen” on him last night? Did he
seriously
believe that a single, fancy dinner and some lame jokes would undo everything else he’d done? She’d been very kind through her coldness, and he admired how well she’d handled the case—despite him.

And now she was gone.

Hands tightened around his throat, but he didn’t bother to fight it. He let himself go limp, and listened to Jane gloat about her prowess; had he really thought, she asked, that he could hide from
her
?

“Oh, Clint,” she crooned, “I always thought you were so much smarter than that! Certainly, you were supposed to be so smart that you wouldn’t reject
me
. You think I did not see the way you had your eyes on me, even when we were children on the playground? Do you think I did not hear from your sister the secrets you shared with her about me? Silly, silly, Clint.

“But now—now, my dear—I suppose I’ll have to enjoy your corpse, instead.”

Without releasing her grip, she turned his head to face her, and squatted beside him, appraising him with steely eyes. “You never should have dismissed me, Clint. I would have given you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.” Her hand snaked down across his bare torso, but his mind was so numb he didn’t even shiver.

“You and me,” she whispered. “It would have been wonderful, Clinton. I would have borne your dynasty, and my father would have welcomed you into the family business with open arms. We would have had wealth. Power! Each other!”

Jane rose sinuously to her feet, dragging Clint up by his chin. “And you gave it all up. And for what? Some cheap whore in a business suit?” Jane’s eyes narrowed fiercely. “What did she offer you, Clint?” she hissed. “Was she… better than me? Did she satisfy you in some way you thought I could not?”

He stood there silently, Jane’s words bouncing off him like annoying pellets of hail from the darkening sky closing around his mind. She went on, talking at him, examining him with her hand, even smothering him with heated kisses, but it was all like smoke in the night, and it was becoming annoying.

“Just get on with it,” he muttered after she pulled away from a long draw on his lips.