Sword of the Raven (4 page)

Silence.

She bulldozed the dresser aside. Gun in hand, she tiptoed to the main room. The clean entry rug rested on the gleaming pine floor in front of the door. Blankets lay folded on the green and brown plaid sofa, magazines neatly stacked on the driftwood coffee table. The dinner dishes had been washed and put away, kitchen table wiped clean.

Everything looked exactly the same as she’d left it last night before swallowing three ibuprofen and scarfing down the entire pan of marionberry cobbler. Triple
à la mode.
A prescription-strength dose of carbs and lactose. Ben and Jerry should post a warning on the carton about interaction with stressed imaginations.

Sagging against the wall, Delaney fingered the charm at her neck. She loved the ocean, always found solace and inspiration at the cabin. Not to mention convenient proximity to the suspects she was surveilling. She’d planned to stay until Monday, but abruptly decided to drive home to Portland. Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating with her agenda, and she really needed a triple-shot raspberry mocha and a heart-to-heart with her best friend.

Vanessa had generously taken miserable misfit Delaney under her wing back when they’d first started college. Though Delaney didn’t trust easily, Van understood about closet skeletons. Her friend had never left her hanging.

If anyone wouldn’t judge her about kinky relationship issues, it was Vanessa.

While The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated” played in her head, Delaney showered and then towel-dried her hair. She dressed in a fitted short denim skirt and added black tights, black scrunchy ankle boots and a fine-knit persimmon sweater before shrugging on her jacket. She picked up her oversize purse, a moss green leather hobo bag she’d snagged at a thrift store. Purse slung over one shoulder and carrying her overnight tote, she strolled into the gloomy morning still humming the refrain.

Rain dripped from the bruised sky, and mist shrouded towering evergreens and icy mountaintops. The ocean’s restless roar accompanied her humming as she turned and slid her key into the deadbolt. Delaney’s voice hitched. Died.

There was blood on her door.

The porch overhang sheltered the entrance, preventing the rain from washing away the eerie lines of scarlet slashes and knotted Celtic symbols that streaked the wood.

She yanked out her key, faltered back a step. Had Rowan left the blood-stained hieroglyphics? Was he a lunatic after all, playing with her head? Was he hidden in the tangled underbrush, watching…waiting for the perfect moment to attack and finish her off?

Her frantic gaze spun around the clearing as she scrabbled in her purse for the gun. She heard nothing but the lashing sea and her own rasping breaths. Saw nothing but deserted woods.

What are you waiting for, Delaney? Book the hell outta here.

Gun gripped in one hand, keys, bag and purse in the other, she sprinted to the driveway.

She skidded to a halt in the muck, her breath caught in her throat. A very,
very
large crow perched on the hood of her red GTO. Watching her.

No, not a crow. The enormous black bird was way too big…it had to be a raven. Encountering wildlife in the forest was common, in fact, a raven had been circling the beach when she’d found her charm. But the wild kingdom had never ventured this close to the cabin.

She swallowed the panic crawling up her throat. When had her life turned into a Hitchcock film?

Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a bird.
A freakishly
huge
bird with a killer beak and razor talons. Standing between her and escape.

She wet dry lips. “Shoo! Go find yourself a juicy worm…or twenty.”

The raven cocked its head, wise obsidian eyes taking her measure. Delaney half expected the hooked gray beak to open and croak, “Nevermore.”

That tears it. I will not surrender what’s left of my mind!

She swung her heavy bag in the air. “Scram!”

Her fowl-weather friend thrust out a four-foot span of gleaming ebony wings, screamed out a hoarse cry and soared into the clouds.

Delaney’s trembling fingers rattled the Glock into an uneasy balance on the roof in order to unlock the car door. Shooting the raven hadn’t even occurred to her. Not that she would kill an innocent animal. Not that she
could,
with her entire body shaking worse than an unbalanced washing machine on spin cycle.

After three tries at slotting the wobbling key into the too-small hole, she finally made it. Grabbing the gun, she scrambled inside. She hit her lock, revved up the engine and then tore out of the driveway, tires spitting mud.

God bless four-hundred horsepower.
The ‘68 Bobcat fastback actually belonged to Connor. He’d let her help him rebuild it from scratch over the years, souping it up with extra features and power steering. Connor had refused to sign over the vehicle when he and Delaney had sold most of their possessions in a desperate gamble they’d eventually lost.

In the end, the house always wins.

The rear-wheel drive drifted around a slippery curve too fast and she corrected the skid. No, that had been her mother’s defeatist philosophy. Delaney preferred her adopted state’s motto:
“Alis Volat Propiis.” She flies with her own wings.

As rain sheeted the windshield, she belatedly switched on lights and wipers. Connor had insisted she needed fast, reliable transportation. The muscle car had earned her a glove compartment stuffed with speeding tickets. And might’ve just saved her life.

Delaney rocketed onto the turnoff that intersected with Highway 101, then checked her mirrors. An empty black ribbon of wet asphalt trailed behind her. Cell service should kick in any minute. Maybe she should file a police report.

And admit she’d invited a strange naked Scotsman into the isolated cabin? That she’d offered him a shower, cooked him dinner…and then he’d gone all
Silence of the Lambs
on her?

She could just hear the cops:
What did you expect? You asked for trouble. Do you have any proof?

She glanced at the gun in her lap. They hadn’t believed her before. Why would they suddenly start?

Delaney looked in the rearview mirror once more as she fumbled the weapon into her purse. No, she’d go home. Go back to what now passed for “normal” in her insane existence.

Even though she strongly suspected that after last night, her life would never again be the same.

Chapter 3

Delaney pulled into the first coffee shop she saw and splurged on the raspberry mocha fix she craved like crack…with extra whip. Her empty stomach grumbled, but she couldn’t justify spending her last five bucks on a pastry. Instead, she scrounged the emergency stash behind her seat. Munching Cheetos and singing along with her usual ‘80’s radio station, she sped back to Portland.

She checked the dashboard clock as she hit city limits—almost ten a.m. She’d pared the hour and a half trip to fifty-five minutes. The peaceful, overcast autumn drive accompanied by hot coffee, salty snacks, and her favorite music had settled her nerves. Her pragmatic nature had convinced her the encounter with Rowan had been just another adventure she’d someday embellish for wide-eyed grandchildren.

It was over. She’d never see him again. And the odd hollowness inside her was merely because she’d run out of Cheetos.

When Vanessa’s voicemail picked up Delaney’s call, Delaney disconnected without leaving a message. Van wasn’t a morning person. Not only did she work a day job as a charity event-planner, she also enjoyed helping at their friend Archer’s nightclub until almost dawn. Oh well, after she heard about bare-naked Braveheart, she’d forgive Delaney for the early rousting.

Delaney turned down the street to Van’s condo. She slammed on the brake, tires shrieking to a stop.

Vanessa was outside at the curb.

Although Van carried a few extra pounds on her five-foot seven frame, she’d inherited exquisite bone structure, smoky amber eyes, and impeccable style from a French fashionista mother. Her makeup was always flattering, her clothing immaculate, her dark silky hair styled. But this morning, she wore a wrinkled brown cocktail dress and leopard Christian Louboutin stilettos marred by scuff-marks. Long raven strands snaked from a disheveled chignon, and mascara streaked her tear-stained cheeks.

Leaving the engine running, Delaney shoved open the door and rushed to her best friend. “What’s going on? Why do you have that?”

Vanessa stared down at the baseball bat gripped in her hand as if she’d never seen it before. She and Delaney played on a team with Archer’s club employees, but practice wasn’t scheduled for today. “I’m texting Chad.”

“Uh…most people use a cell phone.”

“Yeah, they do.” Van cocked the bat and smashed the right headlight of the black Porsche parked at the curb in front of her condo.
Wham!

Delaney winced as glass tinkled to the pavement. “Van! What the—”

Wham!
Vanessa pulverized the left headlight. “But most people’s boyfriends don’t horizontal mambo with ‘hos.”

“Hookers? Holy crap, what happened?”

“I caught Chad and his ‘escorts’ when I got home from the club two hours early this morning. From the looks of them, they dirty-danced all night.”
Wham!
Vanessa sent the driver’s side mirror sailing across the street. “In
our
bed.”

Empathy wrenched in Delaney’s stomach. “Oh, Van. I’m so sorry.”

“His bill is about to get a lot more expensive.” Vanessa sniffled as she rounded the hood.
Wham!
The passenger mirror flew onto the manicured lawn.

“Vanessa,
that’s enough!
Stop!”

“The rat-bastard loves this car more than me. ‘Don’t put on makeup in the Porsche. Don’t eat in the Porsche. Don’t drink coffee in the Porsche.’” Vanessa’s brittle laugh skated on the edge of hysteria. “He never said anything about baseball.”

Delaney’s chest tightened. “Have you been drinking, girlfriend?”

“Maybe. They had a bottle of leftover Dom.”

“Where are they? Still alive, I hope?”

“Chad locked the door behind me after I grabbed the bat and the booze and ran out. They’re inside.”

“Okay…I guess killing his Porsche is better than killing him, but stop now. Do too much damage, and you’ll be committing a felony.”

“You know the difference between a Porsche and a porcupine, Delaney?” Vanessa stalked to the rear of the car.
Wham!
The left taillight shattered. “With a porcupine, the pricks are on the outside.”

“Vanessa,
quit it.”
Delaney cautiously approached her distraught friend. “Chad is
not
worth getting yourself arrested for. Let’s grab some chili-cheese fries and chocolate milkshakes and devise a subtler, but just as expensive revenge.”

“Even if I could eat without hurling right now, the bubbly already torpedoed my new diet.” Vanessa gulped back sobs, her lips quivering. “What kind of revenge?”

“He gave you signing privileges on his credit cards. We’ll max ‘em all out.” Delaney held out her hand. “Give me the bat.”

“I really thought he was it. Thought I’d
finally
found the guy I could spend the rest of my life with.” Vanessa’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t need a damned prince.” Leaning against the battered car, she swiped the back of her hand across her streaked face. “At this point I’d settle for a duke. Or a count, even.” She shuddered. “Count of Monte Cristo. Count Dracula. Hell, Count Chocula.”

Delaney eased the bat from Vanessa’s shaky grip and wrapped an arm around her friend. “I know how much this hurts. But we’re going to get through it together, like always.”

“Ladies?” a deep male voice drawled from behind them. “Take a wrong turn on the way to Fenway Park?”

Bat in hand, Delaney spun. A sleek charcoal-gray Ferrari had pulled up behind her GTO, and two casually well-dressed, dark-haired men stood on the parking strip. One guy was a complete stranger.

Unfortunately the other wasn’t.

Could this day blow any worse?
Delaney stared into a pair of hazel bedroom eyes as unchanging and implacable as the man who owned them. Her ex-fiancé’s familiar, perfect face was as heartbreakingly handsome as she remembered.

Her heart stuttered into double-time. “Detective Zachary Walker. Last I heard, you’d transferred to Phoenix PD.”

 “The weather sucked.” Zack shrugged. “No rain. Once a Duck, always a Duck. What in
hell
is going on here?”

“Vanessa is breaking her engagement to Chad.”

“Looks like that’s not the only thing you two are breaking.” Zack wore confident cop authority as easily as his tailored black slacks and white shirt. “Put down the bat, Delaney.”

Delaney took a step back. “I can handle this. It isn’t your problem.”

He subtly shifted, his lithe body all police business. “Unfortunately, it is…as of seventeen minutes ago, when dispatch got a 9-1-1 from a Chad Dumont saying he’d been threatened with a weapon and fears for his safety.”

“Why did they send an undercover vice unit?”

“We were the closest unit and I recognized Van’s address, so we responded.” He indicated the striking Asian man dressed in tan slacks and a brown shirt. “This is my new partner, Detective Jason Kim. Jason, meet Delaney Morgan and Vanessa Clare.”

Detective Kim nodded a greeting as he moved closer to Vanessa.

Van tried to fend him off. “I was so upset, I wasn’t thinking straight. This is not Lanie’s fault.”

Zack extended his palm to Delaney. “I’m not asking this time.” Coiled awareness hummed beneath his deceptively relaxed posture. “Drop the bat.”

Aware he was fully capable of taking it from her, she hesitated. Submitting to Zack stung.

“Let it go, sweetheart. Don’t make me get physical with you.”

Getting physical with Detective Walker was extremely detrimental to her peace of mind. Delaney forced her stiff fingers open, and the baseball bat clattered to the pavement. “I’m not your sweetheart. I’m not
your
anything anymore.”

Zack kicked the bat out of reach, martial-arts honed movements graceful. His features went hard, his gaze impassive. She knew that expression. Cop face. “I need both of you to turn around and plant your hands on the car.”

“Not Delaney,” Vanessa sputtered. “She didn’t do anything, Zack. It was only
me.
She was trying to talk me out of it.”

“Turn around, ladies.” Zack’s quiet tone was unyielding. “Put your hands flat on the hood.”

As Vanessa complied, Detective Kim stepped behind her friend. “How much alcohol have you consumed this morning, ma’am?”

“Don’t answer him,” Delaney said. “Right to remain silent.” Fighting rising temper, she spun and slapped her palms onto the cool metal. “So, all the pimps and meth dealers on vacation in the third precinct today?”

Zack moved behind Delaney. His smooth baritone slid into her ear. “I have to pat you down. We do this by the book.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. You’re all about the rules.”

“Without rules, chaos reigns supreme.” He inserted a knee between hers, slowly spreading her feet until she was supporting her weight on her arms.

Hands she knew far too well settled on her shoulders and Delaney willed her nerves and her voice to steady. “Where exactly do you think we’re packing weapons? If I had an Uzi stashed up this skirt, I’d have bigger problems than you.”

He sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.” His palms cruised beneath her coat, down her sides and the warmth of his agile fingers radiated through her sweater. Though his touch stayed impersonal, every muscle in her body stiffened. “Easy, Lanie.” He’d always—if a bit reluctantly—respected her boundaries. “I won’t hurt you.”

She clenched her fists. “Too late.”

Zack grazed taut hands over her hips, then huffed out barely disguised relief. “Okay, you’re clean.”

Delaney and Vanessa turned back to face the men. Vanessa bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.
Very
sorry. If I pay for all the damages right now, can we go?”

The detectives exchanged silent communication before Zack inclined his head at his partner. “Keep tabs on these two while I speak to the complainant.”

Detective Kim’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “I think I can handle them.”

Zack strode past. Halfway to the parking strip, he jerked to a halt beside Delaney’s open car door.
“Delaney?”

Spirits sinking, she looked over and saw her purse toppled on the passenger seat, a casualty of her abrupt stop. The Glock had slid halfway out the unfastened top.
Fantastic.

Today was about to blow a whole lot harder.

Zack’s broad shoulders went rigid. “Do you have a permit to carry concealed?”

“I’m exercising
my
right to remain silent.”

“Shit.”
The mouth that had once-upon-a-time kissed her breathless pressed into a grim line. “Now I
have
to take you in.”

Scowling, Zack slid a pen through the trigger guard to lift the Glock. He sealed it in a clear plastic evidence bag before retrieving the baseball bat and depositing both inside the Ferrari’s trunk.

He pointed at Delaney’s handbag sprawled on the seat. “Got any more surprises in there?”

“Not unless you consider super absorbency a threat.”

“Mind if I check?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Zack quickly shuffled the contents. He switched off her car and locked it, then added her purse to the trunk.

Vanessa put herself between Delaney and Zack. “This is all my fault. The gun is mine. Let her go.”

Delaney shook her head. “No, it’s
not!
Shut up, Van. Carrying without a permit can land you in jail for a year.”

“Yes, it is,” Vanessa insisted. “It’s mine.”

“How about if you both remain silent,” Zack said. “And we’ll sort this out at the precinct.”

The men exchanged another look, and Detective Kim grasped Vanessa’s elbow. “This way, ma’am.” Kim’s disciplined grace revealed Zack’s new partner shared his commitment to martial arts as he escorted Vanessa to the far end of the Porsche. When he began to recite the Miranda warning, her best friend burst into fresh tears.

Delaney set her teeth. “Bastards,” she muttered.

Zack withdrew handcuffs from his back pocket. “I have to cuff you.”

“Oh, come
on.
I didn’t even make the top one hundred on ‘America’s Most Wanted.’”

“You know the regs as well as I do. And you understand why I have to follow them.” He lowered his voice. “Especially with you.”

She glared at him. “You made your priorities very clear.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Turn around and place your right arm behind you.”

 “I sure hope snuggling up with your procedural manual keeps you warm at night, Walker.” She pivoted, putting her back to him.

“I did what I had to, Delaney.” His tone was as gentle as his hands while he carefully bracketed her wrist with cold steel.

Delaney bit into her lower lip to stop it from trembling. “I’m sure that’s a huge comfort to Connor.”

“I tried to help him.” Zack’s admission held a husky rasp that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Give me your left arm. Okay. Face me again.”

“You survived the academy together. You were partners, tighter than brothers. He trusted you.
We
trusted you. But when everything went to hell, you ran.” Wrists bound behind her, she stumbled when she attempted to turn around.

Zack caught her, held her against him for a heartbeat before helping her straighten. “I did what was best…for
all
of us.”

Shaken by the eerie events of the past twenty-four hours, she wanted to lean on his solid strength. But where did trust always land her? She raised her chin, and her defiant gaze clashed with his. She might have eventually forgiven Zack for abandoning her. But she could
never
forgive him for betraying her brother. “Careful. You wouldn’t want to get too close to me and tarnish that shiny detective’s badge.”

Zack’s nostrils flared as heat smoldered in his eyes. “Connor made his own choices. Now he has to live with them. But you don’t.”

“Wrong,” she said quietly. “I
do.”

He shuttered his expression and Mirandized her. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”

“I understand a lot more than you want me to, Zachary.”

“I don’t fucking think so,”
he growled beneath his breath. Holding her forearm, he steered her toward the Ferrari where Vanessa sat handcuffed in the back. Delaney awkwardly climbed into the cramped space beside her while Zack stalked into the condo to question Chad.