Sword of the Raven (7 page)

“Did you…” She swallowed hard. “Happen to…hear anyone say something just now?”

His puzzled glanced roamed the parking lot. “Like who, my Ferrari?”

“Never mind. Why are you taking me home instead of back to jail?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll ensure the weapons charge is dropped—as long as you agree to permanently shelve your investigation. Deal?”

“Do I have a choice? Under duress, but okay.” Just another lie added to her roster of sins. She didn’t owe Detective Walker anything. Her limbs wobblier than Jell-O, she ignored his outstretched hand and crawled into the back of the Ferrari under her own steam. Curled on the midget seats, eyes closed, she gave into the agony pealing inside her skull,

That last goodbye with her brother had felt too eerily final. He’d bequeathed her all his worldly goods.

Every muscle cramped in rebellion.
I will not cry.

Let me in, Delaney,
Rowan urged, pushing against her bruised brain.

No!
She blunted his painful mental thrust with dwindling strength.

Stop resisting, and I’ll turn your pain to pleasure.

She bit back a groan.
Stay. Away. From me.
Blocking out Rowan MacLachlan—or the illusion of him—was getting harder. And hurt worse with each strained effort.

Eventually, the car cruised to a stop. Zack’s door opened, slammed shut. Moments later, her door snicked open, and cool, damp air drifted over her. “Delaney, you’re home.”

She sat up and winced. The pulsing behind her eyes made black spots dance in her vision. Hopefully, Archer could make some sense out of all the insanity.

Again rebuffing Zack’s outstretched hand—she’d fall flat on her face in the street before accepting his help—she staggered to the curb in front of the centuries old five-story brick building. The entire bottom level encompassed Archer’s club, Starry Night. The building was rumored to be sitting atop one of the gateways to Portland’s infamous, supposedly haunted Shanghai Tunnels that catacombed beneath the city. Archer was slowly renovating the top floors into club storage and apartments.

“Delaney…” Zack licked his lower lip, and something that looked very much like regret softened his features as he reached for her. “I’m not the bad guy, here. Why can’t we be—”

“Only about ten months too late, and fifty grand in attorney’s fees short, Detective Walker.” She stumbled back another step. “If the next word out of your mouth is
‘friends,’
I will not be responsible for your dental bills.”

The heavy smoked-glass double doors exploded outward, and Archer stalked outside, long legs covered by his customary bad-ass motorcycle leathers, flawless café au lait shoulders bare beneath a white tank top. She’d never seen the man wear a coat, in any weather. “Hey, Del—”

He checked mid-stride, swiveling from side to side. His nostrils flared…a predator scenting prey.

Zack’s hand snaked inside his jacket and his gaze tracked the horizon. “You spot something?”

All the fine hairs on Delaney’s body tingled as she slowly turned to stare across the street. Indistinct and hazy, Rowan stood enveloped in a cloud of vapor. Watching her.

She tried to speak, to point, but her reflexes refused to cooperate.

Rowan met her gaze, shook his head in warning.
Be ready, lass. Tomorrow it begins.
He vanished.

Archer frowned. “Nah, it’s nothing. I’ve got Delaney from here.” His midnight velvet baritone soothed her raging headache somewhat. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Walker.”

Zack scowled. “I’ll check on Connor, and be in touch, Lanie.” He opened the trunk and returned her purse, minus the confiscated gun, before ducking into the Ferrari and roaring off.

“Archer…” Relief overwhelmed Delaney and her knees buckled.

“Hey, my girl.” Lunging, he scooped her up. The most ripped guy she’d ever known—at least until she’d met Rowan—Archer was also the most contradictory. His upper arms were immense, and his abs could probably break steel beams. His close-cropped hair and lethal umber gaze appeared intimidating, while his crooked grin was sweet and without guile. She’d seen him unhesitatingly flatten obnoxious mashers in the club, then gently comfort upset patrons.

“I can walk.”

“Humor me. I haven’t worked out yet today.”

As he strode into the club and kicked the glass panels shut behind them, Delaney slung her arms around his neck…and caught an envious look from a passing blonde on the street. Archer exuded barely-leashed sexual energy that lured both men and women like moths to a propane torch. But if he had relationships of either sex, he was extraordinarily discreet. She’d never spotted him with anyone. He was always alone.

“Had yourself one bodacious day, huh?” Scorning the elevator, he loped up three flights of stairs as if he was merely carrying a kitten, his booted feet pounding the sturdy wooden treads. “I repo’ed your car. It’s snug and sound in the parking garage.”

“Thanks!” She rested her check against his chest. “Just wait until you hear
everything
about my day.” Once, after Zack’s desertion to Phoenix had instigated a solo pomegranate mojito pity party, Archer had caught her sniveling in a corner of the nightclub. He’d carried her up to bed…exactly like this…and tucked her in. There were no sexual vibes between them. Archer had been remarkably wise and compassionate as a mere twenty-two-year-old when he’d taken in thirteen year-old Delaney and her sixteen year-old brother eleven years ago. No doubts, no questions, no strings.

He was the only one who knew the
whole
ugly truth about their past, and the trio shared an unbreakable bond.

Speaking of friends… Delaney shifted. “Where’s Van, is she okay?”

“Thelma is dandy. She’s snoring away on my couch. How about you, Louise?” His endearingly lopsided grin flashed in the dim light from the antique hallway sconces. “Your place or mine?”

He’d leased her a utilities-included apartment down the hall from his own top-floor penthouse for ridiculously cheap while she’d been paying for law school classes. The building was old, but loaded with character, and the two of them had had a blast furnishing her place in garage sale shabby chic. Archer, Delaney, and Archer’s assistant Rini were the building’s only tenants, and it was private and secure.

Since she’d tanked her career, Delaney waitressed for him at Starry Night in lieu of rent. Her tips kept her in gas and groceries while her days were free to follow leads on Connor’s case.

“Yours. You have better food. And coffee.”

Connor had cautioned her to stay close to Archer. Until she figured out what was going on, it wasn’t a bad idea. If, Lord forbid, she
did
have a brain disorder and suffered a seizure or something, at least he could call 9-1-1. Her arms tightened around his neck. “Archer, we need to talk.”

He glanced down at her. “So I gathered.” Not even breathing hard, he opened his apartment door and whisked her inside. He carried Delaney past where Vanessa slept on his plum velvet Victorian sofa in front of a crackling fire, and deposited her on a stool at the countertop eating area that separated the kitchen from the living room. “Van filled me in on her end. How’s Connor hangin’ in?”

“You know him, always trying to be upbeat for me. But it’s bad.” She clung to the shiny black granite in front of her, cold and firm beneath her clammy fingers. “The past forty-eight hours have been down-the-rabbit-hole strange. I don’t even know where to start.”

He stalked to the huge espresso maker that had more gauges than her car. When he turned his back to flip switches, she caught a glimpse of the elaborate red, yellow, and orange sun tattoo emblazoned across his left shoulder-blade. The one other thing he wouldn’t discuss, besides his last name. “Basics, first. When was the last time you ate?
Real
food.”

“Hey, Cheetos are
soul
food. And it was this morning.” In her car, after she’d seen the eerie blood markings Rowan had left on her door. Like the symbols Connor had put on her palm. She forced her right hand to unclench, and stared down at it. Shock stole her breath.

They were gone.

Her skin was unmarred. Even if the writing
had
smeared off, dried blood would stick in the creases.

But her palm looked perfectly clean.

The room tilted. What was real and what wasn’t? She didn’t know anymore. “Archer,” she whispered. “I have to tell you—”
I found an amulet and a naked Scottish hunk on the beach, and then the whole world got wacko.
She tried, but could not make her mouth work correctly.

Nay,
Rowan warned.
You cannot tell anyone! Especially not
him.

Archer propped his elbows on the countertop. Behind him, the hissing espresso machine belched steam. “I’m listening.”

“I…um—”
I know this sounds certifiable. The guy painted scary symbols on the door with blood.
She struggled to force the words out, but couldn’t make a sound.
And I think his consciousness has somehow merged with mine.

The pressure inside her skull hit excruciating levels, like her brain might explode any second. Her vision grayed at the edges. Dear God, was she having a stroke?

You’re absolutely healthy,
Rowan’s lyrical burr soothed persuasively.
Just inexperienced and exhausted. No use fighting it, luv, you can’t win. You need rest. Surrender to me.

Never!
“I’m really tired,” she was horrified to hear herself parrot to Archer, totally against her will. “I need rest.”

Quit that!
she screamed silently at Rowan.
I will not be manipulated!

You want to obey me. Go to bed. Now.

Unable to resist the compulsion, she continued, “I’ll skip the food for now. And…just go to bed.”

Archer frowned, then shrugged. “Okay. Grab a nap in my bed. I’ll fix you something to eat when you wake up.”

Archer, help me!
But like an obedient little automaton, she got up and jerkily walked into his bedroom.

Lie down,
the deep brogue ordered.

She had no choice but to stretch out on Archer’s king-sized four-poster bed and cover herself with the downy throw.

Aye, there’s a good lass,
Rowan purred.

Languid warmth flooded her limbs, infusing her with euphoric pleasure. Seducing her. Satisfying a deep craving she didn’t even know she’d possessed.

When the journey beckons, don’t be afraid to follow. Sleep sweet, Delaney.

Summoning her final scrap of strength, she flung out a mental slap.
Go suck ditch water, Braveheart.

If only you knew…
The last thing she heard was Rowan MacLachlan’s rumbling laughter.

* * *

Relaxed, rejuvenated, and slightly giddy, Delaney stepped out of the steamy, berry-shampoo scented shower enclosure in Archer’s luxurious bathroom. As she blotted her hair with a towel, dusky twilight clouds drifted past the fogged windowpanes. Geez, she’d slept four straight hours. She’d probably be owly until dawn.

She skimmed the towel down her body, wrapped it around herself, and then stood in front of the vanity mirror to weave her long damp curls into a French braid. Just as well, because it was going to take forever to clarify today’s events for Archer and Vanessa.

Delaney tensed, staring at the charm secured around her neck. She
would
tell them. Arms behind her head, she hesitated, listening warily for Rowan’s reprimand. The bathroom remained silent. Hopefully, the delusions had fled along with her headache while she’d napped. She felt mostly normal again, aside from the odd intoxicated buzz, but in the morning she’d make an appointment for a check-up.

When she’d awakened, Archer reported that Zack had called thirty minutes after she zonked out. The riot had been quelled, Connor was safe. However, inmates had managed to set fires in the prison and beaten and burned the warden and several guards.

Snatches of Archer and Vanessa’s conversation drifted from the kitchen, where they corroborated on one of his I’m-in-Paradise meals. Sustenance first, then she’d tackle discussing her Scottish SNAFU with her friends. Her nose twitched at the smells wafting beneath the door. All her favorites. Grilled wild salmon, herbed baby Yukon gold potatoes, fresh-baked biscuits, and asparagus. And…
yum
…Archer’s divine chocolate raspberry brandied flambé sauce to pour over ice cream.

Van had popped into Delaney’s apartment and fetched her shampoo, cosmetics, and clean clothes. Delaney banded off her braid, hung up the towel, and then shimmied into a lacy coral bra and panty set that matched her toenail polish. Leave it to Van to ensure she was color coordinated. She tugged on jeans and a sapphire sweater with ruffled fringe at the wrists and hem, careful to hide the charm beneath the neckline. After Connor’s reaction, she wasn’t taking any chances with Archer until she could explain everything.

Not bothering with makeup, she padded barefoot over the cool oak floors down the hallway and into the kitchen. Vanessa had also cleaned up and changed into a chic pearl gray blouse and black pants accented by yellow platform heels.

Delaney’s mouth watered at the plates of heaped food on the countertop “Hi, guys. Van, you feeling better?”

 “Sure, other than a lovely parting gift from the Hangover Faerie.” In the midst of tossing a salad, Vanessa grimaced and waved her tongs. “And the temptation to return Juicy Jason’s non-official ‘how you doin’ message.”

“Oooo…Detective Kim called you to see how you are? On his own time?”

“Yeah. But since I’m one bad breakup away from turning into a crazy fat bitch with forty-seven cats, I’ve decided to join the Delaney Morgan just-say-no-to-men club.”

“You’re
not
fat, or bitchy. I might have to concede on crazy, though,” Delaney continued over Van’s giggle. “You’re also smart and gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to have you. Now is there anything I can do to help with dinner? I’m famished.”