Conspiracy of Ravens Page 5
“She refuses to speak to me, so I have very little to go on,” Maxwell responded, his frustration palpable. “Trust me, I’d be all over you for talking to her yesterday without me present but she insisted. I had to get an injunction from the judge to force my hand.”
Shaw and I exchanged a glance. We didn’t feel sorry for Maxwell.
It was afternoon already, and while Rick relaxed his deadlines once I started producing--and paying my room and board again--he did get pissy when I sent my daily report before he left the office for the day. “I’ve got to be running,” I announced to the men.
“So do I,” Maxwell responded. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I’ll see you both out,” Shaw added. Maxwell gave him a cold look but he just smiled blandly.
We headed down the main hall and out the double doors to a bright, sunny afternoon, rare for February in Pennsylvania. I stored my things in the passenger seat of the rental, wrinkling my nose in distaste at the sight of the lawyer’s expensive Rolls Royce nudged nearly up my car’s tailpipe.
My disgust deepened tenfold when the rodent-like creep oozed his way over to where I stood next to my car and said, “So, Ms. Pascale, how about we go over the tapes from yesterday sometime this evening? I could pick you up around seven and take you back to my place.” He actually raised his eyebrows at me, simultaneously licking his lips with a furtive dart of his ferret tongue.
“Actually,” Shaw said smoothly, coming to stand close behind me, “Sophia and I already had dinner plans this evening. Maybe some other time, Maxwell.” I nodded, grateful for his intervention. I tried to smile at the weasely bastard. I still wanted that psychiatrist’s report but not bad enough to spend time alone with that asshole.
“Ok. I see how it is. You two are--a thing? That’s kind of a conflict of interest, Shaw,” Maxwell snarled. “Best keep that in mind!”
He strode to his car and wrenched open the door, hurling his expensive briefcase into the posh interior and flung himself into the driver’s seat. He slammed his door and glared at us, revving the engine before backing up. He put the powerful car in gear and sped down the gravel driveway, spraying rocks everywhere. His tantrum was faintly reminiscent of the murder Catherine just described, and I shivered in the weak winter sun.
I sighed. There goes the report, I thought, but honestly it was worth it. I’d come up with something on my own. I turned to Shaw. “Thanks for lying for me.”
“Who said anything about lying?”
I gaped at him. Did he just ask me out? “What about the doctor’s report? Or the conflict of interest? Can he cause problems for you, because of me?”
“That little fuck? Not a chance. I’ll get the warden to have one of his golf buddy judges to demand a copy of that report goes on file with the prison, since we are the only facility in Pennsylvania that can house violent criminals in the entire state and if he’s smart, he’ll do what he can to get her transferred to a mental institution as soon as possible. I don’t think he’ll last long enough to do that, though. You heard him--she won’t even talk to him. So what do you say? Pick you up at seven, take you to my place, and listen to some murder confessions?” His blue eyes twinkled as he teased me.
“Ha, ha! Very funny. Pick me up at seven is fine though,” I added, blushing furiously. I bolted for my car, then remembered he didn’t know where I was staying or what my phone number was. I ran back, wrote it down on his hand like a high school girl, and got the hell out of there, cheeks burning with mortification.
I drove at a more sedate pace than Maxwell down the elegantly curved driveway. My elation with the Shaw incident was dampened by the sight of black bird silhouettes outlined in ebony against the blue sky, three now, not two. As I drove under the mantel of stone, I slowed and looked up at them. The smallest one, on the far right, was marked with a splash of white brightening its dark breast. I remembered with a chill the officer on guard had shot one of them, and paid for it with his life.
8-Strength
I prayed for strength, dreading the coming conversation with Rick. Steeling myself, I called him at home, hoping the evening’s whiskey had a chance to kick in. He answered on the second ring, sounding mellow. Sweet.
“Hey, there’s my girl. How’s coal country? Meet any psychos? Not just at the prison,” he guffawed at his own lame joke.
“Hi Rick. Just checking in. Brutal day today, let me tell you. If we find evidence that she’s telling the truth, this woman is the biggest psychopath anyone has seen in a long time. It’s all in my report. I’ll send that over to you in a sec. I have a great idea though, and I wanted to run it by you as to my angle on this story.”
“Sure, Soph. Fire away.”
I told him my idea about doing a series piece on female serial killers. That meant my name in print, associated with a major case, multiple times. I got to the part about obtaining the psychiatrist’s report from the lawyer and Rick was ominously silent. Of all the newspaper guys on earth, I thought, I had to apprentice myself to the only one with a mother hen tendency.
“So that’s it. That’s my idea. What do you think?” I finished.
“Sophia, you’re not in over your head out there are you? Not swimming with sharks, right?”
“You have nothing to worry about boss,” I said in my most chipper voice, knowing he liked being called boss. “Besides, I’m dating the lead officer, so I couldn’t possibly be safer.” On that note, I hung up my cell, throwing myself back on the bed and giggling helplessly. I could just imagine the look on his face. Rick, for all that he was a colossal pain in the ass, was also the closest thing I’d had to a father since my parents died. I griped about him a lot to myself, but I worried about disappointing him all the same. I turned my cell on vibrate and got ready for dinner with Shaw. I did my best to calm my nerves. I didn’t date much, didn’t trust anyone very easily, but I felt safe with Brad. Maybe it was because he already knew my deep secrets, through no fault of my own, my darkness already bared to the light. Or maybe it was the strange, compelling attraction I’d had to him since I’d first laid eyes on him.
I dressed casually in jeans and flowing peasant blouse, unsure what kind of date he had in mind, hoping I wasn’t underdressed. I was pacing the floor of my room when a gentle knock startled me so badly I whirled around to answer it and tripped over my own feet. I fell to the floor with a thud and heard Shaw’s concerned voice on the other side of the door.
“Sophia? Is that you? Are you okay?”
I popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “Yes! I mean, I’ll be right there!” Thank God he didn’t have x-ray vision.
I snatched up my purse and hotel key and wrenched open the door. He stood in the hallway, decked out in jeans, boots, a white button down shirt, and a great fitting tan jacket with patches on the elbows. He had a small bouquet of calla lilies in one hand, thrust toward me like a cross-wielding vampire hunter.
“You look wonderful,” he told me. His gaze traveled over me and I blushed like an idiot.
“Thank you! You do too. Here, let me put these in some water.”
I left the door open while I ran and grabbed the ice bucket from the bathroom, filling it with water. I put the flowers in the bucket. Their stems were too long for the container and they drooped sadly over the sides. Brad stepped cautiously over the threshold into the room, unsure if he should but apparently determined to help.
“Here, let me.”
He pulled the blossoms from the bucket, shook off the excess water, and broke them in half neatly. He plopped them back into the bucket where they arranged themselves beautifully in their makeshift container.
“Thank you,” I told him, taking the stem pieces from his hand. Our fingers touched, and that electric shock of static jumped from his skin to mine and back. We were both startled and then laughed nervously. Shaw gestured toward the open door. “Shall we?”
I preceded him and we headed out, with him firmly closing the door behind us. “So, where you taking me, Shaw?”
“Pittsburgh is your town...surprise me!”
“You got it!”
He opened his car’s passenger door for me. It was a newer model Jeep Cherokee. He whistled cheerfully as he closed my door and hustled over to the driver’s side. We smiled at each other as he pulled away from the hotel parking lot, heading west away from town. I was still kind of nervous but I trusted him more with each passing moment, for some reason. Call it intuition, or that something Catherine and my Nonna claimed I had, even blame it on his badge but I had the feeling Brad would never hurt me. I relaxed into my seat, trying to ignore my control freak tendencies and just enjoy the evening.
He turned down a dirt road not far out of town, and began to question my previous assessment of his character. I gave him a pointed look and he removed his gaze from the road long enough to give me a raised eyebrow and half-grin before returning his eyes to the road, navigating the pot holes with an ease that could only be born from practice.
We bumped down a tree-lined lane for a mile or so until we came to a clearing. A rust log cabin, well maintained, was flanked by a large barn with an adjoining paddock and what looked like miles of pastureland beyond the barn. A wisp of smoke issued from the chimney of the cabin and some distance behind it, a small herd of horses grazed peacefully in the weak afternoon light.
“I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but I really did want to bring you to my place. I thought we could ride for a while and then head out to dinner,” Brad said, parking the Jeep and looking at me with anxiety written all over his face. “We can totally do something else, though, if this is too much.”
I wanted to be mad but was too delighted at the idea of riding. I’d taken an equestrian class in college, which I enjoyed immensely, but otherwise hadn’t ridden a horse in years.
“How many horses do you have?” I asked, by way of reassuring him I wasn’t mad. He was relieved, and became chatty now that he wasn’t going to bear the brunt of my anger.
“Just the four of them. Two mares and two geldings. They’re all former trail horses, quarter and thoroughbred mixes. Now they’re just my pasture pets most of the time. Since I started on at the prison I haven’t spent much time with them.”
We got out of the car at the same time, eager to call the horses in. I couldn’t wait to meet them. A bundle of black and white fur flew from the barn and sailed over the top spar of the paddock railing, snarling and growling like Cerberus raised from the depths of Hades.
“Brodie! Down!” Brad commanded but the dog paid him little heed. I dropped down to one knee and extended a hand, head bowed and gaze lowered, waiting. The dog ceased raging at me at once and approached on his belly, crouching forward while sniffing my fingers with suspicion.
“I wouldn’t...” Brad began but stopped when the dog whined and rolled on his back, paws waving in the air, presenting his belly to me and making himself vulnerable. I lowered my hand and scratched his exposed stomach, crooning, “Good boy, there’s a good sweet boy. Brodie is your name? What a lovely dog you are.”
“He bites,” Brad finished.
“I’m sure he does.”
“He apparently doesn’t bite you.”
“I have a way with dogs. Always have.”
I rose to my feet and Brodie scrambled to his, staring up at me with adoring brown eyes and wagging his tail while he sat. He really was a lovely creature, too, a Border collie was my guess, his black and white coat marked handsomely. Brad shook his head but didn’t comment further. He led the way to the barn and I inhaled the nostalgic scent of hay, horses, manure, and tack oil.
Brad grabbed a tin of oats from a large container and rattled it against the bin before filling it. The sound of pounding hoof beats sounded outside, a quick response to the loud banging. We went out the back of the barn to the pasture where the horses waited. A grey, a chestnut, a liver chestnut, and a bay, I recited their colors in my head. I got to know them for a few minutes before choosing the grey, an older mare with a sweet disposition.
We saddled and bridled them, Brad checking my tack before we headed out. I didn’t mind, since it had been a while for me. I got the impression he would have checked it no matter what, even if I were a jockey. A definite overprotective streak, I thought. A good quality for a man with his job.
We mounted and took off, me on the grey and Brad riding the liver chestnut gelding. We headed down the tree lined gravel road we’d driven in on. Brad turned before we reached the main highway, following a trail through the woods that curved around what I assumed was his property. I sighed in contentment. The woods were so peaceful, hushed, and quiet.
We rode along in silent companionship, enjoying the sights and sounds of the forest, the feel of the horses’ powerful bodies beneath us, and the waning light of the day. The sun set quickly in February, and all too soon we were headed back to the barn to brush and wipe down the horses before putting them and their companions in their stalls for the night.
We put the brushes and towels in the tack room. I turned to Brad and said with sincerity, “Thank you for what is possibly the best date I have ever had.”
“Possibly? Well it’s not over yet so there’s still time for me to secure that number one spot.”
He put a hand on the door frame above me and leaned in close, watching me carefully before his lips descended upon mine. I sucked in my breath, right palm flat against his chest. In spite of my attraction to him, painful memories started to crowd my mind and I broke free, afraid.
“Easy,” he murmured. I started to protest that I wasn’t a horse so he didn’t need to calm me like one, going on the defensive to cover my embarrassment, but he dropped his other hand to the small of my back and pulled me close against him, kissing me with those soft lips. My body responded, melting into him, while my mind screamed, Danger!
I made a small, half-hearted sound of protest that he ignored completely. He kept kissing me, his tongue touching my lips until I finally relented. He wrapped both strong arms around me, deepening his kiss until I squirmed to get away.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, putting his forehead against mine. He still held me though my breath was coming fast, panic and desire at war within me. We stayed like that for a while, his hands caressing my back and eventually dipping lower, down my ass and back up to caress my neck. It felt amazing, not threatening. I pulled back slightly to look at him.
“I’m sorry, Sophia. I’ve just wanted to do that for so long…”
“I wanted you,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I’m so scared.”
“I’ll never push you too far, I promise.”
What the hell. As I’d wanted to for a while, I whispered, “I trust you,” and gave myself over to him.
His eyes glowed at my words, the worried expression replaced with lust and something like awe. Who knew eyes could look like his? So blue, crackling with electricity. I wanted to drown in them. I’d forgotten Catherine Meara, my boss, Brad’s job...even my uncle. All I knew was wanting.
He saw it, my desire for him, and he responded, kissing me again, hands roaming the territory of my body. After a moment, he released me and I felt instantly bereft. He held out a hand and I took it, letting him lead me dream-like into the cabin. Inside, a fire blazed in the hearth, casting an orange glow on the contents of the room. I wondered if he’d planned this all along, having a fire ready, a pile of quilts on the bed in the corner. Then his lips and hands began weaving their spell on my body again and I forgot to be suspicious. I forgot everything, cleared my mind of all thought and reason, focusing only on feeling every sensation with every nerve ending I possessed.
He undressed me, moving me toward the bed and laying me down to take off my shoes, socks, and jeans. I lay there in my plain white bra and panties, aware of nothing other than the warmth of the fire, the smell of my own longing, and the sight of Brad stripping off his clothes.
His body was strong, muscular, with washboard abs and well-defined arms that were hidden most of the time beneath his clothes. He smiled and lifted me by one hand, unclasping my bra and peeling it slowly down my arms until my full breasts hung free. He laid me back down, pulling my panties off, and sliding them down the length of my legs until I was completely naked before him.
He lay next to me, flipping a quilt over the top of us. I felt him hot and hard against my side and felt a quiver of my old fear returning. “My god, Sophia,” he whispered, voice raw with emotion. His mouth claimed me, blazing a trail down from my lips to my throat, then to my breasts, first the right and then the left nipple receiving his tender attention. I arched against him and clenched the blankets in my fists, whimpering at the amazing feelings coursing through my body. My fear was there, right at the surface, held steady by my lust but waiting to pounce. Brad’s hands roamed over me, touching me everywhere and rubbing in gentle circular waves. When he decided I was ready, he slid a finger down, inside me. I cried out in pleasure, in fear, my legs parting of their own volition though my mind wished to force them closed.
Brad rose above me on rigid arms, sliding into me with one smooth motion, hearing only pleasure in my sounds. I screamed then, my eyes opening wide, the presence of him nearly too much to bear. My flesh felt as though it would tear, like he would rend me asunder. He held me captive with his gaze, those eyes never moving from mine, willing my fear away. He leaned down, so slowly, and teased my lips again with his own, kissing me over and over until I finally relaxed and began to respond again. My lust came crashing back over me and my hips moved, urging him to do the same. He obliged, very carefully at first, then with increasing intensity. Our bodies were sheened with sweat as we danced against each other, seeking and searching for the crest of the wave.