Heat of the Moment (30 page)

The pickup sat in front of the coffee shop like a blazing white flag. However, he could see through the windows that she wasn't inside. Which made Owen all kinds of nervous.

A car backed up next to him, and the uninterested glance he threw at the driver suddenly became very interested when Owen recognized the wolf hunter he'd last seen in the bar.

Owen lifted a hand, shouted, “Hey!” but the guy pulled onto the highway and accelerated. Within seconds, his taillights were specks at the outskirts of town.

Where was Chief Deb when you needed her?

Owen had just pulled out his phone, thinking he would call Becca over and over until she either answered, or he heard her cell ringing and ringing from wherever she lay unconscious, when Reggie tugged on the leash and practically dragged him to one of the motel room doors, where he promptly sat and stared at the doorknob.

As if his stare was magic, the knob turned, the door opened, and there she was—along with a bunch of people Owen had never seen before.

For an instant Owen thought she might slam the door in his face. But Reggie barked and bounded inside. She patted his head, then murmured, “You too.”

“I … uh…” The woman who'd said she was Becca's sister—maybe Owen did know one person in the room—glanced at Becca helplessly.

“I'll be in touch,” Becca said, and began to leave.

“Nuh-uh.” Owen crowded her into the room. Inside he counted two men and another woman. Strangers all, but since the guys both carried concealed, Owen meant to discover who they were.

He held out his hand to the nearest, a slim, dark-haired, blue-eyed man who'd stepped in front of Raye the instant Owen entered the room. “Owen McAllister.”

The guy didn't hesitate to shake, which calmed Owen a bit. “Bobby Doucet. I'm Raye's fianc
é
.”

The second man, also blue eyed with dark hair, though his held flakes of gray, wore a suit that screamed fed. He confirmed it with, “Agent Nic Franklin, FBI.” He even showed his badge.

“That explains your weapon.” Owen glanced at Bobby. “How about yours?”

“I'm the police chief in New Bergin.”

He might be lying, but why?

Owen's gaze flicked to the tiny woman with the white streak in her short dark hair.

“My associate, Cassandra,” Agent Franklin said.

“Just Cassandra?”

“There aren't too many out there, but my last name's Murphy these days.”

What did that mean? Owen decided to let the question go in favor of a better one. “What's going on here?”

They all exchanged glances; no one answered.

“I just saw the creepy wolf-hunter guy leaving.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “Did he shoot Pru?”

Raye blinked at the name, cast a quick glance at Becca, whose tiny shake of the head made him both mad and sad. What was she hiding? Why was she hiding it from him?

Owen crossed his arms and leaned against the door. Reggie, ever alert to his moods, left Becca—who'd been scratching his ears in just the right way—to stand at his side.

“Someone better start talking,” he said.

No one did.

There were ways to make people talk. But he probably shouldn't especially with the FBI and a police chief in the room.

“So, your mom's the local witch?” the FBI agent asked.

Owen didn't answer. When he'd said someone should start talking he hadn't meant they should ask
him
questions.

“Smooth,” Cassandra murmured.

Franklin shrugged. “We need a lead. Something. Anything.”

“His mom isn't a witch,” Becca said.

“But she did try to kill someone.”

“Wasn't the first time,” Owen said.

“That's right.” The fed glanced at Becca then back at Owen. “You ever figure out why she tried to kill you?”

“No,” Owen said shortly. He hadn't really tried. Talking to his mom back then had usually yielded gibberish. Not much had changed since.

“I'm sorry—” Becca began, and he shook his head.

“It isn't a secret.” Though he wished it was. “He could have found that out pretty easily just by asking around town.”

“I told you, Owen's mom isn't well,” Becca said.

“She was well enough to escape from a psychiatric facility, then try and kill…” Franklin's lips pursed. “What was his name?”

“Dr. Jeremy Reitman,” Becca said.

“Pet detective,” Owen muttered, and Cassandra snorted. “Shouldn't you be more worried about the woman who
did
kill someone rather than the one who only tried?”

“If at first you don't succeed,” the fed singsonged.

“You think she'll try again?”

“Why wouldn't she?”

“If my mom wanted to kill a witch, why didn't she kill Peggy when she had the chance?”

“You're saying she wanted to kill Dr. Reitman in particular?”

“Who wouldn't?” Franklin lifted an eyebrow and Owen shrugged. “He's a pretentious ass.”

“Stop holding back,” Cassandra said. “Tell us how you really feel.”

Owen liked her more by the minute.

“Jeremy didn't have to drive all the way up here to help us out,” Becca protested.

“He didn't drive here to help us. He drove here to see you.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“He's got the hots for you.”

“Takes one to know one,” Cassandra said.

Owen shrugged. He didn't care who knew it. Not any more.

“That's cra—” Becca snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry.”

If Owen took offense every time someone used the word
crazy
he'd spend most of his life pissed off.

“Where would your mom hide?” Franklin asked. “A place where they both could.”

“Both?” Owen repeated.

“Her and Mistress June.”

Owen shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“Mistress June killed your mother's keeper, and now they're both gone.”

“Mistress June killed Peggy because she thought she was a witch, not to…” He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “Free Mary.”

“She
thought
she was a witch?” Franklin repeated. “You know there
are
witches, right?”

“Are we talking broomsticks and warts witches? Or Wicca-practicing women?”

“And men.” Bobby shrugged. “Reitman.”

Owen bit back his opinion of Reitman and his witchery or lack of it. Now wasn't the time. “I don't know where my mom would hide, but I do know that she wouldn't take Mistress June with her.”

“Because?”

“She called the woman ‘bitch-whore' at first sight.”

Cassandra's cough sounded like a laugh. “Sounds like they've met before.”

“Doesn't it?” Franklin asked.

“Problem is, my mom also thinks she's a witch.” Owen lifted his hands, lowered them. “Sometimes. Wouldn't Mistress June kill her too if she got the chance?”

“Probably.”

“Therefore, I doubt they're hiding together.” And if they had been, he was a lot more worried about his mom today than he'd been yesterday.

“I'd still feel better if we found either one of them,” Franklin said.

“So would I.”

“Does your mother have any friends she might go to?”

“She doesn't have any—” He paused. “Peggy said she made a friend in the facility recently who was as interested in witches as she was. Though I doubt my mother would run back to a place she just ran away from.”

“Maybe she told this friend something that could help us.” Franklin drew out his cell phone. “Who is she?”

“Peggy never gave me the woman's name.”

And now Peggy was dead.

“I'll see what I can find out,” Franklin said.

“Good luck with that,” Owen murmured. Not only were there privacy issues he didn't think even the FBI could get around, but if this woman were in the same facility as his mom, he doubted she'd be coherent for questioning any more than his mom had ever been.

“So…” Owen rubbed his hands together. “You wanna go check on the wolf in your clinic?”

What he really wanted was to get Becca out of here. He was pretty sure he could find out more from her than from anyone in the room.

“Pru's gone.”

“Gone how?” As she'd seemed well enough the night before, Owen didn't think “dead and gone.”

“Ran off,” Becca said.

He also hadn't thought she'd been well enough to be “long gone.” Then again, what did he know?

“How much have you told him?” Franklin asked.

“Enough.”

“Define
enough,
” Owen said. “I know that Raye thinks they're sisters.”

“Thinks?” Bobby asked. “Have you looked at them?”

“Fine,” Owen admitted. “They're sisters. But what that has to do with the
Venatores Mali,
witches, and wolves is a mystery.”

The room went silent.

“Maybe you two should go somewhere and talk,” Bobby said.

Owen's gaze met Becca's, and he opened the door. “You read my mind.”

*   *   *

As I started for the door, Raye caught my arm and whispered, “You need to tell him everything.”

I
did
need to. I just didn't want to.

Owen, Reggie, and I climbed into the pickup. “Where to?” he asked.

“The clinic.” Not only did I have work to do, but if this went badly—and how could it not?—I'd rather be in my own place, instead of having to walk back to it from the cottages. Have people pass me on the road, stop, and ask what the hell? That was just embarrassing.

Owen drove the short distance, waving at those who waved at us—quite a few. Townsfolk seemed genuinely happy to see him. I could tell it mystified him still.

The sight of the empty dog bed in the corner made my eyes burn and my throat thicken. Pru was fine. She was healed. But bizarre as it was to admit, she was my mother, and I wanted more time with her. Maybe once this was over, I'd get it.

Reggie trotted to the cushion and circled, then lay down. I started for the reception area. “I'll make coffee.”

“I don't need coffee.”

“I do.” What I really needed was something to occupy my hands, a way to stall while I figured out not only what to tell him but how.

Owen moved around the room, stopping in front of the pictures—photos Joaquin had taken of patients; the kid had a knack with a camera—shuffling magazines, straightening the furniture.

“Sit,” I said. He was driving me bonkers.

“You first.” I pressed the start button on the coffeepot, turned, and ran right into him.

He caught my elbows. His hands were big and hard and warm—like him. I couldn't help myself. I leaned in, rested my cheek on his chest, felt his breath stir my hair. I never wanted to be without him again. But he needed to know the truth. All of it.

I straightened. He clung. I let him for just a minute, or maybe I let myself. Then I stepped back, and his hands fell away. I took the seat I'd wanted him to and spilled.

Sister triplets. Ghost-father Henry. Wolf-mom Pru. Scotland. Witchcraft. Time travel.

He took it pretty well. At least until I got to the part about me.

“Hold on.” He'd been pouring himself coffee. He set the pot back where it had been with a sharp click, wrapped his hand around the mug, and turned. “You think you're one of these sisters who was sent through time?”

“You saw Raye, didn't you? We're identical. Or close enough.”

“There's a better explanation for that than magic and time travel.”

“If you have one, I'd be happy to listen.”

He scowled. “You think you can hear the thoughts of animals?”

“I told you that when we were kids.”

“When we were kids, I believed you.”

“You don't now?”

“Becca.” He let out a sharp breath. “Really?”

I was both annoyed—he didn't believe me?—and afraid. He didn't believe me!

“Reggie!” I called. A few seconds later Reggie appeared.

What?

Yeah, what?

“Ask me something that only Reggie would know.”

“This is crazy.”

“Ask me,” I insisted.

“How would I know what he knows?
I
can't talk to him.”

That had sounded more sarcastic than I cared for. If I couldn't prove that I could hear the animals, maybe I could prove my other talent.

“How do you think Pru was well enough to run out of here this morning?”

“She's a wild animal. They heal quicker than the wind blows.”

They did. But not the way she had.

“Reggie's better,” I said. “You're better.”

“You think you did that?”

“I know I did.”

“If you could heal me as good as new, why didn't you?”

I couldn't help it; I dropped my gaze.

“That's what I thought.”

I lifted my eyes, thinking I'd see anger in his because he understood that I'd been selfish, that I'd stopped healing him last night because I didn't want him to go. Instead I saw pity, and it confused me. Until he spoke.

“Maybe we should talk to a professional about this.”

“My mom and Raye are about as professional as it gets.”

“I didn't mean that kind of professional.” He sat in the chair next to mine, took my coffee mug, and set both it and his on the magazine table before he took my hand. “I know a lot of people who could help you, Becca.”

The light dawned. “You think I'm crazy?”

Why did I sound so angry? Why wouldn't he?

“Listen to yourself.” His fingers tightened around mine when I would have yanked away. “Your sister is an air witch. She can levitate. Move things. See ghosts.”

“Ask her.”