Raven's Cove - Jenna Ryan (19 page)

“The murderer’s not in there. He left a phone with an open line so he could talk to me when I woke up. After he finished, he set off some kind of explosion and—instant bird panic.”

“I want the phone,” Rogan said, “and the device he used to trigger the explosion.”

“I want the birds released.” Riese took another concerned peek inside. “That’s just sick, using them to scare someone.”

“They could have done a lot more than scare her,” Rogan countered.

“Could have but didn’t.” Jasmine held him back. “All I came away with is a really bad headache and a few scratches. He didn’t intend for me to die in there. Get hurt, yes, but he’s not going to let a bunch of ravens have all the fun. You toy with a person, you want the pleasure of killing them yourself, right?”

A humorless smile mirrored the grim purpose in Rogan’s expression. “Some of us want that, love, even without the benefit of the toying.” He cupped her cheek with his palm, but spoke to Riese. “Can you get Boxman up here?”

“If you promise not to agitate the birds before we can release them.”

“I won’t agitate the damn birds, Riese. Boxman’s not answering his cell and I need him up here.”

“On my way.”

Jasmine rested her head on Rogan’s shoulder. “He told me again that he was dead, that he’d died. But he also talked about a side of himself that he hides from the world. That was the message the distorted face at the window was supposed to convey. I just don’t know why he keeps conveying it to me.”

Rogan regarded the shadowed door. “I have a feeling this isn’t so much about the safe house as it is about someone who was at the safe house.”

“That doesn’t exactly clear up the confusion. Unless…” She thought for a moment. “Two police officers died the night of the attack, while Dukes, a man perceived to be a teddy bear and later presumed dead, went missing. What if that’s not the way it actually happened?”

“As in what if Dukes wasn’t taken by Wainwright’s men?”

“He could have been injured, crawled to a car, driven somewhere, almost died there, but survived instead.”

“And then?”

“You’re the cop, you tell me.”

“It’s your theory, Jasmine.”

“Too wild?”

“Say unlikely. Dukes—all of us—had been on safe-house duty before. Your life’s on the line even more than the person you’re protecting. Dukes knew that going in.”

“So the teddy-bear thing—not really relevant?”

“Probably not.”

But she’d gotten him to smile, so the idea hadn’t been a complete loss.

As the seconds stretched to minutes, Jasmine paced off a measure of her apprehension. Rogan’s eyes went from the iPhone he’d pulled from his back pocket for the fifth time to the closed door.

“I assume you couldn’t identify the person you were chasing,” she said.

“If I could have, there’d be blood by now.”

“Any ideas?”

“It wasn’t the murderer.” He made a final entry before slipping the phone into his back pocket. “I left you to deal with him.”

Walking up to him, she drilled her balled fists into his stomach. “You are not going to blame yourself for what happened, Lieutenant.”

His eyes glittered. “Wanna bet?”

“Fine. Does that mean I should go back to blaming myself for the three cops who died at the safe house? To say nothing of the seven—no, eight—people who’ve been murdered since then? All about me,” she reminded him when those glittering eyes narrowed a fraction. “Maybe the murderer’s lying about that to up the suffering factor, but if he isn’t, that’s a lot of innocent blood on my hands.”

“Psychology won’t work on me, Jasmine. You’re not responsible for what Daniel started. I am responsible for going after the wrong person tonight.”

She drilled her fists in deeper. “Were you this stubborn as a kid?”

That wicked half smile grazed his lips. “I was a horror as a kid.”

It never failed to amaze her how a phone could manage to ring at the most inconvenient moments. Like now, just as she’d been about to unearth an intriguing tidbit from Rogan’s past.

His smile lingering, he put the call on speaker. “This better be good, Boxman, because you’ve had more than enough time to haul your ass up here.”

Boxman wheezed out a self-satisfied “Don’t know how close I am to where you and Jasmine are, Lieutenant, but I’m bringing you a present I apprehended in one of these supposed-to-be-off-limits hallways. If you think his initials might read C.B., you’d be right. And here’s where it gets good. Contrary to the sheriff’s way too lenient directive, our boy’s packing a gun and a big, long hunk of rope.”

* * *

T
HIRTY MINUTES LATER
, Boxman shook a finger at Rogan. “You’d better not be buying Bowcott’s load-of-bull story, Lieutenant, because if you are, you’re not half the cop Ballard and Costello said you were.”

“Finger—out of my face, Sergeant. Now.”

Boxman snorted, but withdrew his finger. “I’m not scared of you, Rogan. I’ve got a rep myself, don’t forget.”

“You were also at the safe house with Jasmine.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Means I’m working on a theory.”

“One where I’m wearing a black hat?”

Rogan, Jasmine discovered, had a feral grin of his own. “Your color’s gray, Boxman. On the dark side.”

“You son of a—”

Costello, who’d been summoned from his rounds in town, held up a conciliatory hand. “A little decorum, if you don’t mind, gentlemen. I was at the safe house, too, and I know how easily a powder keg can ignite. Not to mention that we have an audience.”

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Jasmine waved an airy hand. “I’ll just sit here on my crate with my trio of feathers, my screaming headache and my bird bites while you three decide who’s in charge and Cyrus smolders in the corner of a room that was probably a nursery once upon a time, judging by the rocking horse that might actually have been worth something if Boxman hadn’t kicked it into a wall.”

“Smart-ass,” Rogan said, but she glimpsed the amusement in his eyes before he turned to Cyrus. “Were you outside Jasmine’s door earlier tonight?”

“No.”

“Huh. Must be someone else who wears scuffed Kodiak work boots and a dark gray—shut up, Sergeant—leather jacket.”

Boxman snapped his mouth closed, but let his piranha teeth show.

Rogan hoisted himself onto the windowsill behind Jasmine. “Talk to me about the rope you were carrying when Boxman discovered you creeping around an out-of-bounds hallway.”

Cyrus jerked a shoulder. “I found it in one of these rooms. No idea which one. I got turned around a few minutes after I walked through the already-open door.”

“And you’re carrying a gun because…?”

“I feel naked without one. As do the rest of you, I imagine.”

“Difference being,” Boxman said with a smirk, “the rest of us aren’t under specific orders from the county sheriff to walk around naked, while you, former detective Bowcott, are.”

While the big man slid into the bad-cop role with his usual gusto, Jasmine cocked her head.

“Something?” Rogan, who was still behind her, asked.

“Probably not. Cyrus just looks so much like Victor, it’s hard for me to believe he isn’t—Victor, I mean.”

Costello lowered himself onto a neighboring crate. “They’re peas in a pod for sure.”

“You want to take over from Boxman?” Rogan asked.

“Nah. Let him have some fun. A pissed-off person’s easier to trip up than a composed one.”

As Jasmine continued to stare, Rogan leaned over her. “What’s running through that beautiful head of yours now?”

“A few things.” Like how hot he looked in his white muscle shirt. “I did tell you five or six times that the killer said he wasn’t Cyrus, right?”

Costello cracked a canny eye. “Returning to an earlier conversation, Jasmine, and lest you forget your childhood tales, it wasn’t really Grandma in that cottage bed. But face it, the wolf knew the value of a good lie.”

“I’m really glad you didn’t read me bedtime stories as a kid, Lieutenant.”

“Just saying.”

“Anyway.” She returned her attention to Rogan. “Listening to Boxman browbeat Cyrus got me thinking how he sometimes went at Victor like that at the safe house.”

“Why?”

“Might have been boredom. Boxman has a low threshold. And he didn’t limit himself to Victor. Everyone had their turn. Well, everyone except Costello.”

Beside her, the older cop chuckled. “Rank, age and a lifetime of experience have their privileges.”

She grinned. “Didn’t stop Boxman from trashing Dukes, and they were friends.”

“But getting back to Victor…” Rogan said in her ear.

“Stop making me all shivery, and I will.” But she very deliberately leaned back into him. “Boxman used to rag on Victor if he wouldn’t play poker. Victor would cave, then he’d win. Which got Boxman’s back up. And off he’d go again.”

“Yeah, I remember that happening once or twice.”

“Overall, though, Victor was fairly easygoing.” She gestured at Cyrus. “Him—not so much. But I believe he really is worried about his brother’s safety.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying from the start.” Cyrus glowered around Boxman’s arm. “I’ve already lost most of my family. I sure as hell don’t want to lose my twin to a psychotic killer.”

Still leaning over Jasmine’s chair, Rogan regarded him through level eyes. “Killer’s not after your brother, Cyrus.”

“The message I saw suggests otherwise.”

Boxman grinned. “That would be the message you received on the phone you said accidentally got swapped for yours. Except there was no actual swap because you still have your phone. Isn’t that right—Carl?”

Jasmine looked up at Rogan. “Does it matter if he has Victor’s phone or simply invaded his brother’s privacy and saw the message? Either way—threat.”

“Might matter.” Rogan rocked his head. “Might not.”

“Once again, Witch House is looking better and better.” Amusement swam up. “Better still is the fact that the ring tone I’m hearing belongs to you and not me.”

“And here I thought you were starting to enjoy life on the edge.” Rogan regarded the screen. “Now,
that
is interesting.” Holding it out, he showed her the caller’s name.

It read: Victor Bowcott.

* * *

R
OGAN USED AN I
P
HONE
, Victor didn’t. But the voice was his, and he had a laptop with a webcam. As a result, within five minutes, Jasmine found herself staring at Victor’s uncharacteristically scruffy, but definitely recognizable, features.

“Clock’s ticking fast on this end,” he told them. “I’m doing a drug deal tonight. I hope to God it’s the last. Hello, beautiful,” he said to her. “If you or anyone sees Cyrus, tell him I’m really pissed, because I was finally able to access the text message I know for a fact he tried to delete, and I’ve got a pretty good idea what he’s doing.”

“Bugger you, Victor.” A disgusted Boxman snatched off his bandanna. “I wanted him to be lying so we could close this damn case once and for all.”

“I told you I wasn’t a murderer,” Cyrus muttered.

“The fact that your brother returned my call doesn’t change what’s gone down the past few days,” Rogan reminded him.

“It just settles our minds some,” Costello remarked. “You two look so damn much alike, and it’s the nature of the police beast to be suspicious.”

Boxman scowled. “For the record, Victor, I’m still suspicious. Your twin’s got homicidal maniac written all over him.” At a look from Rogan, he bugged out his eyes. “Rope, Lieutenant.”

Victor made a sound of frustration. “It’s the safe house all over again.”

Jasmine used a finger to tip Rogan’s phone in her direction. “It’s worse, actually.”

“Unless you’re Dukes or… God, I forget the names of the other two officers who died. That’s bad. But they’re gone, and Wainwright’s gone. …”

“We hope Wainwright’s gone,” Jasmine put in.

“Either way,” Victor maintained, “Cyrus isn’t a killer. That’s why he quit the force. All the blood and death got to him. You might not believe it listening to him, but under that abrasive veneer is a nice guy.” A red light flashed behind him, and he ducked down. “Sorry, showtime. Gotta go, beautiful. Tell Rogan not to fixate on Cyrus. Why would he want to kill anyone connected to Malcolm Wainwright?”

When the screen went blank, Jasmine glanced up at Rogan. He was going to lean over and make her stomach jitter again, she just knew it. Wanted it. Shouldn’t want it, though. God, she was a mess.

When she tried to forestall him by handing him his phone, he simply rested his arms on her shoulders and pinned her in her seat. “Nice try, beautiful. Now I have a question for you.”

She wished he’d ask it from the other side of the room, however. … “Fire away, Lieutenant. You know I’m always open.”

His words and his breath were warm against her ear. “How long has Victor been in love with you?”

Chapter Fifteen

He’d wanted to shake Jasmine up with what he believed was a perfectly valid observation. What he hadn’t expected was to have the question backfire and wind up irritating him.

She hadn’t been the least bit perturbed, he reflected as he jogged toward his truck in the courtyard. She hadn’t even really seemed surprised.

“I think Victor’s more in lust with me than anything,” she’d said with a shrug. “Better him than Dukes. I know that sounds terrible considering Dukes is gone, but I had a certain cuddly vision of him, and it turns out he was leering at me in a bath towel. He was old enough to be my father, Rogan, making the leering thing just plain
eww.
”

No argument there, Rogan thought, and, thankfully, no more time to dwell on his feelings about it or her.

He and Boxman had gone back to the raven room, rounded up and released the birds as per Riese’s instructions. He had the phone the killer had left next to Jasmine, the blanket he’d used to cover her, the remains of the explosive device, but still no clear sense of who was responsible.

Although it was late in the day, time felt short to him. While Boxman and Costello went another round with Cyrus, he and Jasmine were going to return to Daniel’s cottage and see if they could turn up anything useful from the stacks of books and paper inside.