Scarlet Nights (Edilean 3)

“You’re looking at me awfully hard,” he said as he pulled packages from the refrigerator.

“I still don’t see that you look like Tess.”

“You’d see the resemblance if we were together. You like asparagus?”

“Only if it isn’t covered in that awful pink sauce.”

“A girl after my own heart.” When Mike smiled like that, he almost looked handsome.

Turning away, Sara saw the big folder on the table with a title company’s name on the front. “What’s this? Did you go to a closing today?”

“Yes, and it’s a gift from my sister.” Mike was washing the scallops.

“She gave you land, or is it a house?” Sara’s voice was astonished.

“Both, I guess. The place’s been owned by the McDowell family for years, and now it’s mine as long as I or my descendants live there. If I so much as try to rent it out, it goes back to my new brother-in-law.”

“That sounds like Rams. So which place is it? The family owns about a dozen houses.”

Mike was mixing the salad dressing. “It has some odd name.” Which he’d heard all his life, but he didn’t want to tell her that. He’d said too much about himself already. “Like something out of Harry Potter.”

Sara was opening the package. “Maybe it’s Castle Heights, but I didn’t know the McDowells owned anything over there.” She pulled the deed from the package and began to read it. At last she whispered, “Merlin’s Farm.”

“That’s it,” Mike said as he put the scallops in a hot skillet. “Merlin, Potter. I knew it was something to do with wizardry.” He bent to look at the flame and turn it down. When he straightened, Sara was standing beside him—and her face was red with anger.

“You bastard!” she said under her breath.

“What?”

“You lying, sneaking bastard.” Her voice was rising. “You are in on this. You’re working with them to destroy what I want in life. I was ready to believe you were innocent, but you’re the worst one. You—”

For the second time in Mike’s life, he allowed a woman to slap him. He made no effort to stop her or to protect himself, because he knew that every word she was saying was true. But how had she found out about his undercover work?

When he saw tears in her eyes, he fought the urge to pull her into his arms. He wanted to apologize to her and to all the women he’d hurt in his life. Right now there were four women in prison because of his testimony. They all deserved to be there, but he still didn’t like that he had put them there.

As the tears filled Sara’s eyes, she seemed unable to say anymore. She swept past Mike, and as she’d done the night before, she slammed her bedroom door.

For a moment, Mike stood there, his cheek burning, and tried to figure out what had happened. She’d found him out, but how? He turned off the burner on the stove, went to the table, picked up the portfolio, and looked in it. Sara had taken out only the top paper. He read it, but it was just the usual legalese stating the longitude and latitude of a piece of property commonly known as Merlin’s Farm, and deeding it to Michael Farlane Newland.

When Sara spoke, he nearly jumped because he hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen. “I want you to leave,” she said softly.

Turning, he looked at her. Her eyes were red from crying and she looked so lost and forlorn in her pretty white dress that he just wanted to protect her—which he was trying to do. For a moment the photos he’d seen of the women they were fairly sure had been murdered by Stefan Vandlo flashed before his eyes. If Mike moved out and gave up watching over her, would he soon see pretty, delicate little Sara Shaw in a shallow grave?

“I want you to leave now. I’m sorry your apartment was destroyed, but you have to find somewhere else to stay. If you can’t find a hotel, I’m sure my mother will take you in. Or maybe I will leave.” There was an old land line telephone on the wall, and when Sara reached for it, he saw that her hands were shaking.

If he weren’t on such an important mission, he would have done as she asked and left. He didn’t like being the cause of any woman’s tears. But he couldn’t leave.

When he went to her, he couldn’t help himself as he put his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t push him away, so when she started crying again, he pulled her against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Whatever I did, I didn’t mean to. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

She was crying hard, her whole slight body trembling against his, and her tears were wetting his shirt. He could feel the damp and the warmth of them on his skin.

Carefully, he led her into the living room, sat her down on the couch beside him, grabbed a handful of tissues, and began to blot her face.

She took the tissues from him and blew her nose, and he handed her fresh ones.

“Will you talk to me? Please?”

“Merlin’s Farm,” she managed to get out.