Raintree: Haunted (Raintree 2)

Gideon leaned against the bookstore’s brick wall and cursed succinctly. Dante had made the gift nonspecific time-wise, but Emma was an entity waiting to come into this world, and she said she was coming soon.

Not necessarily. He was in control here. He made his own decisions. If he didn’t want a family, then he wouldn’t have one. In spite of everything he’d been taught in his life, he could not believe that he had no choice in such an important matter.

“What did you see?” Dante asked.

“None of your damn business.”

Dante laughed again, then ended the conversation abruptly, as if someone had interrupted him.

Hope opened the bookstore door and stuck her head out. “Raintree, I think you’re gonna want to hear this.”

Tabby paced her recently rented apartment, the adrenaline still pumping amidst the faded and dusty furnishings. She’d had the woman in her sights, and it would have been an easy enough shot from the deserted apartment on the other side of the alleyway from Echo Raintree’s place. Aim. Pull trigger. Watch the target fall. Run. It was a good, simple plan. Not the way she preferred to work, but still, a good enough plan to throw Raintree for a loop.

And then Gideon had knocked the target to the floor, and the bullet had been wasted. Tabby didn’t know what all of Gideon’s talents were, but apparently he had some kind of psychic power as well as the ability to see ghosts. He’d knocked his partner to the ground a split second before she’d pulled the trigger.

Tabby hated hotel rooms. There was no privacy in such places, and she needed to know that no one else had access to her things. No matter where she went, she was able to find a cheap apartment to rent, like this one. She paid a month in advance and was always long gone before the month was done. She avoided her neighbors and never ever brought her work home with her.

On the small kitchen table of this shabby, furnished apartment, the newly taken finger and hank of bloody hair had been treated and were drying. She sat before them and drank in the sensations they recalled so vividly. She wished for more, wished to be able to absorb the life power of her victims, but in a way she was satisfied that these things were now hers. There was such a wonderful dark mojo in her keepsakes; they soothed her even when everything else was going wrong. And at the moment it seemed that everything truly was going wrong.

Echo was still nowhere to be found, and that was a problem. Cael’s orders had been specific. Echo was to die first. Tabby knew that if she called her cousin and told him what had happened, he would order her home, and then he would send someone else to finish the job she’d failed to accomplish. Her life wouldn’t be worth spit if that happened. She had to finish the task she’d been given, and she had to finish it herself. Echo first, Gideon later in the week, and preferably at a time and place where she could get close enough to appreciate the experience.

Mulling over the possibilities, she reached out and barely touched a strand of spiked, pink and bloodied hair. She’d hit a couple of road bumps, but soon the Raintrees she’d been assigned to kill would be dead, and that was all that mattered. As for the woman cop, Tabby now wanted her dead on principle alone. She hated to miss.

The older lady at the bookstore had seen a woman with long blond hair walking very briskly—just short of running—away from the apartment building at exactly the right time. The long blond hair and the timing were enough to at least loosely tie the shooting to Sherry Bishop’s murder. But what lay behind the crimes? It was a question Hope had no answer for.

“Sorry about your car,” Gideon said. “It’ll be safe in the Hilton parking lot until morning. We’ll get someone out there then.”

The shooting and the resulting investigation, and then a couple of hours spent in the office they shared scanning unsolved murders outside the Wilmington area that were similar to Sherry Bishop’s, had delayed them until it was too late to call a mechanic. Gideon Raintree was driving her to her mother’s place. He had a thin stack of files he was taking home with him to look over later. He was hoping he would see something new if he had a fresh look.

Hope had to admit that Raintree certainly appeared to be motivated by something other than greed. Was it possible that he was truly as devoted to his job as he appeared to be? Maybe his parents’ murders had inspired him and there were no secrets waiting to be uncovered. No betrayal waiting to surprise her.

Meanwhile, she was exhausted and happy to be headed home, which at the moment was her mother’s apartment over The Silver Chalice, a New Age shop Rainbow Malory owned and operated in downtown Wilmington. Of course, Rainbow was not the name Hope’s mother had been given at birth. Her real name was Mary. A nice, solid, normal name, Mary. But at the age of sixteen Mary had become Rainbow, and Rainbow she remained.

To Hope’s horror, Gideon parked at the curb and killed the engine.

“Thanks,” Hope said, exiting the Mustang quickly and doing her best to dismiss her partner. Gideon Raintree was not easily dismissed. He left the driver’s seat and followed her. Luckily The Silver Chalice was two blocks from the parking space Gideon had found. “We had this discussion, Raintree,” she said sharply. “Would you have walked Leon home?”

“If someone shot at him, yes,” he responded.

“Someone was shooting at you, not me.”

“Prove it.”

True enough, she couldn’t prove anything. As her mother’s shop grew nearer, she straightened her spine and sighed. “This is fine. Thanks.”

“Is the shop still open?”

Hope glanced at her watch. In the summertime, the shop’s hours were extended to suit the tourists. “Yeah, but I can’t imagine there’s anything in the store that would interest you.”

“You don’t have any idea what might interest me.”

She had spent two days in this man’s company, and she didn’t know him at all, she realized. Hope reached the shop entrance and placed her hand on the door handle. “Don’t tell my mother that someone shot at us,” she said softly as she opened the door and the bell above her head chimed.

The Silver Chalice sold crystals and incense and jewelry made by local artisans. Th

ere was a display of tarot cards and runes for sale, as well as a collection of colorful silk scarves and hand-carved wooden boxes. The jewelry kept The Silver Chalice in business, but it was the New Age items that Rainbow Malory embraced. Strange, slightly off-key singing—meditation music, her mother called it—drifted from speakers overhead as Hope entered.

Rainbow looked up from her place at the counter and grinned widely. She was still very attractive at fifty-seven, though the streaks of gray in her dark hair gave away her age, as did the gentle smile lines in her face. She didn’t color her hair or wear any makeup. Or a bra.