“My guy has me doing low reps, high weights,” Ian said, flexing his muscular right arm. “I’ve really made some gains this year. He’s amazing. If you really want to work with him, I could give you his…”

I pursed my lips and crossed my arms, which stopped him cold.

“You aren’t really interested in my trainer’s name, are you?”

With a smile and shake of my head, I laughed. “Do I look like a girl who goes to the gym?”

His gaze swept down my body and back up, before locking back on mine. We both looked away, momentarily embarrassed.

“I wouldn’t say that…” he replied.

I bounced from foot to foot, the heat building in my ears. “I think I’ll stick to hiking,” I told him.

Ian had never struck me as a gym rat, but now it made sense. The gangly young teen I’d known in my childhood had transformed into a man with broad shoulders, a trim torso, and muscular arms. It was probably a necessity for being an officer. You couldn’t keep up with the criminals if you sat around all day. And as much as I hated to admit it, muscles looked good on Ian Larson.

“We spent all day interrogating Andy Jenkings,” Ian started, oblivious to my momentary awkwardness. “He admits to creating the bomb and wanting to set it off in town. But he won’t sing about the murder.”

I abandoned my thought process and focused on him. He had abandoned the uniform and thrown on khaki pants and a light blue button down shirt that matched his eyes. They were frustratingly distracting. “But what about the evidence? The bag of ricin? He tried to hide it from us the day we talked to Laura.”

He shook his head and sucked in his cheeks. “It wasn’t poison. The bag was full of fertilizer. He was using

it to create his homemade dynamite. It’s a pretty common ingredient in these sorts of explosives.”

So, Andy was just a protestor with violent inclinations? But, not a murderer.

“And Grammy Jo?” I asked. It killed me to think she was still rotting away in some jail cell. Grammy was tough, but she didn’t deserve that.

“Out on bond,” Ian replied quickly. His mouth pressed into a thin line and he watched me, as if afraid I’d blow like one of Andy’s dynamite sticks. “All we have is circumstantial evidence that she might’ve accidentally poisoned him. Judge Nowak didn’t want to hold her.”

That made sense. Judge Nowak was one of Grammy Jo’s repeat customers. A bum hip from the Vietnam War that kept him up at night. Just one potion was enough to give him a pain free week. As a result, he looked the other way while Grammy Jo conducted her slightly illegal business out of her home.

I pushed out a lungful of air and felt my shoulders drop. “She’s already home?”

“Yeah, Blythe picked her up this afternoon in her little Beetle. But, she’s not allowed to leave town until the investigation is over. I reminded her that…”

Ian went over a list of bond requirements as my brain flickered. Something was sitting on the tip of my tongue. Something important. I’d been on a mission just a few seconds ago. Ian had interrupted it. It had something to do with…

“Blythe!” I yelled, interrupting Ian mid speech.

He looked slightly put out. “Yes…she’s your cousin.”

“She’s on a date. With him.”

He cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Exactly how hard did you hit your head?”

It was all rushing back to me. The painting. The blood. The roses. And Drew Warring’s furious face. The magic had flowed through me to warn us about Drew. We were running out of time.

“Drew Warring is the murderer.” I grabbed his arm. “He killed Allen White. And now, he’s on a date with Blythe. We have to save her.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Because she told me!”

“Blythe told you that Drew murdered Mr. White?”

“No.” I groaned and searched my brain for a way to explain it without making him think I was crazy.

The Brunick witches might’ve lived in Uriville for generations, but that didn’t mean we liked to talk about our witchcraft with the non-magical sorts living below the manor. Talk like that got you tied up to a pyre and burned to a crisp. Just think about my great-great-great-grandmother. She might’ve been cool with pretending to be someone else the rest of her life, but I wasn’t. I liked my copper curly hair and my athletic build. I liked the way my eyes changed color to match my mood. No one needed to know about my magical ability.

Tags: Lacy Andersen Paranormal
Source: readsnovelonline.net