Circle of Death (21 page)

Desire ached through her, and in that instant, she fully woke, realizing with shock that it was no dream. She was indeed lying in bed and kissing a man. And she was naked to boot.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she pulled back abruptly.
We couldn’t have
, she thought, not
daring to open her eyes. Surely she would remember if she and Doyle had made love …

“I would certainly hope so,” he said, his voice gravelly and sexy as hell.

She opened her eyes. His face was inches from hers, blue eyes filled with mischief, warmth and desire.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

“Fine.” A little on the weak side, maybe, but that was probably due to lack of food more than anything else. She touched his smooth cheek, running her finger down to his chin. “You’ve shaved.”

He was also fully dressed and lying on top of the covers, rather than underneath. Relief ran through her, though it was touched by an odd sense of disappointment.

His sudden grin sent another shiver of desire through her.

“I thought I’d better,” he said. “Didn’t want to give you whisker burn, if I ever got the chance to kiss you again.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What made you think you were ever going to get another chance?”

“You’re a woman. I’m a man. We’re in a dangerous situation, and we’re mutually attracted.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, his touch flushing warmth down to her toes. “The odds are on my side, you know.”

“Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she muttered. Trouble was, they both knew he was right.

“Sure of myself, yes.” He stared at her for a moment, blue eyes intent, his thoughts suddenly troubled. “But sure of you?
That
I’m not.”

It was pointless to say anything. Not when she was as unsure of herself as he was.

He caught her fingers and kissed them lightly. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Her birthday. Helen’s birthday. This certainly
wasn’t
the way she’d imagined she’d be spending it. Nor was he the person she’d thought she’d be spending it with. She bit her lip and blinked back the sting of tears.

“I haven’t got you a present,” he said, and rose swiftly from the bed. “But I can make you breakfast.”

She blinked at his abrupt departure. “Great. And thanks.”

“Your bag is in the bathroom. Don’t get those bandages wet if you decide to wash.”

Bandages? She glanced down and saw that she was indeed wrapped in bandages, from just under her breasts to her waist.

“Why am I wearing bandages?” she called after him.

“Long story. Get dressed, and I’ll explain.”

She cursed him silently but didn’t move, for the first time taking in their surroundings. If they were in a hotel, it was certainly the dustiest hotel she’d ever seen. And the furnishings were so old and worn they looked ready for the dump.

She looked up, saw the pitched roof and the strings of cobwebs trailing the length of the room and frowned. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear they were inside the old farmhouse. But that didn’t make any sense. Surely it would be too dangerous. Their murderer would come here, if only to make sure that Doyle was still in her trap.

She climbed out of bed and walked across to the window, peering out. Trees swayed beyond the roof
of the veranda, and on the ground to her left was a patch of black soil in a sea of yellow-green grass.
Zombie remains
, she thought with a shiver. They were definitely at the farmhouse, then.

She wrapped a blanket around herself and headed down the stairs. Doyle turned around in the kitchen as she entered the living room.

“Nice outfit,” he commented, eyes bright in the hazy light. “I especially like the teasing flash of thigh as you walk.”

She blushed and tugged the blanket around her. “Why are we still here?”

He turned away, stirring the contents of a bubbling pot. “Why are you not getting dressed?”

“Because I want answers.”

“You’ll get them when you get dressed.”

He moved across to the freezer and opened the door, then hesitated and met her gaze. Heat trembled between them, burning through every part of her. She knew that if she so much as breathed his name right now, he would take her in his arms and make love to her, right here in this dusty old living room. And while she ached for his touch, she wasn’t ready yet to give in to desire. Wasn’t ready to trust that completely. So she tugged the blanket closer and remained silent.

He sighed. “I’m not made of stone, Kirby. I’ve made no secret of my desire for you, and right now, you’re not making it any easier for me to keep my distance.”

Her blushed deepened. “Sorry,” she muttered and retreated. God, what had she been thinking? She’d only been with two men in her life, and both times it had been an uncomfortable experience. She’d certainly
never been relaxed enough with either of them to parade around semi-naked. Yet here she was, draped in nothing but a blanket, padding about in the presence of a man she barely knew.

Maybe she’d lost some brain cells somewhere in the last twenty-four hours.

She found the bathroom. By the time she’d cleaned up and dressed, the smell of toast was drifting through the air, making her stomach rumble.

She headed back out and sat on one of the stools near the kitchen counter, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Smells good.”

“Thank God for canned food and freezers,” he said, sliding a plate of baked beans and toast across to her. “Remind me to leave some money behind for our unknowing hosts when we leave.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A considerate thief?”

He smiled. “Always.” He motioned with his fork to her plate. “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”

She ate, discovering she was hungrier than she’d thought. He offered her a second helping, and she demolished that as well, feeling a whole lot better for it.

“Thank you,” she said as he replaced her empty plate with a cup of coffee. “Now, answers, if you don’t mind.”

He sipped his coffee for a moment, leaning back against the sink and regarding her steadily over the rim of his mug. There was a touch of accusation in his gaze, and heat crept across her cheeks, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the wounds on your back?” he asked.

She frowned for a second, then remembered the
manarei
attacking her as she’d tried to flee over the fence. “To be honest, I forgot. It was my leg that hurt, not my back.”

“The wounds got infected and could have killed you. Next time, mention it.”

A shiver ran through her. She hoped there never would be a next time. “What’s that got to do with the reason we’re still here? Shouldn’t we go before Felicity gets back?”

“She left me here to die, so I don’t think she’ll be back for a while. It’s too obvious.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So we’re here because it’s safe?”

“No, we’re here because you collapsed with a high fever, and I had no other choice but to stay here.”

And he’d been worried about her, really worried. The thought warmed her. Maybe he wasn’t just attracted in a physical sense …

“It’s way beyond physical, and I’ve already told you that.”

He had? When? She stared at him, more than a little troubled by his words. How could
any
emotion be real after little more than twenty-four hours? “Doyle, we barely know each other.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t have to know to care.”

Care, not love. She looked away for a moment, inexplicably hurt by his choice of words. “Your boss told me I should ask about your father and grandfather.”

“The old witch should mind her own business.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?” She
sipped her coffee and regarded him steadily over the rim of the mug.

He sighed again. “My father asked my mother to marry him after knowing her for precisely ten minutes. My grandfather waited a whole hour before he did the same with my grandmother.”

She grinned. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Of course, in my mother’s case, she thought my father was crazy, and at one stage she asked her brother the policeman to threaten him. But in the end she came around.”

“And your grandmother?”

“Shoved my grandfather in the car and headed for Las Vegas as fast as her old Ford would go.”

Her grin widened. “So this sort of insanity runs in your family, huh?”

“Apparently so.” He considered her for a moment, then said, “Do you remember what happened last night?”

She blinked and wondered why he had suddenly changed the subject. It was almost as if he didn’t want to talk about his family, but why? “No. What happened last night? I thought you said I had a fever.”

“You did, but it broke around midnight. At three, you were up and talking to the wind.”

A sense of dread ran through her. She wasn’t a storm witch, and the wind had never talked to her before, so why would it be doing so now?

“Can you remember any of it?”

“No.” She hesitated. Images ran through her mind, fractured remnants of dreams that had assailed her during the night. The wind had not featured in any of them, but Helen had.

She frowned. “I dreamt about Helen. Dreamt that I was dancing with her in the wildness of a storm. She talked to me.”

Even though it sounded crazy, he appeared to take her dreams seriously. “Can you remember what she said?”

She sorted through the memories, trying to catch fragments of conversations. “She was trying to warn me about something—or someone. I’m not sure. And she said I had to open the present and perform the spell tonight, at midnight.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. All she said was that I must complete the circle.” Kirby frowned. The coldness was back in the pit of her stomach, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t eaten so much. “Why would she be asking me to perform a spell? I’ve never had anything to do with magic, even when she was performing it.”

He hesitated. “Camille went to the morgue and checked out Helen’s body. Her magic was gone, but unlike our killer’s other victim, it had not been ripped from her but rather spelled away. Maybe Helen’s final gift to you
is
her magic.”

“No.” She wouldn’t—
couldn’t
—accept such a gift. “Surely something like that is impossible.” Yet life, time and again, had shown her
nothing
in this world was impossible.

Then the realization hit, and horror rushed through her. Oh God,
no!
Helen had died because of
her
. Had died because she’d spelled her abilities away and had nothing to protect herself against the
manarei.

“It was Helen’s choice—Helen’s decision,” Doyle
said. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

His thoughts wrapped around her, offering sympathy and strength. She thrust them away angrily. “I could have been there. I could have stopped her.”

“If you had been there, you’d be dead as well,” he said, his voice sharp. “All you can do now is make sure Helen’s sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.”

She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. He was right. She knew that deep down. But right now, she just wasn’t ready to accept any of it, particularly the gift her best friend had died to give her.

“I don’t want to do this,” she muttered.

“You have no real choice now.”

“Maybe.” She looked away from the understanding in his eyes. She wasn’t ready to accept that yet, either. “What now?”

“Right now, we’re going to join the hunt for the remaining members of this elemental circle of yours.”

His tone was still a little sharp. Maybe he’d heard her thoughts. “Camille didn’t have any luck uncovering the whereabouts of the two women or tracking down Felicity Barnes, then?”

He shook his head. “I was talking to her earlier this morning. They’ve eliminated several past addresses for both women, and have a couple to go.”

“And Felicity Barnes?”

As she said the name, an image ran through her mind—a skinny girl in jeans and a red sweater, brown hair tied back in pigtails, blue eyes ablaze as she chased her and Helen through the trees.

Not Felicity, but her best friend, Mariel, who liked to tear the wings off bugs. Mariel, who could make
dead things come to life. She was their killer—of that Kirby was suddenly certain. The only trouble was, there was no Mariel on Camille’s list.

“Camille’s list obviously isn’t entirely accurate,” Doyle commented. “The fact that you’re not on it proves that. And Mariel could easily have assumed another identity.”

She nodded and rose. “Then let’s get going.” Because she had a feeling time was running out—for them, and for the next victim.

He didn’t move. The window behind him threw his features into shadows, but his eyes gleamed blue fire. There was concern in his gaze and in his thoughts. “Are you really feeling okay? You were so sick yesterday, maybe you shouldn’t push it today. It might be better—”

“Don’t even suggest it,” she interrupted. “I’m not staying here alone while you gallivant about looking for the next victim. Helen said I had to find her, and find her I will.”

“Damn it, will you just listen to common sense for a change? I’m sure Helen never meant for you to run yourself into the ground.”

“Helen
died
to keep me safe,” she retorted. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did anything less.”

“You are the most annoying, aggravating, pigheaded woman I have ever met.” His voice was so low, his words were little more than a soft growl.

She smiled sweetly at him. “And you love me for it.”

He shot her a look that could have meant anything and pushed away from the counter. “We’ll come back here tonight. I still think it’s the safest place to be right
now. And if you have to perform that spell tonight, then there’s less likelihood of us being disturbed here.”

She followed him out of the house, not wanting to think about the spell right now. “You have the new list of addresses?”

He locked the door and handed her the list and car keys. “I’ll open the gate. You bring out the car.”

She did. While he relocked the gate, she pulled the list out of her pocket and studied it.