Heart of the Witch (2 page)

The girl moaned again, and he forgot about his mother's voice. He sucked in a breath as the girl's eyelids fluttered open. God, she was magnificent. Her eyes looked almost black in the light from the moon, but he recalled their incredible shade, those rich emerald irises flecked with gold. He couldn't wait to see them colored with fear.

"Hello. I've been waiting for you. Do you remember me?"

The girl shook her head. With his handkerchief lodged in her mouth, she couldn't speak even if she wanted.

"I saw you at the restaurant. You were with two other women. Celebrating an engagement, I think?"

Her eyes held confusion but no fear. Yes, the disorientation was always there first. The fear would come soon. The fear always came shortly after the blade appeared. Then the questions. Then the begging. Finally the screams.

"Tell me, are you the bride?" She didn't respond, so he continued. "If so, congratulations are in order." He allowed himself a secret grin. If she was the bride, somewhere there would be a very disappointed groom.

He took off his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. Walking to the fireplace, he pulled his knife from its sheath. "It's okay that you don't remember me. After tonight you will." He didn't add she wouldn't remember him long because she wouldn't
live
long. No need to cause all-out panic. Not just yet.

He held his knife blade in the flame until it glowed red, then walked back to her side. Her gaze traveled to the knife, and then to his face. He saw anger but still no fear. Damn. He gripped the neck of her red dress and yanked until it tore down the front. A sheer red bra barely covered tantalizing breasts that were, yes, perfect. Her eyes showed more anger. She began to mumble behind the gag and struggle against her bindings.

"Don't fight. You can't win." Smiling, he pressed the hot steel against her stomach. A guttural cry tore from her throat, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room.

There, that was better. He looked into her eyes. Pain. But still no fear. Who the hell did she think she was?

"You're a tough one, huh?" He slowly lowered the blade again and watched as her eyes followed his movement. He grinned.
Let me see that fear
.

Her expression began to change, but there was still no fear. Instead, her face showed something different, something he couldn't explain. The amber flecks in her irises began to glow, casting light of their own. Her eyes burned brighter and brighter until they were golden pools of fire. They became a blaze of scarlet, the color of blood.

He stepped back, rubbed his eyes. A tremble of fear wormed through him. When he looked again, her eyes still blazed crimson. Around the gag, her lips stretched into a sneer, and for the first time in his adult life,
he
was the one afraid.

No, not afraid. He was terrified.

A strangled shriek wrenched loose from his throat. His mind told him to run, but he couldn't move; it was as if his feet were mired in quicksand. He shook his head from side to side, emitting small whimpers from between clenched lips. His knife slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, seemingly a useless toy. His bowels clenched, then loosened, but the humiliation of soiling himself was lost in the awfulness that followed.

His groin warmed. It heated to the point of being uncomfortable, even painful—excruciating pain like he'd never felt before. An animalistic scream reverberated through the room as his genitals burst into flame.

Flashes of red and blue stroked the treetops above Ravyn Skyler's head. She lay on a stretcher while the paramedic applied ointment to her burn. "You're sure you won't go to the hospital?" he asked, his young face scrunched in disapproval.

"I'm sure. I'll be fine."

He puffed his cheeks out and heaved a sigh. "You'll have to sign a release."

She nodded. "Okay."

"All finished," he said, pulling her tattered dress over the injury. "You can sit up now. I'll be right back with the release form."

Ravyn rose to a sitting position and pulled the blanket she'd been given around her shoulders. She wore nothing except her torn dress underneath—just another humiliation added to an already horrific night.

Sheriff Whitehall, who'd arrived immediately after the ambulance, appeared at her side. He pushed his cowboy hat back, revealing a large forehead and a receding hairline. Crevices lined his sunburned face. His stomach hung over his belt, and an unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth. His eyes looked sleepy, as if maybe he'd just gotten out of bed. Since it was the wee hours of the morning, he probably had.

"Ms. Skyler? The ambulance driver's gonna let you stay right where you're at while we chat. Mind tellin' me what the hell happened here?"

Ravyn looked around. The cabin in the wooded area bore no resemblance to the last place she'd been: the parking lot of the Caribbean Nights restaurant in Oklahoma City.

"Where am I?"

His thick gray eyebrows drew together. "You're outside… on a stretcher… 'bout a mile and a quarter east of Cotton, Oklahoma. I'm not sure what yer askin'. You all right?"

"Cotton? How far is that from Oklahoma City?"

"'Bout fifty miles. You from the city?"

Ravyn nodded. "I need to get home."

"Your sister should be here before long." The sheriff had let Ravyn call her from his phone, and Sorina was en route. "I need to ask you some questions while we wait."

Ravyn managed a weak smile. "Sure."

"Oh, by the way. Don't fret about this." He pointed to the cigarette. "Throws folks for a loop these days, but I never light it 'cept in the cruiser. I reckon anybody that winds up in there deserves to have a little smoke blown at 'em. Ya know what I mean?"

Ravyn nodded. She didn't give a damn about the cigarette. She just wanted to go home.

The paramedic returned with the release form. Ravyn signed it and he walked away, shaking his head.

"Now." The sheriff crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Ravyn sighed. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself and without looking at the sheriff began to speak. "I met my mother and sister for dinner. After we finished, I walked to my car. As I was about to open the door, someone grabbed me from behind. He put something over my mouth, and the next thing I remember I was waking up in that cabin."

Ravyn closed her eyes. In her mind's eye she could see her captor. Not just his features, which were rather ordinary, but the evil pleasure on his face, especially as he pressed the hot blade to her flesh.

She opened her eyes and the vision disappeared. Swallowing, she continued. "After he burned me with the knife, I screamed. The guy ran. I heard a car take off. Then those boys—hunters, I guess—came in and found me. They called nine-one-one."

"Did you know the man?" the sheriff asked.

"No."

"Can you describe him for me?"

This was where it got tricky. Ravyn didn't want to tell the authorities what the man looked like. If they found him, he would tell them what he'd seen. What she'd done. How she'd set him on fire.

"It was dark. I was drugged."

The sheriff blew out a breath and was silent for a moment. At last he said, "Ms. Skyler, I think the man who attacked you was the Tin Man. He's murdered at least five women. You would've been his sixth. Why do you reckon he let you go?"

Ravyn shrugged. "Probably because I screamed. I guess it scared him."

"All of his other victims were gagged. Weren't you?"

Ravyn looked down at her hands. Anything to avoid the lawman's piercing stare. "Yes. But I managed to dislodge it," she said, lifting her gaze.

Sheriff Whitehall rolled his cigarette around in his mouth and shook his head. He clearly didn't believe her. Had her story sounded as implausible to his ears as it had to hers?

"Can you at least give me some kind of idea what he looked like?"

Ravyn hesitated. She was afraid for them to find him, but she was also afraid they wouldn't. He'd kill again. If she hadn't finished him, she was sure he wasn't finished.

She let out a breath and said, "He was of average height. Brown hair. Beard. That's about all I can remember. He wore a dinner jacket and slacks. A dark color, maybe black or navy."

The sheriff nodded thoughtfully. "Mighta been a customer, then, eating in the same place. Probably watching you. We'll need to check the restaurant's receipts for the night."

"He was," Ravyn recalled. "He mentioned that he saw me dining with my mother and sister. He was there."

"Okay, then. What about scars, tattoos, jewelry of any kind… ?"

"No. I didn't notice anything like that."

"Was there anything familiar about his voice? This is mighty important, Ms. Skyler. Anything you can remember might help."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'd like to help, but I can't. I've told you everything." Well,
almost
everything. In spite of the ointment, her wound throbbed. She just wanted this to be over with. "Can I go home?"

"Ravyn! Dear God! Are you okay?"

Ravyn looked up and the sheriff turned as Ravyn's sister descended on them. Taller than Ravyn, blonde, vivacious and striking, Sorina was the kind of woman men devoured with their eyes. Whitehall was no exception.

"I'm fine," Ravyn said as her sister bent and enveloped her in a Versace-scented hug.

"What happened?"

"Ms. Skyler was attacked by a man that coulda been the Tin Man," the sheriff answered.

Sorina's face paled. "Oh, my God! No! Honey… !" Her eyes rilled with tears and she hugged Ravyn again. "How? When Mother and I left you at the restaurant, we thought you were leaving right behind us. We assumed you'd gone home."

"He grabbed me in the parking lot." Ravyn shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the sheriff from under her lashes. She didn't like the way he hung on her every word.

"And I just went home!" Sorina wailed. "I left you there alone."

"You didn't know. Don't blame yourself," Ravyn assured her.

Sorina lifted a trembling hand and brushed a tear from her porcelain cheek. She turned to Sheriff Whitehall. "The Tin Man is the serial killer, right? The one I read about in the papers? He mutilated those poor women. He was the one who did this? Are you sure?"

The sheriff shrugged, his gaze on Ravyn as he answered. "The guy got away, and your sis here can't tell us much about him."

"I gave you a description," Ravyn replied.

The sheriff peered at her, his brow furrowed. "Not a very detailed one."

"How did you manage to escape?" Sorina asked.

Lying to her sister was more difficult than lying to the sheriff, but Ravyn couldn't admit to Sorina what she'd done. "As I told the sheriff, I screamed, he ran. Some hunters found me. Can we please go home now?"

Her sister took her hand and squeezed. "Are you sure you're telling him everything?"

A cold shiver seeped through Ravyn from deep inside her body, from inside her soul. Icy trepidation trickled outward and traveled over her flesh.

Death is coming
, said a voice.

Ravyn looked at her sister, then the sheriff. They apparently hadn't heard; the voice had come from within. Not really a voice. More like a premonition. A warning. But did this feeling mean that someone close to her was in danger, or was it simply because she'd encountered a monster who wore murder like a cologne?