The Old Witcheroo (32 page)

Crap. Jo Jo was supposed to open in the morning to prep the food. Over the past year, he’d become a very competent sous-chef. I made a mental note to set my phone alarm so I could call him in the a.m. before he came to work.

Silently, I handed the paper bag to the sheriff. Billy Bob stared at my overnight case and frowned.

“You got enough for a few days?” Billy Bob’s low baritone voice sent a shiver through my belly to my girly parts.

Oh, Lord, going to spend the night at his place was such a bad idea. “I have everything I need for a short stay.”
A very, very short stay.
“Sheriff, do you want me for anything else?”

“Come down to the station in the morning and fill out a witness statement. You two can go.” The sheriff cast a furtive glance at Billy Bob then me.

“Am I missing something?” I asked, suspicious. What was this all about?

“No, ma’am,” Sheriff Taylor said. “You all have a safe drive,” he added.

My left shoulder ached, the one that had been ripped from its socket and left to mend out of place. My body held too many reminders of being tortured by my kidnappers. I switched the small suitcase to the right hand. Billy Bob reached out for it, but I stopped him. “I’m not an invalid.”

His brow wrinkled with irritation, but suddenly, his gaze landed on mine, and his face softened. He nodded. “Let’s get going then.”

* * * *

The ride in his half-ton truck was like sitting in a Jon boat as it crossed a choppy wake. “Jesus, Doc. You ever heard of shocks?”

“This beauty is reliable.” He patted his dashboard, his gray eyes shining as moonlight streamed into the cab. “I can count on it to get me where I’m going.”

“Yes, but can you count on it to get you there free of hemorrhoids?”

He smiled, and my pulse quickened. It made me stupidly happy to see the corners of his lips tug up. “I heal fast.”

I laughed, the repulsive image of the skinned corpse fading with each minute in Billy Bob’s presence. “You’d have to.”

He chuckled. My lady bits clenched. Ugh.

“How have you been?” he asked.

His concern flattened my woo-woo feelings, and my lady bits unclenched. “Fine.” My throat was tight. “Are you going to do the autopsy on the body?”

“Yes,” he said. “Mark Smart will transport the victim to the clinic.”

“Tonight?” I hadn’t thought about where or when Billy Bob would examine the body, but when he’d asked me to stay at his house, I’d just assumed it would happen tomorrow.

“I need to identify him.” He shook his head, his eyes tight at the corners. “For his family. It’s not fair to let him go unclaimed by his people.”

My stomach hurt. For too long, my younger brother Judah and the other victims of those insidious hunters had gone unclaimed. I remember what it had been like for the two years before we discovered why my brother had disappeared. I’d never stopped wondering or worrying. My emotions had run the rainbow of anger to grief to hope to denial and back to anger. I didn’t want another family to suffer the same experience. Not even for a day.

I nodded sharply. “Good.” I swallowed. The heat of anxious energy burned in my gut.

Billy Bob put on his blinker before turning up his long driveway. We passed his sweat lodge. I couldn’t buy into all his shaman bullshit. Yes, we had the ability to transform into animals, but that didn’t mean every type of magical crap out there was real. When we crested the hilltop, his house appeared. It was a large, one-level ranch home with the clinic attached on the nearest side.

The outside lights were on, illuminating the large front porch that stretched the length of the house, maybe sixty feet long and eight feet wide. The place had two front doors about twenty feet apart. One was Billy Bob’s private entrance to his home, and the other was the public door to the clinic. A van was parked near the clinic door, the lights off.

Billy Bob turned the truck off. “Smart is here with the…” He looked at me.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Do you need help?”

His expression flashed with surprise. “Are you sure you want to help?”

What he was really asking was,
Can you handle it
? I nodded, telling myself to woman up. “I’m tough, Doc.”

“That you are.” He put his hand on my forearm and gave it a squeeze.

His touch electrified my skin with an energy that pulsed through my body. I pulled away from him as if I’d touched a hot coal. He thinned his lips, his gaze now on the steering wheel.

“We better get to it,” I said to cover my embarrassment. Shit. What was wrong with me?

I should have apologized. He was being kind. It wasn’t his fault my stupid hormones did a jig every time he walked into a room, or that my whole being wanted him whenever he touched me. It was as if he was the socket and I was the bulb. Every time he touched me my body would light up. I’d never had that reaction to another man. Ever. I’d like to say it was some transference because he was my doctor, my caregiver, during some of my darkest hours, but truthfully, he’d made me feel that way before I’d been kidnapped.

He opened his door, got out, and shut it hard behind him. I winced. After a few calming breaths, I got out too. By the time I reached the clinic, Billy Bob and Mark had already pulled the victim out of the back of the funeral home van on a gurney. Billy Bob handed the key to Mark’s oldest son, Jackson, who had gone into business with his father right out of high school.

I caught up with Jackson at the door. His face looked as pale as his pale blond, almost white hair, typical of opossum shifters. “You okay?” I asked.

“I never saw anything like that, Chav.” He shook his head, his eyes haunted.

I could smell vomit on his breath. Poor guy must have gotten sick. I’d lived in a cage for almost three weeks with only a bucket for my bodily functions, and sometimes, they’d messed me up so badly I couldn’t use it. Even so, seeing that skinned corpse, having its blood cover me, had almost made me empty my stomach too.

I patted his shoulder and took the keys from his shaking hands. “Why don’t you go sit on one of those benches? Get some fresh air.”

He didn’t argue with me. Shoulders slumped, he walked the ten feet to the nearest bench and sat down. Billy Bob and Mark had pulled the gurney up the ramp by the time I got there to help. I put the door wedge in to hold it open so I could get out of their way and then followed them inside.

“You have anyone in the clinic tonight, Dr. Smith?” Mark asked.

“No,” he said. “Nothing too major this week to warrant an overnight stay. I guess I can be grateful for that.”

I was grateful I wasn’t the body being moved to the metal table in his surgical suite. After all, the body had been left near my restaurant…while I was in the kitchen. Suddenly the air left my lungs as if I’d been socked in the stomach. “I was there,” I said.

“What, Chavvah?” Billy Bob asked.

I looked at him, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. “I was cleaning the kitchen.” My hand went to my trembling lips. “The killer was right outside the door. He could have waited until I … Damn it, Doc. He could have killed me too.”

Strong arms wrapped around me before I realized that Billy Bob had me in his embrace. I could hear his heart thumping as I pressed my face against his chest. I’m tall, only an inch shy of six foot, but next to Billy Bob most people were short. His hands threaded my hair, still damp from the shower, and my skin pulsed, threatening to strip my self-control. I wanted to shift. To run. To forget about my human side. My broken, damaged, emotionally stunted human side, and just let instinct and nature take over.

“You smell like the woods and the wind,” Billy Bob whispered to me. “You smell of home.”

I pulled back, curiously freaked out. What game was he playing? “I need some air.” I stepped out of his arms. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Why don’t you just go on over to the house,” he said. “After the Smarts get on their way, I’ll show you the guest room. Until then, get something to eat or drink from the kitchen.” He raised a brow. “There’s a liquor cabinet in the living room if you want something stronger than water or tea.”

“Thanks,” I told him and meant it. “You have bourbon.”

He smiled. “Yep.”

“Awesome.” I headed out the door of the surgical suite without a single look back. I wanted to lose myself in a glass of liquid amber.

I’d never been in Billy Bob’s home before, the non-medical side of his ranch house, so, I really hadn’t known what to expect. Maybe something rustic, a lot of weathered wood, and oh, I don’t know, dream catchers. Something in the Southwestern motif of design. It was none of that. The walls were pale green but earthy and warm with brown and gold accents. The furniture was modern, but still comfortable and inviting. The living room had a large fireplace, a deep brown semi-circular sofa with a round coffee table made of several types of wood that complimented the rest of the room. On the wall nearest me, I saw a tall liquor cabinet with see-through doors. The alcohol bottles were neatly shelved by type.

I retrieved a highball glass from the lower part of the cabinet where I also spotted a built-in ice maker. Fancy. I plopped a couple of chunks into my glass and grabbed the only bottle of bourbon in the cabinet. I took a long pull straight from the bottle. The potent liquor burned its way down my throat to my stomach. I waited for the blossoming warmth I knew would come. When it finally did, I poured two fingers into the glass and made my way to the sofa. It was July, so there was no need for a fire in the fireplace, but still, I huddled around my glass of booze as if it were ablaze.

I could smell Billy Bob’s scent—earthy musk with a hint of bergamot permeating everything in the room, including my shirt, which had been pressed up against him. Sometimes a heightened sense of smell could be a curse. At least the scent of the freshly murdered man was gone. I reclined against the backrest of the couch, marveling at the comfort, when I heard the door between his clinic and home open, his footsteps down the hallway, his slow, steady breathing as he entered the room.

“Hey, Doc,” I said, without turning around to look at him.

“Hey,” he said back. “I see you found the bourbon.”

I held up my glass and shook it so the ice clinked. “Yep.” I sighed and closed my eyes. “It’s nice.”

“If you’re ready, I’ll give you a quick tour and take you to your room.”

I stood up and turned my gaze on him. He was carrying my overnight bag. “Oh, shoot. Thanks.” I strolled to him and tried to take it, but he waved me off.

“I’ll take it. No, argument, please.”

“I’m too tired to argue anyhow.” I wanted to forget about the night, but I knew some things would be burned into my memories no matter how much brain bleach I applied.

I let him lead the way down a wide, wainscoted hallway, and couldn’t stop myself noticing the nice view aka his firmly, muscular ass in some spectacular fitted jeans. Jesus, why was I thinking about his butt? There was a dead man in the clinic next door, possibly a neighbor, even a friend, and here I was letting my hormones have their way. I felt like the most awful human being ever.

He slowed up, and his scent grew stronger, the bergamot turning bright and citrusy to my senses. He stopped at a door near the end of the hall. I crossed my arms because my stupid nipples had gone rigid with alert. He put down the case and pivoted to face me. The raw expression in his silvery-gray eyes melted me to my toes. I gulped.

“Uh, this my room?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Where is your room?”

His eyes darkened with an expression I hadn’t seen before. “Right across the hall.” He reached back and rapped the knuckles of his left hand on the door.

“Oh. That close.”

“Don’t worry,” he growled in a very un-Billy Bob way. “I won’t bother you tonight.”

“I didn’t…” I realized I didn’t know how to respond.

“If you need me I’ll be in the clinic.”

“Right,” I said. “Right. The guy.”

He pointed at the door just up the hall from the guest bedroom. “Bathroom if you need it.” His words were tight, squeezed, as if his throat had swelled. He didn’t open the door for me. Instead, he skirted around me as if I had Ebola and quickly walked away down the hall and out of sight.

What the hell was that all about?
I’d never seen Billy Bob act so strangely. It had to be the body. Had he found something? Something that affected him personally? Or me? “Oh God.” I put my hand to my mouth. What if it really was someone I knew? Someone close to me? I hadn’t looked close enough to determine the height or build of the corpse. I’d wanted so badly to get away from it. I couldn’t even put a voice to my worst fears. I wouldn’t. I’d already lost one brother.

My hands shook bad enough that I dropped the highball glass. It didn’t shatter but ice skid across the hardwood floor and bourbon splattered everywhere. I sprinted up the hall, my wet soles sliding as I tried to slow down for the transition around the corner. I slammed to the floor, landing hard on my backside. The impact made my right leg throb with renewed pain, and my elbow bleed where it had smacked into wainscoting trim. It made me angry that I couldn’t keep the tears from my eyes as I pulled myself up from the floor and limped down the next hall toward the clinic.

I
couldn’t calm my racing pulse or my ragged breathing as I burst through the door. The stench of death overwhelmed me for a second. It was sweet, I noted, almost gamey, like the way rabbit meat smelled.

Billy Bob stepped out of the surgical room. I must have been a hot mess because his eyes widened with alarm. “What’s happened? Is someone in the house? You’re bleeding.” He stripped the surgical gloves from his hands and rushed to me, his speed dizzyingly fast. He grasped my upper arms, his face a mixture of panic and rage. His voice grew unnaturally low. “Who hurt you? I will kill him!”

His aura, which is the only way I could think to describe what I felt, surrounded me, heady and heavy, until I thought I would pass out. “I’m…No one,” I finally said. “The body. I just…Is it…” When he wrapped me in his arms again. I didn’t fight him. I let the heat of his comfort seep into my skin.