you actually do have a concussion, let’s call it curiosity.”
“Let’s call it not your business, and move on to why one of this country’s least-favorite sons is giving you, the descendant of a Maine witch, grief.”
“I helped send him to prison. Seems my testimony pissed him off.”
“Thereby landing you in a whack of trouble and leaving me with one last burning question.” Without appearing to move, he closed the gap between them, wrapped his fingers and thumb lightly around her jaw and tipped her head back to stare down at her. “Why the hell has your witchy face been in my head for the past fifteen years?”
He didn’t expect an answer. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked the question. True, she looked very much like the woman in his recurring dream, but the longer he stared at her—couldn’t help that part, unfortunately—the more the differences added up.
On closer inspection, Amara’s hair really was more brown than red. Her features were also significantly finer than...whomever. Her gray eyes verged on charcoal, her slim curves were much better toned and her legs were the longest he’d seen on any woman anywhere.
He might have lingered on the last thing if she hadn’t slapped a hand to his chest, narrowed those beautiful charcoal eyes to slits and seared him with a glare.
“What do you mean my face has been in your head for fifteen years? What the hell kind of question is that?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Given my potentially concussed state, call it curiosity and forget I asked.”
The suspicion returned. “Are you sure my grandmother’s in the Caribbean and not locked in a closet upstairs?”
“This might not be the best time to be giving me ideas.” With his eyes still on hers, he pulled a beeping iPhone from his pocket and pressed the speaker button. “What is it, Jake?”
“Got a problem here, Chief.”
His deputy sounded stoked, which was never a good sign. But it was the background noises—the thumps, shouts and crashes—that told the story.
“Bar fight got out of hand, huh?”
“Wasn’t my fault.” Jake had to yell above the sound of shattering glass. “All I did was tell the witch people to mount their broomsticks and fly off home.”
“You know you’re in Raven’s Hollow, right? Raven’s Hollow, Bellam territory.”
“Can I help it if folks in this town are touchy about their ancestors?”
“This night is deteriorating faster by the minute,” McVey muttered.
Jake made a guttural sound as a fist struck someone’s face. “Raven’s Cove was settled first, and that’s a fact. Why’re you sticking up for a bunch of interlopers who can’t hold their liquor and are proud of the fact that one of their stupid witch women made it so my great-great-whatever-granddaddy got turned into a bird?”
Were they actually having this conversation? McVey regarded Amara, who’d heard every word, and, holding her gaze, said calmly, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
He could see she was trying not to laugh as he pocketed his phone and bent to retrieve the gun he’d lost during their scuffle.
“Sorry, but I did warn you, McVey.”
“No, you didn’t. You said your Raven’s Hollow relatives represented the less antagonistic side of the family. That’s not how Jake Blume’s telling it.”
“Twenty bucks says Jake started it.”
Since that was entirely possible, McVey stuffed his weapon. “What can I say? He came with the job.”
“The job’s a powder keg, Chief, a fact that whoever talked you into it obviously neglected to mention. Raven’s Cove goes through police chiefs—”
“Like wolves go through grandmothers?” In a move intended to unsettle, he blocked her flight path. “Gonna need your keys, Red.”
Unfazed, she ran her index finger over his chest. “Are you telling me, Chief McVey, that a deputy came with the job, but a vehicle didn’t? Sounds like someone suckered you big time.”
“I’m beginning to agree.” And, damn it, get hot. “Keys are in case your car’s closing my truck in. Knowing Jake as I do, we need to leave now.”
“We?”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Whack of trouble,” he reminded her, and was relieved when she ground her teeth.
Their banter was getting way out of hand. Given the situation, a distraction like that that could turn into something bad very quickly.
He caught her shoulders before she could object, turned and nudged her through the mudroom. “As much as I’d love to argue this out, my instincts tell me you have a functioning brain and no particular desire to wait here alone for whatever family member Jimmy Sparks chooses to sic on you.”
“I wasn’t planning to wait anywhere.”
“Right. You want to search for a place to flop in Raven’s Hollow. At night, in a windstorm, with no idea how many of your relatives are home and how many are participating in the destruction of a Blume-owned bar at Harrow and Main in the Hollow.”
“The Red Eye?” She laughed as he reached back to snag his badge from the table. “That’s gonna piss Uncle Lazarus right off—assuming he still holds the lease on the place, which he will, seeing as he’s notorious for acquiring properties and never selling them. Never selling anything, except possibly, like his ancestor Hezekiah, his soul.”
“I’m getting that you don’t like your uncle.”
“It’s not a question of like or dislike really. Uncle Lazarus is a miser and a misery of a man. He’s also quite reclusive. Even so, your paths must have crossed a time or two since you arrived.”
“More than a time or two, only once that mattered.”
Wind whipped strands of long hair up into her face the moment they stepped onto the back porch. “What did you do, fine him for jaywalking?”
“Nope.” McVey held the key ring in his mouth while he clipped the badge to his belt and checked his gun. “I arrested him for being drunk and disorderly.”
Amara clawed the hair from her face. “I’m sorry. I thought you said he was drunk.”
“He was hammered.”
“And disorderly.”
“He lurched into a dockside bar in Raven’s Cove, staggered across the floor and slugged a delivery driver in the stomach.” He pointed left. “My truck’s that way.”
“I see it. I’m waiting for the punch line.”
“No line, just two punches. The second was a right uppercut to the driver’s jaw. He’s lucky the guy didn’t file assault charges. I’d guess your uncle did a little boxing in his day.”
“He did a lot of things in his day. But burst into Two Toes Joe’s bar drunk? Not a chance.” She hesitated. “Did he say why he did it?”
“Driver was a courier. He’d delivered a large padded envelope to your uncle’s home in the north woods earlier that afternoon. Four hours later the guy’s eyes were rolling back in his head. Lazarus pumped a fist, laughed like a lunatic and fell facedown on the floor.”
“After which, you locked him in a jail cell.”
“Yep.”
“You