Cursed

“Unless I get a warrant for it,” he warned her. Since he’d finally found her, he would be able to ask for one—especially since the attack on Raven. But it would be faster than waking a judge in this godforsaken county in the Upper Peninsula if she freely offered it. “If you’re not her, why won’t you provide a sample of your DNA to prove it? To clear yourself?”

“You forget—it’s innocent until proved guilty,” she said, her lips lifting in a slight smile. But it was grim—not taunting.

He had been taunted by other killers, ones who had sat across the table from him, laughing at him during the interrogation. Proud of their crimes. She didn’t act that way. But then, nothing about her was completely what he had expected except for her beauty.

She was so damned beautiful.

But he reminded himself and her, “We both know you’re not innocent. Your name—your description—comes up in police reports across the country going back nearly two decades. Since you were ten years old, you helped your mother run cons on desperate, gullible people.”

And because of that, he doubted she was the real deal. Like so many other self-proclaimed psychics, she was nothing more than a con artist.

She shook her head. “You have the wrong person.”

For a con artist, she wasn’t a very good liar. Then again, most suspects had trouble lying to him. “So prove it.”

She shook her head again.

“You won’t give up your DNA, because you know it’s going to be at every one of these murder scenes.” He tapped the photos again as he settled back onto the chair across from her. He needed to look at those photos, to remind himself what happened to people who got too close to Maria Cooper.

The tip of her tongue slid out and flicked across her lower lip. Was she manipulating him? Did she know how that simple action had his guts constricting with desire? With need?

“Just—just because someone was at the crime scenes,” she stammered, “before the crimes happened, doesn’t mean they were involved in the crimes.”

“Once,” he allowed, “maybe even twice. But four times—five, including tonight? That’s more than coincidence. That’s means and opportunity. The only person who’d be at every one of these crime scenes is the killer.”

“And you,” she said. “You’ve been at every scene.”

First in his mind and then in person. He nodded. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Catching you has been my number one priority.”

She shivered—maybe it was because her clothes were wet from the rain. Maybe it was because his determination scared her.

“Number one priority?” she repeated. “Why? Nobody’s died in over a year.”

He cocked his head at her significant slip. “How would you know that unless...?”

“The dates on the pictures.” She pointed toward the corner of one of the photos. “The most recent one is over a year old.”

“Yes, no one’s died in over a year,” he admitted. Most of his colleagues had considered the case cold. That was why he had made the trek to the UP alone, on his own time. He’d been chasing down a lead no one else had considered worthwhile, working a case no one else cared about anymore. “Until tonight...”

She shuddered. “No. Not Raven...”

“It shouldn’t have been any of them, either,” he said. “No one should have died. Why? Why did you kill them?” Especially as gruesomely as she had. Was it because they’d had real gifts and she had resented them for it?

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she insisted. And maybe she was a better con artist than he’d thought, because she actually sounded sincere. “I would never hurt anyone.”

He snorted in derision of her claim—not because of the dream but because of the reality of her swinging that knife toward his back. If the flash of the blade hadn’t caught the candlelight and reflected it into his eyes... If he hadn’t stopped her...

“That’s not what Raven said when she called me tonight,” Seth informed her. “She was afraid of you.”

“She called you?” she asked, surprise flickering through her dark eyes. “Why—how—did she contact you?”

“I gave her my card when I stopped by your shop earlier today,” he said.

Her golden skin paled. “You were there earlier today? She never said...”

“That an FBI agent had tracked you down,” he finished for her. “She covered for you earlier—with me, denying that you are who you are.” Much as Maria herself was trying to deny her identity.

“That’s because you’re wrong about me,” she insisted.

Seth had never been more certain of anyone’s identity than he was of hers. He didn’t need DNA to prove she was Maria Cooper. But he did need her DNA to link her to those other crime scenes.

“I’m not wrong,” he replied. He could have added that he rarely was—because it was true and well-known in the agency. “And Raven realized I was right about you, too. She called me because you scared her.”

Color returned to her face as her skin flushed. “I—I didn’t mean to scare her. She shouldn’t have been afraid of me.”

“You threatened her,” he reminded her. “You told her she was going to die.”

Maria shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was the cards. It was what I saw.”

“What you saw?” Did she really see things, the way he did, or was she like so many other psychics, a crackpot looking for money and attention? Those old police reports from people who had given up their money to her and her mother claimed that she was a fake. But maybe she’d just been faking with them...

“When I read the cards,” she said, “I saw that she was in danger. I wanted to protect her. I tried to get her to stay with me—”

“She stayed,” he said. “She called me from the shop. And that’s where I found her—with you.” If only he had been able to get there in time, the girl might not be fighting for her life at that very moment.

“She left,” Maria argued, “right after I read her cards. I tried to stop her.”

“Was that when you struggled?”

“Struggled?”

“The table was overturned, the cards scattered across the floor.” He caught her hands in his and stroked his thumbs over the scratches on the backs of them. As if she felt the same jolt he did, she jerked her hands from his. “Is that when she scratched you, or was it when you tied the noose around her neck?”

She shook her head. “No. I found her like that...when I came back to the shop.”

“So you left the shop, too? You chased after her?”

“Not right away,” she said. “I made her the amulet first. Then I tried to find her—to give it to her.”

“Amulet?” The dried plants hanging, like the rope, from the rafters, and the crystals and candles hadn’t been just for ambiance. She used them, as witches had centuries ago, to cast spells.

“I made it of herbs and crystals to ward off the evil and protect her from harm.”

“It didn’t work.” Harm had befallen Raven. And from the last words the girl had said to him, he had his prime suspect sitting across the table from him. Their knees touched again, his sliding between hers. The warmth of her body emanated through their rain-damp clothes, and heat rushed through him.

Another image flashed through his mind.

Her hair tangled across his pillow. Her nails digging into his shoulders, then clawing down his back. She clutched at him, her body tensing beneath his. She cried out his name. “Seth!”