Heart of the Raven

She didn’t mind eccentric—to a point. If she’d wanted everyday-run-of-the-mill all the time, she wouldn’t have chosen to be a private investigator.

Cassie parked under a gnarly tree that looked to be a century old. A city girl all her life, she guessed it was an oak, but the only thing she knew about oaks was that acorns grew on them. She didn’t see any acorns.

She grabbed her briefcase and leather jacket from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. It was quiet. Too quiet. As if birds were afraid to be there.

Cassie made a slow sweep of the terrain with her gaze as she slipped into her jacket. Chills tiptoed down her spine. Someone was watching her.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” she muttered, figuring if she spoke the hackneyed phrase aloud it would make her laugh. It didn’t.

She pulled her braid free of the jacket and let it fall against her spine. The lack of birdsong made her wonder if a wild animal was crouched nearby, watching her. Stalking her. That would scare the birds into silence, wouldn’t it? A wolf, perhaps? Is that why this place was named Wolfback Ridge—because wolves ran free?

She scanned the property again, admired the hand-carved sign that said Raven’s View, then lifted her gaze to the house. Tinted windows. Was it the client watching her? He even sounded gothic—Heath Raven. The name alone gave her an image of him. Dark and mysterious, maybe even disfigured. Tormented.

Cassie shook off her overactive imagination. One of her Los Angeles bosses had assigned her the case, a missing person. She’d called the client immediately and set up an appointment to see him, even though it was lunchtime. He’d sounded normal. A quick Internet search yielded the information that he was an architect, a highly acclaimed one. How bizarre could he be?

She walked toward the house, her boots crunching gravel along the rustic path leading to the building. The sky turned inky as the structure itself blocked the only remaining hope of sun creeping in.

Cassie trusted her instincts, and her instincts were screaming at her to turn tail and run, that the man who lived in this dreary setting was going to make her personal demons surface, ones she’d buried deep and long ago. But just then the big wooden door opened and a man stood framed in the doorway.

He wasn’t disfigured. Other than that, she’d nailed him. Dark brown hair overdue for a trim, angular features, clear green eyes, assessing and, yes, tormented. A too-thin body, but solid, too.

“Ms. Miranda?” he asked in that perfectly normal voice but without the slightest smile in his eyes.

“Yes. Good afternoon.” She passed him her business card, which identified her as Cassie Miranda of ARC Security & Investigations.

“I’m Heath Raven,” he said, taking a step back. “Please come in.”

He wore blue jeans and a red polo shirt, more normalcy.

Yet nothing seemed normal at all.

The house was as silent as a padded cell. The sleek furnishings of the living room they stepped into looked unused, as did the fireplace, which showed no signs of ever having been lit. The huge windows should’ve allowed light to flood in. Instead it was dim. Dismal. And sad—especially sad, as if the house was in mourning.

Cassie pulled a notebook and pen from her pocket as she sat on the sofa. He stood a distance away.

“Who’s missing, Mr. Raven?” she asked.

His jaw hardened. “My child. My child is missing.”

His words hit hard, a blow to the stomach. This wasn’t a case for her firm, but for the P.D. She closed her notebook. “What do the police say?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t understand. A child who disappears—”

“The woman who is carrying my child disappeared. She left a note. The police won’t get involved because she went voluntarily.”

Anger coated his words—at the woman or the police? Understandable, either way.

“May I see the note?” she asked.

He left the room, giving her a chance to catch her breath. If she’d known there was a child involved… No. She would’ve met with him regardless. She just wished she’d been prepared. Any case involving a child kept her up at night, drove her to exhaustion. She pushed harder for answers, demanded more of herself and everyone around her.

“Here,” he said, handing her a single sheet of pink stationery.

Dear Heath,

I need to figure things out. Don’t try to find me. I’ll be in touch later.

Eva

Not exactly a love letter, Cassie thought. “When did you receive this?”

“It came in the mail this morning.”

“Is she your wife?”

“No. We had a one-night stand over eight months ago. I offered to marry her, several times, but she said no. Several times.” He walked away from her.

“Why would she leave?”

He looked back sharply. “I didn’t abuse her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m gathering facts. That’s what I do.”

Impatience surfacing, he dragged his hands down his face. “Here’s the story,” he said. “I don’t get out much. Most of the time people come to me when I need something. Eva works as a clerk in my lawyer’s office, and she was assigned to bring me paperwork to read and sign. After almost a year of seeing her once a week or so, we slept together. Once. She got pregnant.”

“When is she due?”

“In three weeks.” He moved around the room again, not stopping to touch anything, just moving, pacing. Prowling.

“Are you sure the child is yours?”

He hesitated a fraction of a second. “I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

She measured his response and decided if he’d questioned the issue before, it was settled in his mind—or almost so. He’d be a fool not to have some doubt, based on what he’d told her. “Okay. Were there any clues that she was about to take off?”

He came to an abrupt halt. “None.” The harshly uttered word conveyed all of his brimming emotions. “She stops by every few days. She gives me an update from her latest doctor’s appointment, we talk a little, and that’s it. I’ve never done anything to make her run away. She agreed to shared custody as soon as the child was weaned. We have an amicable relationship.”

An amicable relationship? Cassie thought it was an odd description, implying they were not friends but merely acquaintances.

“Do you give her money?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She waited. He didn’t expand on his answer.

“I’m going to need more detail than that.”