The Dead Tell (Magical Temptations Collection) (9 page)

He didn’t care what it sounded like. She’d been more open and honest with him this last week than in the year or so he’d known her.
He brushed a knuckle over her bare shoulder.

“So you’re worrying about the women, the killer, the why’s, and new ghosts?”

She smiled, slow and easy. “For the most part, that sums it up well.”  She sat up, stretched, then laid back down, her back to him.

He settled her into the curve of his body.
“You should get some sleep, babe. You’ll be too tired to work if you keep going like this, up all night, up before dawn. “

“
I’m fine.”

“
I know that. Not arguing that point, but you need your rest.”

“
Be nice if I could get it.”

He grinned.
“Oh, you’ll get it.”

She chuckled and he felt it against his chest.
“I thought you were too tired earlier.”

“
That was earlier, this is now, and one sure fire way to get you to rest is to screw you to sleep.”

This time she laughed outright.
“Always so romantic.”

“
That’s me.” He nuzzled her neck. “Romantic.”

She snorted.
He moved her hair away from her neck and kissed her behind her ear. She shivered.

Always so responsive. He loved that about her. Loved how soft she was against him
.

He shifted even closer, rubbing his hands along the front of her, cradling her breasts.
Her nipples hardened as he played with them. He draped her leg over his thigh, cocking her knee as he slid into her from behind.

She
curved, pressing her sweet ass harder into him and he slid even deeper. Her hand fisted the sheets and he smoothed his hand down her arm until he eased her fist open, lacing their fingers together.

Deeper and slower.
He worked her until she begged, until she was so hot, he couldn’t stand it.

With a final thrust, he emptied into her, groaning into her neck.

Maybe her waking up in the middle of the night had a few advantages.

* * *

The bakery bustled with activity this morning. The scent of coffee—Community he’d noticed—filled the air and mixed with the plethora of baking goods.

He watched her again this morning. She was always moving, always doing, always baking, always smiling. Though her smiles the last few days seemed more forced than they had previously. The smile didn’t reach her bright hazel eyes.

He
’d always loved her eyes.

And her eyes
, even as a child, had always been shadowed.

Maybe today was the day.

The police had found his latest doll yesterday. Not long at all. A groundskeeper had been busy and early apparently. By yesterday evening on the news he’d heard of the body of a woman being found in the small community cemetery. The photos, the antique camera images had turned out perfectly. If only the funerary sculptures had been better. But the woman was from a simpler time, a simpler woman, she wouldn’t have been near the ornate graves. She’d have looked out of place. Her in the fading light, the moss hanging from the trees, the pale stones, the growing shadows. Perfect. His best yet.

N
ow he wanted to share.

The urge
nt need to share this all with
her
, with the only person he’d ever really cared about, grew in him with every passing minute.

He
’d created art, his dolls for her.

He remembered her as a child and still had an old faded photo someone had taken of them
over twenty years ago. He was surprised and a bit disappointed that she didn’t instantly remember him. At least not that he could tell.

It had b
een a long time since they’d spent any time together, but she hadn’t really changed. He knew her the first time he’d heard of the new bakery and had walked in and seen her. Knew her instantly.

How was it she hadn
’t seen him, at least remembered him?

Yet at
the same time, he was glad she hadn’t recognized him. There was a strange sense of power in her not knowing him, not knowing of him doing all this for her. Though with the smile dimmed in her eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she did know or sense something. Everyone, after all, was talking about his creations. Though no one used that term.

They used ugly words, like serial and crimes and vicious.

He wasn’t vicious. The girls deaths were quick. Though, he preferred the term sleep rather than death.  Either way, he created his masterpieces.

And soon he could share them. Share them all with her.

She turned
when someone said her name. The man was tall, though the other man with him was taller.

She grinned and this time her eyes lit up.

Once upon a time she’d looked at him that way.

The man said,
“Babe, coffee here.”

She cocked a perfectly arched brow.

“Please,” he added.

Her dimples peeked out.

“That’s better, handsome.”

“
Hey, Paige,” the other man said.

From here he could see the badges clipped to the men
’s waists, the bulge of the guns under their jackets.

“
Hey, St. Cyr. Please tell me you guys have him already,” Paige said, as she set two large coffees on the counter in front of the guys and then moved to the glass case to grab a couple of muffins.

She was so graceful, always so graceful.

The man crooked his finger at her as she set the bag on the counter as well.

“
Not yet, but we’re getting closer,” St. Cyr, the tall man, replied.

Paige leaned over the counter as the man met her halfway.
He watched as the man curled his fingers into the front of her t-shirt and tugged her a bit closer, kissing her right in front of the entire shop of customers.

Someone whistled.

Someone else clapped.

“
Now that’s a side I’d like with my coffee every morning.”

The man pulled away and looked at the college kid who shouted that out pinning
him with hard green eyes. “She’s taken.”

“
So I see, man, so I see,” the brave co-ed said.

He watched it all from the corner as he kept his head down and continued to scan the paper, making sure he turned the page so if anyone looked over they would think he was actually reading the thing.

Th
e man just gave a chin lift and turned back to Paige. They talked quietly for several minutes. She smiled and kissed him again.

The man and his tall partner left. He breathed a sigh of relief, thank goodness.
They were gone.

He wasn
’t sure how he felt about her having a boyfriend. He’d never thought she’d be celibate or a virgin. She was a grown woman. Yet, he didn’t appreciate having it tossed in his face like that—not that she meant to, of course.

The man
, had clearly marked her in front of all these people. He, along with every other male in the place, knew that.

He wondered who that policeman was
—detective, probably, as he wasn’t in a uniform. Didn’t they have to work their way up the chain to get to wear plainclothes?

He watched her as she watched the man walk out of the bakery, a soft smile on her face.
She was happy with him. He was glad of that, he really was. He just didn’t have to completely like it. He didn’t like the confused feelings inside, either, at that.

He wondered if the cops were looking for him, or those specific cops. He’d never
followed his own cases before. Not really. He created, he captured, he left. Until his muse saw another opportunity.

He waited a bit longer until
, like he knew she would, she came over and offered to fill his cup again.

“
You’ve been in several times lately. What’s your name?” she asked.

He grinned.
“I’m waiting for you to remember, Paige.”

She kept her smile, but her brows pulled low.
“I know you?”

“
You knew me, and I knew you, a long, long time ago.”

* * *

Paige held the pot of coffee and watched the man.
Was there anything about him that was familiar? She wasn’t sure. He wasn’t that memorable.

“
I’m almost hurt you don’t remember me, squirt.”

It was the
squirt
that pulled a memory out of a long-forgotten tunnel. A time she’d have liked to have forgotten. The foster home that she’d like to forget.

They hadn
’t wanted foster kids and why the state had allowed them to have any she never knew. They were strict, didn’t allow any fun, any personal items, any peace. The family’s own children were treated like little princes and princesses.

Squirt.

“Don’t worry, squirt, we’ll have a great birthday for you,
” he told her so many years ago when it was the first birthday after her parents died in a car accident. The first of so many and in that dark, cold, unfeeling place.

“
Hey,” he said, his hand on her arm jerking her out of old memories and into the here and now.

“
Sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You went kind of pale.”

She
smiled. “Cohen?”

He smiled at her
, and the smile she remembered. He hadn’t changed all that much, she saw now. Nothing to tell him apart from anyone else. They’d both sort of faded into the woodwork and, in that home, that was a good thing.

Th
ose people hadn’t wanted to hear about her friends that she could see and no one else could. They hadn’t wanted to take her to a counselor until the social worker made them. Deeply religious, they’d told her she was wicked to either be lying or, if she really did see them, then she was evil.

She
’d hated that family.

Hated that time.

Hated everyone but Cohen. Cohen had never doubted her.

He
’d been lost to her after the fire, after she’d lost her temper and they’d locked her in her room. The fireman had busted the door down and rescued her.

She
’d never had to go back to them again.

Af
ter that, she was transferred to a foster family out of state and she was just fine with that. Though they too had taken her to shrinks, gotten her meds, but they at least had been nice. If not accepting. Cohen, had been the only one before Sammy, who had simply accepted and never doubted her.

“
Cohen! Oh my God! It’s been so long!”

He smiled again at her.
“It has.”

“
Where have you been? What have you been up to? Are you visiting?”

He shook his head.
“No, I live here. Have for about ten years. And you, you own this bakery?”

She shook her head and glanced around at the other patrons.
The ghosts were nowhere around, thank goodness. She’d had a headache for a week thanks to the constant barrage of the others.

It was quiet now. She
’d forgotten there was almost a hum when they were around. Strange, she only noticed that when they weren’t around.

“
Hey, who’s this?” Sammy asked, dropping off a slice of quiche at another table and coming over.

“
This is an old, old friend, I haven’t seen in years.” She shook her head again at Cohen. “Why didn’t you say something the first day you came here? What were you going to do, wait and see how long it took me?”

He chuckled, deep and
smooth. “Took you a while. I figured I’d let you know who I was, put you out of your misery.”

She grinned and t
urned to Sammy. “We were in a foster home together years and years ago. Right after my parents died. Not a good time. I’d forgotten a lot of that time. The one good thing was my friend, Cohen.”

“
That was a bad time, bad place, too.”

“
Yeah,” she agreed. “So what do you do?”

“
I’m a pharmaceutical rep,” he told her. “Travel around to the docs here, sometimes other places. Depends on where they want to send me.”

“
Cool.”

“
Say,” he asked, her, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost lunch, you want to go grab a bite and catch up?”

She thought about it. She really wanted to go home and sleep for a bit.
“Um.”

“
Or we can pick another time. I’ll just be traveling later this week and next week.”