Fire Dancer (Spellbound in Sedona #2)

Chapter Four

INGO

I forced myself to leave the bar before Pippa did, because otherwise, I would have been tempted to follow her home, which just wouldn’t do. It didn’t matter how much I loved her or that she loved me back, as evidenced by the slow dance we shared.

Yes, a slow dance. A terrible idea, but neither of us could resist. “Islands in the Stream” had come on, and that football-jock Pippa had danced with earlier was making eyes at her like that might be his chance, when it was absolutely not. Especially not that song — the one Pippa and I used to call ours back when life was simpler.

“Against my better judgment…” she’d murmured, offering her hand.

The candle on our table had flared, burning brightly.

Against my better judgment too, though that didn’t stop me from following her to the dance floor and easing into old, familiar moves. Close moves, with her chin snuggled against my shoulder and our chests touching. Much like the many mornings-after we’d once shared, with no one in between, just like the song said.

You’d think the daughter of a pyromancer and a dragon shifter might carry the scent of smoke or ash, but Pippa’s was more like lavender incense. Every breath calmed and centered me — enough to make me wonder how I got by without her.

All day, I’d been agonizing over the mystery of the dead “hiker.” But even that faded away when I was with Pippa, and I could believe in good things, at least for a while.

Too bad the next song — Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” — ripped us out of the mood. I’d left Pippa with a peck on the cheek instead of the full-on, Gone with the Wind , bent-over-backward kiss I’d been dreaming of. Then I’d hurried out to my car, where I’d spent five minutes waiting for my heart rate to settle down. Finally, I cranked up the engine and drove into the night.

Janet Sullivan, I reminded myself. The dead hiker. My office wasn’t far. I could easily drive over, log in to the agency database, and do some more investigating.

But I’d been digging through that rabbit warren all day, and my wolf was howling for a change.

Well, howling for Pippa. But a run would be good too.

So, I drove “home” to the cabin I was renting, having taken over the lease from Nash. It was way out of town, down a dirt road, on a property owned by an older guy named Henry.

As the dragon flies, it was only about three miles west of Pippa’s ranch. As the wolf trots, it was more like five miles. I knew, because I’d been drawn in that direction night after night. Drawn by what, I wasn’t sure. By Pippa? Destiny? By my own foolish hopes and desires?

That night, like every night, I told myself I wouldn’t go. But that night, like every night, I went anyway.

Just a little run, my inner wolf begged. Just to get out and move. We don’t even have to head in her direction.

The same lie I let myself fall for every time.

I only entered the cabin long enough to drop my car keys and jacket. Then I stepped outside again, stripping layers as I went. Sweater, shirt, pants, boots, socks. Henry was a perfect neighbor as far as that went — plenty distant and lights out by nine, due to his early starting time with the hot air balloon company he owned. So I was all alone.

April nights in Sedona were as chilly as the days were warm, so I shifted as I walked. The tiny hairs on my skin thickened and grew. Color drained out of my eyesight, while scents flooded my nose. I hadn’t been in Arizona long enough to name each of the flowers I whiffed, but there was an astonishing array — everything from prickly cacti to the sticky-sweet blossoms hummingbirds buzzed around.

I dropped to all fours, curling my hands, hunching my back. My body ached and burned. Then, once every bone, muscle, and sinew snapped into place, the usual adrenaline rush hit me, and I took off at a sprint.

I’d been able to shift from the age of seventeen, but the sense of freedom never failed to thrill. All day, I was bound by a thousand human rules: where to drive and how fast (or how slow), when to wait (always too long), what to say (and what not to). Now, I could do anything, from rolling in the dirt to howling at the moon. I could scratch an ear with my rear leg without being told it wasn’t polite, and I didn’t have to fuss with clothes. Wherever instinct led me, I could go without thinking about how or why. In fact, without having to think at all.

Which was how I found myself panting under the stars on a ridgeline overlooking a familiar cluster of buildings and barns. Painted Rock Ranch, where Pippa and her sisters lived. Nash, too, though my nose wasn’t pointed in the direction of the cabin he shared with Erin, nor the main house where the younger sister, Abby, lived with her daughter, Claire.

No, my nose was pointed at Pippa’s home, a converted barn at the far edge of the ranch.

The entire property lay under a protective spell none of the sisters could — or would — explain, so it was blurry at first. If an ordinary human had stumbled across my viewpoint, their eyes would only register another expanse of dirt, scrub, and ochre-tinted rock. But if you knew where to look and you concentrated hard enough, the buildings and paddocks took shape, as they did to me now.

Pippa’s car was parked in its usual spot beside the barn and the fire pit. No fire, though a couple of embers glowed. I perked my ears, half hoping Pippa would step out, wave, and invite me in.

There you are, my love. I imagined her calling. Come on in and make yourself at home.

That didn’t happen, of course. Not in the first five minutes I spent waiting, wishing, hoping. Not in the next few minutes that ticked by even more slowly. Gradually, my wagging tail went limp. My ears drooped, and I sat on the cold ground, trying to digest the truth. We were destined for each other, but my job kept driving us apart. Pippa was right about work becoming an obsession. But how could I live with myself if I quit?

A howl built in my throat, but I held it in until I was halfway back to my place. Pippa didn’t need to see — or hear — me in such a state.

It was only when I reached a faraway, lonely patch of desert that I stopped for a good, long howl.

Well, a long howl, at least. Good didn’t apply when the emotions tore your own heart to shreds. The long, sorrowful notes hung in the chill night air, and the stars winked, trying to cheer me up. They didn’t, but I did take solace in the fact that Pippa was home safe. She must have left the bar shortly after I had instead of staying on to drink or dance. So maybe there was still hope. Maybe she was in bed now, yearning for me the way I yearned for her.

I listened to my last, warbly note fade into the night, then made my way home. Outside the cabin, I shifted wearily, then headed to bed. There were bad guys to catch — really, really bad guys ready to harm, steal, and kill. If I didn’t stop them, who would?

* * *

Sleep did about as much for me as howling did, so the sunny day I woke to didn’t shine all the way into my soul. On the drive into town, I cursed every delivery truck and monster motorhome crawling along the roads. I stopped in at my office — a back room of the local Department of Agriculture office, in line with my cover story — then headed out again. No new leads in the hiker case, not that I’d had much hope in official channels anyway.

But I did have a lead on a bear shifter, whether he was involved in the hiker case or not. So, I decided to start there. That meant staking out the strip mall in hopes of picking up the trail of Stacy’s SUV — and driver — there.

Sure enough, the Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows appeared, dropping Stacy off at the coffee shop. All I could see of the driver was a faint profile.

My mind drifted as I waited, taking me to a different place and time. A different case — my one big failure. I’d been taking my time, building my case against Jananovich… Too long, at least for the woman who’d come forward with a tip. She’d been afraid for her life, and rightly so.

Her name was Bridget, and she was only twenty-five when she died.

A death I might have prevented, if I hadn’t waited as long as I had.

So, yeah. I overdid it sometimes, and the price I paid was my own relationships. But I’d made my peace with that.

Well, mostly.

When a car pulled into the space beside me, I glanced over, then back at Stacy’s SUV. Then I drew in a long breath. It was time to build a case or forever drop it. Either way, I would have to live with the consequences.

My wolf growled, and I went with option A. Building a case.

I drew in a long breath, puffed it out again, then dialed the agency.

“Agent Kemper calling for Records & Tracing,” I said when the operator replied.

I waited, tapping my fingers on the dash, then frowning at the reply.

“Unable to process my request? Why?” I asked the guy at the end of the line.

He had no idea, but he promised to look into it.

As I hung up, miffed, Stacy emerged from the coffee shop with a steaming cup and slid back into the vehicle. I started my Jeep to follow it, then hit the brakes as my nostrils flared.

Pippa! my inner wolf crooned.

I whipped my head around just in time to see her screech into a parking spot, leap out of her car, and storm toward a storefront. I threw on the handbrake and left my car, racing after her. Clearly, something was wrong. But what?

I burst into the office she’d entered just in time to see her slap a newspaper on the desk of a bald, pudgy guy.

She didn’t pick him up by the collar, but she did growl. “What the hell is this, dammit?”

My eyes jumped to the nameplate on his desk. Robert Hardy, Red Rock Vistas Real Estate.

The man stuck his hands up. “Now, Ms. Martin—”

So, he knew her — well enough to maneuver his rolling chair to a safer distance.

“Don’t you Ms. Martin me.” She smacked the paper. “What the hell is this?”

“Um, the latest listings?” He sounded guilty already.

Pippa glanced at me with a What are you doing here? look, then turned back to Hardy.

“I mean this.” She stabbed a finger at the center of the page.

“Um…a listing?”

Amazing how a grown man could look like a kid with one hand in the cookie jar.

Pippa snatched up the paper and read. “ Seventy-eight stunning acres of secluded property along Painted Rock Creek, perfect for your own private getaway or development into subdivisions… ”

“That could be any property,” he tried.

“Who else owns seventy-eight acres along Painted Rock Creek?” She scoffed, smacking the paper back down. “How many times have we told you? Our property is not for sale, and it never will be.”

“I only want what’s best for you, your sisters, and Sedona.”

“Ha. You want what’s best for you. So, stop pestering us or…or…” She cast around for something to threaten him with, then glanced at me and lit up. “Or we’ll get a restraining order.”

Ouch.

Hardy tapped the tiny print at the bottom of the listing. “See this? It says we can’t be held responsible for inaccuracies or changes.”

“I’ll show you being held responsible—” Pippa hissed.

I caught her hand before she did something rash.

Hardy threw a wild-eyed look at the only other person in the office — Louise Bartly, according to her nameplate — who reached for her phone, eyeing the numbers nine, one, and one.

I flashed my government ID, then stuck it away before they noticed the Department of Agriculture part. “All right, everyone. Settle down.”

Hardy pointed at Pippa. “Tell her that.”

She crossed her arms. “No, you tell me why my property is listed when it’s not for sale.”

He stuttered a few times. “As I said, I only want the best for you and your sisters. And if your circumstances were to change…”

“What circumstances?”

A satisfied look flashed behind the fear in Hardy’s eyes.

“Say, a property reassessment or a tax increase you’re unable to meet…”

Pippa’s brows pinched. “Tax increase?”

Hardy shuffled through some papers, then turned one around. Pippa opened her mouth to yell, then stopped, stunned. Her eyes ran over the text again and again.

I frowned. Now what?

She grabbed the paper to inspect it more closely. “What are you doing with an assessment of my property?”

Hardy went from terrified to smug. “Property assessments are a matter of public record. And that there document says yours has been undervalued for years.”

Pippa reread the paper, muttering, “Harlon fucking Greene. He’s behind this, isn’t he?”

My ears perked at that mention of the warlock who’d recently been intercepted by the agency. I hadn’t been involved in the case, but it had led to the establishment of a new agency post in Sedona — the post I now filled.

I leaned in to read over Pippa’s shoulder. Harlon Greene’s illegal business deals had been brought to light by Pippa, her sisters, and Nash. Now, it appeared the warlock was wreaking his revenge, perhaps through an anonymous tip to the tax authorities.

“Property in Sedona is worth a hundred times what it was in your great-aunt’s day,” Hardy pointed out.

I narrowed my eyes. It seemed Hardy had had the ranch in his sights for years.

“Maybe, but twenty-six million?” Pippa shook her head.

Hardy pulled out a calculator and made a show of working out the math. “That’s…let me see… Yes. It comes to a tax increase of about ten thousand dollars.”

“Ten thousand?” Pippa screeched.

“Per year.” Hardy placed his glasses on the desk with glee. “And seeing as such assessments can be backdated three years…”

Pippa’s eyes went wide. Mine too. There was no way she or her sisters could come up with that kind of money.

“Thirty thousand.” Hardy tut-tutted. “Quite a burden, I know.”

Pippa slapped the document back onto his desk and leaned in, looking dangerous as hell. “You seem to know an awful lot about all this, Bob.”

The wheels of his chair squeaked as he edged away.

“You think I don’t see through this?” Pippa went on.

I touched her shoulder, but she smacked my hand away.

“You’ve been after our property for years, and you know it,” Pippa raged. “I bet you already have the plans all sketched out. Subdivisions, McMansions, a golf course…”

My nose twitched, and I glanced around. What was that acrid smell?

“Let me guess,” Pippa continued. “You even have the marketing planned. What will you call the place? Painted Rock Gated Community? Painted Rock Ruined Subplots?”

“Is something burning?” Louise Bartly asked.

Pippa didn’t seem to hear. “Painted Rock Cooker-Cutter Mansions? Painted Rock Starter Castles, each with their own Garage Mahal?”

My eyes fell to the desk and, crap. The real estate listing was going black around the edges. The pages curled, and a thin wisp of smoke rose.

I grabbed Pippa’s shoulder while Hardy smacked at the flames.

“Fire! Fire! Stop!” he grunted, as if the fire might obey.

It didn’t. Not until I squeezed Pippa’s shoulder — hard. She blinked a few times, then glanced down with a sour look.

“Holy crap…” Hardy continued smacking at the flames, and finally, they extinguished. “Where did that come from?”

Pippa crossed her arms and glared.

I pulled her away while pointing to his glasses. “Looks like the angle was just right for a magnifying glass effect.”

Hardy snatched up his glasses and peered at the lenses, then the sunlight streaming through the window. “Huh. That’s never happened before…”

No shit. I towed Pippa toward the door.

“Maybe you should be more careful,” she snipped.

“With your glasses,” I hurried to add. “Goodbye.”

The moment I shoved the door open, the heat of the day hit us like a wall. I thrust Pippa through it and out onto the sidewalk.

She glared at Hardy, then at me. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

“Yours.” I towed her away before Hardy figured out what had set off that fire. “You want to be charged for assault and arson?”

She jerked her arm free. “Hitting a desk with a piece of paper isn’t assault.”

“And what about the fire?”

“What about it?”

I pinned her with a stern look and towed her toward her car. A glance back showed me she was tearing up, but it wasn’t until we reached the car that she let them flow.

“I can kiss Venice goodbye,” she mumbled through her tears.

I bent closer. Venice?

“Even worse, I might have to kiss the ranch goodbye,” she went on miserably. Then she balled her fists and banged on the car roof. “I have to win that contest. I have to.”

“What contest?”

Her answer was so garbled, I settled for rubbing her back softly.

“It will be okay.”

I wished someone could rub my back, though. I knew exactly what set off that fire in Hardy’s office. And as an agent of the ADMSA, I was duty bound to report it — and any other supernatural activity that qualified as harassment or assault. But I was also madly in love with Pippa, and I would always, always stand on her side. But one of these days…

I wrapped my arms around Pippa and tucked my head over hers, wondering where this would all lead. Bitter disappointment, no doubt. For her, for me, and for our foolish hearts.