“Oh, Christ.” Doc sat up and gathered me in his arms, tucking my head under his chin. “I should have stayed with you.”

  “It gets worse.”

  He eased me back, watching and waiting.

  Taking a deep breath, I told him what I hadn’t told Aunt Zoe. “Wolfgang opened his mouth and grabbed it like this.” I showed him. “And then he tore his face open and his skull cracked and this black demon-looking thing came out.” I shivered just thinking about it. “It had bumpy skin with pustules all over it and these twisty little horns, long sharp teeth and a little snout.”

  “Damn.”

  “Then it called me by my name, and when I answered, it screamed at me, covering my face with bloody spit.”

  He drew a breath between clenched teeth. “Gross. What did it say?”

  “It told me to get out.” I blinked away the memory and looked at him, trying to read his thoughts from the creases lining his mouth, his forehead. “Doc, do you think I’m going crazy?”

  He tipped my chin up and kissed me—no lust, just slow and simple.

  “No, I don’t.” A slight smile curved his lips. “But you should probably try to avoid taking naps during séances in the future.”

  “I’m sorry about that whole Cornelius mess I dragged you into. I swear I didn’t know he was—”

  Doc’s hand over my mouth shushed me. “I shouldn’t have left you there. I was just messed up from what I was picking up in the hotel, and when I realized what I was walking into, I got pissed, which was stupid. And then I took it out on you, which was even worse.”

  We stared at each other for several seconds in silence.

  Shit. I was going to have to break my best friend’s heart.

  I grabbed Doc by the sides of his head and crushed his lips with mine. As my tongue explored his mouth, I rubbed against him, dragging more groans and growls from him.

  He clutched my hips, but instead of helping with my rhythm, he held me still and pulled slightly away. His gaze was dark with lust, but focused. “Violet?”

  “What?” I tried to kiss him again, but he shook his head.

  “Hold on. Tell me something. What color were the demon’s eyes?”

  I’d much rather have talked about the color of Doc’s eyes, but I answered, hoping we could get back to the good stuff. “Orange. Glowing.”

  Doc rolled me off of him, leaving me in a heap on the bed.

  “Hey!” I said, sitting up. “Where are you going?”

  Muffled thumps came from his closet. Then he came back to bed, turning on the light on the bedside table before crawling in next to me.

  I stared at the book he held in his hand—Lila’s freaky book that I’d found at the Carhart house weeks ago. “If that’s your idea of erotic reading material to spice up our sex life, I’d prefer something with happier cartoons in it.”

  “We don’t need any spice, Boots. All I have to do is think about you naked.” He flipped through several pages, then stopped, his lips flat-lining. “Those twisty little horns you mentioned reminded me of something. What you said about its eyes cinched it.”

  “What?”

  “This.” He held the book out to me, showing me a drawing on one of the pages. “It’s called Kyrkozz. The description matches yours.”

  Kyrkozz? Why did that sound familiar?

  I took the book from him, my breath catching.

  “Is that your demon?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whispered, staring down at my nightmare.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kyrkozz.

  The leading star of my nightmare had a previous billing in Lila’s story. Now the question was why had my brain given him a role in the newest Violet Parker scream-queen blockbuster?

  An icy finger of dread scratched down my spine, trailing goosebumps. What if it was real? What if it wasn’t just a nightmare? What if Cornelius had opened some door that had allowed Kyrkozz to come through? What if—stop!

  I took a deep breath, blocking out the hysterical voice in my brain.

  No, I must have seen this picture of the demon before when I’d flipped through the pages of the book. This was just one of those cases where I had plucked bits and pieces of my waking life and cast them into my dream world.

  Yes, that had to be the deal. Otherwise … well, otherwise the worry-etched lines around Doc’s eyes and mouth meant his concern was for more than my mental well-being. Something to do with his own guarded world, his own demons.

  Scrubbing my hand down my face, I fell back onto Doc’s bed. If I could just slow this slide into insanity until I got the kids through high school, they could avoid the “my-mother-lost-her-marbles” leg of the talk-show circuit.

  “Violet?” Doc took the book back and tossed it on the bedside table. “It may be a coincidence.”

  He didn’t sound entirely convinced, though.

  The bed shifted. He drew me against his warmth, his lips brushing my temple.

  “You’re exhausted, more than a little stressed, frustrated with your job, and trying to support a family.” He traced the contours of my face. “Cut yourself some slack.”

  Doc was right. He had to be. But he was scrambling my brains even more with his gentle touches and soothing words, making me wonder what it would be like to share more of my life with him than just stolen moments like these.

  “I should probably go home,” I said, hiding behind closed eyelids. It was safer there.

  His fingers kept tracing, lulling me.

  “I’m sorry about your window,” I said just above whisper level several minutes later.

  “Shhh.” His hand moved to my hair.

  My eyes stayed closed, my muscles softening, my body melting into the mattress.

  “This is a very nice new bed.” I yawned. “I can’t remember where my shorts are.”

  He trailed his fingers down to my arm, lightly grazing my skin. I snuggled deeper into his body heat.

  “Maybe I’ll just take a little …”

  Sleep sucked me under its black waves.

  The next thing I knew, the crows were making their usual morning ruckus.

  I pushed upright with a gasp and looked around.

  Doc’s bed.

  Sunlight shining through the broken window.

  The sound of a shower coming through the open door of the attached bathroom.

  “Oh, no,” I whispered, tumbled from the tangle of sheets onto the floor, and wobbled onto my feet.

  The shower shut off.

  Where was my shirt? Flashes from last night’s activities before I’d blacked out into oblivion replayed in my head.

  “Nice,” Doc said from the bathroom doorway, his towel cinched at his hips, his hair wet and spiky, his jaw shadowed with whiskers.

  Wincing at the not-so-sexy picture I must be, I grabbed a pillow and hid behind it.

  He leaned on the doorjamb. “It’s too late for that. I got an eyeful while you were sleeping.”

  Dear God, naked and ass-up in broad daylight. I’d probably drooled in my sleep, too. Gah! My whole body burned in mortification. “I have to go.”

  “Your clothes are on the end of the bed, under the sheet.”

  I lunged for them. Doc watched me scramble into my T-shirt, his focus south of my chin.

  “You want me to drive you home?”

  “No!” I pulled my boxers up. “I mean, no thanks.”

  “The neighbors are going to see you.”

  “I’ll jog. They’ll think I’m exercising.”

  “In a red satin robe and slippers?”

  “This is Deadwood, remember? They won’t even look twice.”

  “I would.”

  “Yeah, but you’re biased. I’ll call you later.”

  He grabbed me as I beelined for the back stairwell, pulling me back for a quick peck on the mouth. “Thanks, Boots.”

  He smelled clean, his mouth all fresh from toothpaste. I smiled in spite of the shit-storm undoubtedly waiting for me at home. “For throwing a stone through your window?”

  “Yeah, for starters.”

  I pulled away before I shucked sensibility and yanked off his towel. “You’ll be in your office later?”

  He nodded.

  “So will I. I’ll see you then.”

  “Watch the glass,” he reminded me. “Your slippers are by the French doors.”

  On my way down the stairwell, I patted the wall where Doc had rocked my world.

  My slippers were lined up and waiting for me to run on home, which I did, only I went barefoot on the sidewalk for speed’s sake. Everything on me bounced with each step. I clutched my chest and bobbled onward.

  Only two people noticed me. One honked and leered—asshole. The other finished shaking out her rug and went back inside.

  Five minutes later, I snagged the paper off the front porch and huffed around through Aunt Zoe’s side gate. The grass was damp with dew, the bugs still flying low to the ground. I climbed the porch steps, dropping the slippers next to the lawn chair that had been my bed the night before last.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee seeped out through the open window over the kitchen sink. Lowering into the lawn chair, I scrambled to come up with a plan.

  I had to tell Natalie the truth about Doc. It was time. I was tired of the game, sick of hiding from her. Last night had clinched it. I wanted to see where this thing with Doc led, even if it meant me curled up in my closet nursing a bottle of tequila and a broken heart in the end.

  It’s not like Doc and Natalie had ever had anything going. It was always fiction of her making. I should have stepped in sooner, squashing it before she’d daydreamed up her own happily-ever-after with him. But like Elvis—Addy’s chicken, not the King of Rock and Roll—I was too often covered in feathers and clucking when called to task.

  I heard the clanking pipes of the kitchen faucet through the wall next to me. Taking a deep breath, I stood and looked in the window.

  Natalie jerked in surprise, then laughed.

  She shut off the water and grabbed a towel. The back door opened.

  “There you are.” Natalie stepped out and closed the door behind her. She glanced down at the newspaper in my hand. “I didn’t hear you go out.”

  Here went nothing. My heart throbbed in my throat, aching. “Natalie, I have something to tell you.”

  “Wait, let me go first.”

  I slammed on the brakes, words clogging and jumbling at the back of my tongue.

  “I wanted to tell you this when I got home last night, but you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Not sleeping, just lying there with my eyes closed not wanting to talk.

  “When I left the Bingo hall last night, I stopped at the minimart up in Lead to get gas. Guess who was inside buying beer?”

  I had no idea—Shaggy and Scooby Doo?

  “Your buddy, Detective Cooper.”

  She said the word buddy with an exaggerated wink.

  “And guess what the first thing was he said to me?”

  “Bingo?”

  She snorted. “No, smartass. He asked where you were.”

  Contrary to her big-toothed grin, his question didn’t bode well for me. My stomach tightened for a whole new reason that had to do with Cooper and handcuffs, and not in a sexy way at all.

  “When I asked why he was looking for you,” she continued, “he said that he needed to see you again.”

  Uh oh.

  “Did you hear that, he ‘needed’ to see you. You know what that means?”

  That I was going to jail? “Not a clue.”

  “He wants you,” she said with a nod of her head, like it was all said and done and the engagement announcement would appear in the newspaper next week.

  “Possibly, but not like you’re thinking.”

  “Trust me, I’m right. You didn’t see him. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, his face covered with stubble, his hair all finger-raked. He had on some old torn Levi’s and this T-shirt that I swear had bullet holes in it.”

  I knew that T-shirt. They were bullet holes. He’d worn the shirt the first time I’d stopped over to assess his house and have him sign a sales contract.

  “He was the picture of a pining lover, standing there in a minimart late at night, buying a twelve-pack of beer so he could go home and drink until he forgot you.”

  Or just drink with his buddies and keep playing poker. “Natalie, this is Deadwood, not Casablanca. I’m not Ilsa, and Cooper certainly isn’t Rick.”

  “I stand by my observations. That man wants you. He wants you bad.”

  He wanted me all right—behind bars. Sweat dotted my upper lip. Had someone seen Harvey and me last night sneaking around Mudder Brothers and called Coop? Maybe that cop trolling with the portable lighthouse beam had caught a glimpse of my hair. I knew I should have worn a ski mask, but it was August for crissake.

  I just wasn’t cut out for this sleuthing business.

  “Coop told me to have you call him today on his cell phone. When did he give you his private number?”

  “When he hired me as his Realtor.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot you were selling his place.”

  I did, too, sometimes. Like when I was hiding from the law—aka Cooper.

  “Wouldn’t it be romantic if you two got together because he hired you to be his real estate agent?”

  Been there, done that. Oh, the irony. Which dragged me back to why I was standing out here barefoot with the scent of Doc still on my skin.

  Blowing out a sigh, I tightened the belt of my robe. “Natalie, I need to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  I paused, gathering up my courage like the long train of a fancy-schmancy wedding dress.

  “Please don’t tell me you slept with Wymonds,” she said. “I saw the article.”

  “No, I didn’t screw around with Jeff.”

  “Thank God. I know you don’t have the best record with men, but trust me, underneath that prickly façade, Cooper’s a good guy. He could be the one for you.”

  Jeez, I’d had enough of this Cooper fantasy of hers. At least the truth about Doc would end this before she started Phase Two of her matchmaking game—coincidental double dates.

  “Natalie, I have been—”

  “Violet!” Aunt Zoe hollered through the window screen over the sink.

  I jumped at the sound of my name. When I looked over, Aunt Zoe had the phone held up for me to see.

  “Mona’s on the phone.”

  “I’ll call her back in a bit.” After I finish breaking Natalie’s heart.

  Aunt Zoe spoke in the phone, “Can she call you back, Mona?”

  “Anyway,” I continued, taking a deep breath, avoiding Natalie’s eyes. “I have—”

  “Violet,” Aunt Zoe called outside again. “You need to take this.”

  Argh!

  “Hold on,” I told Natalie and met Aunt Zoe at the back door.

  Her focus flicked to Natalie, her brows raised.

  I shook my head, taking the phone. “What’s going on, Mona?”

  “Ray.”

  “What about him?” Had he been busted last night transporting body parts? Is that why Cooper wanted to talk to me?

  “He just faxed a second offer over to Tiffany for the hotel.”

  That hit me like a right uppercut to the chin.

  “A s-s-second offer?” I stammered, reeling.

  “Yes. For fifteen thousand more than our offer.”

  That vile, loincloth-chomping jackass!

  “And that’s not all,” she added, her tone weary. “You need to get in here.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  My tell-all, soap opera moment with Natalie would have to wait until I figured out how to keep Ray from getting his grubby mitts on that hotel—well, his and George Mudder’s.

  I handed Natalie the newspaper. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “Hey, you had something to tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you later. I gotta go.”

  “Don’t forget to call Cooper,” she called after me.

  Aunt Zoe raised her brows at Natalie’s mention of the detective.

  “Cooper can’t live without me,” I told her and raced up to the shower.

  A half-hour later, sporting an ankle-length black and purple paisley dress, my curls still damp, and just enough makeup to look human, I parked next to Ray’s SUV. As much as I wanted to door-ding the hell out of it, I resisted, taking the higher road … for now.

  I smelled the rat-faced fink as soon as I walked through Calamity Jane’s back door. Did he really expect to ever get laid wearing that much cologne? Or was he covering up some odor like the rank smell of something dead? Of many dead “somethings” being hauled around in a big crate? Maybe I should steal his keys and sniff around in his SUV.

  But first, coffee.

  Jane’s office was dark and in shambles, like someone had rifled through her shelves and file cabinet. I tiptoed inside, which wasn’t easy in my purple cowboy boots, and took a longer look, noticing the dried coffee covering the front corner of her desktop. The empty cup lay on the floor, half under the desk. I sniffed the dried stain, picking up a hint of something strong under the coffee. Baileys Irish Cream? Kahlua? Southern Comfort?

  I picked up the cup and tossed it in her trash. Had Mona seen this? Ray? How long should they let this go on before intervening?

  Backing out of Jane’s office, I closed the door partway, shielding the signs of a potential nervous breakdown from view.

  Mona wasn’t at her desk when I stepped into the front room, but her laptop was there, the screensaver activated. The bathroom had been empty and dark, so she must have stepped out for a moment.

  I didn’t acknowledge Señor Burro Grandé at all and made a pit stop at the coffee pot.

  “Well, well, well.” Unfortunately, Ray had picked up my scent and started his braying right off. “Look who crawled out of one of her client’s beds and decided to grace us with her presence.”

  Doc wasn’t officially a client, anymore. “Shut up, Ray.”

  I really didn’t feel like sparring this morning. I had a job to do that involved Cornelius, an increased offer, and another fax to Tiffany. If Ray wanted to add “kick a jerkoff in the teeth” to my to-do list, I’d be happy to tack it on at the end.