Excerpt from Mystic Circle (unedited)

 

“That's your story?”

Her eyes flew open and she pinned him with her shiny gaze. “It's the truth.”

He shook his head. “The only way you could possibly have these details is if you participated.”

She shot to her feet. “I would never harm anyone. I certainly wouldn't torture a person and carve into her flesh.”

Bingo . He had her. “You didn't mention that little detail earlier.”

“I saw it while I was waiting for someone to pick up the phone. I saw her tied to a table and…and then he cut her.”

“Who is he?” Jack asked.

“I have no idea.”

He tried a different tack. “What did he look like?”

She shook her head helplessly. “I don't know. His features were blurred out like the street signs. It was as if he'd warded himself.”

“Warded.”

“It's the metaphysical equivalent of being in disguise. I think he shielded himself somehow.”

“With a magic spell?” Jack couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

Becca looked away, her lips compressed as if she refused to say anything else. She slung a huge patchwork bag over her shoulder and pushed her feet into a pair of sandals near the desk.

Studying her, he rose. The corners of her mouth turned downward, and resignation dulled her eyes. Remorse pummeled him. What the hell was he feeling guilty about?

It didn't matter that this woman seemed fragile and lost. Defeated. He wasn't about to feel sorry for her. She'd just sat here and lied to him about one of the more brutal murders he'd ever seen.

She cleared her throat. “I'm guessing this is the part where you take me downtown.”

No question about that. He just needed to figure out how he wanted to play this. Be her friend, stop and get her some coffee, coax her into confiding in him? Or scare it out of her?

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to stave off the throbbing behind his eyes. He didn't have the patience to play nice. The scent of spilled blood still lingered in his nostrils, and the victim's expression of unmitigated terror was seared onto his brain.

Becca stared at him expectantly, then turned around. She placed her wrists together behind her back, offering herself to him. Her shoulders straightened as she awaited her fate. She looked like Goddamn Joan of Arc headed for the stake.