as she had. Was it because they’d had real gifts and she had resented them for it?
“I didn’t kill anyone,” she insisted. And maybe she was a better con artist than he’d thought, because she actually sounded sincere. “I would never hurt anyone.”
He snorted in derision of her claim—not because of the dream but because of the reality of her swinging that knife toward his back. If the flash of the blade hadn’t caught the candlelight and reflected it into his eyes... If he hadn’t stopped her...
“That’s not what Raven said when she called me tonight,” Seth informed her. “She was afraid of you.”
“She called you?” she asked, surprise flickering through her dark eyes. “Why—how—did she contact you?”
“I gave her my card when I stopped by your shop earlier today,” he said.
Her golden skin paled. “You were there earlier today? She never said...”
“That an FBI agent had tracked you down,” he finished for her. “She covered for you earlier—with me, denying that you are who you are.” Much as Maria herself was trying to deny her identity.
“That’s because you’re wrong about me,” she insisted.
Seth had never been more certain of anyone’s identity than he was of hers. He didn’t need DNA to prove she was Maria Cooper. But he did need her DNA to link her to those other crime scenes.
“I’m not wrong,” he replied. He could have added that he rarely was—because it was true and well-known in the agency. “And Raven realized I was right about you, too. She called me because you scared her.”
Color returned to her face as her skin flushed. “I—I didn’t mean to scare her. She shouldn’t have been afraid of me.”
“You threatened her,” he reminded her. “You told her she was going to die.”
Maria shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was the cards. It was what I saw.”
“What you saw?” Did she really see things, the way he did, or was she like so many other psychics, a crackpot looking for money and attention? Those old police reports from people who had given up their money to her and her mother claimed that she was a fake. But maybe she’d just been faking with them...
“When I read the cards,” she said, “I saw that she was in danger. I wanted to protect her. I tried to get her to stay with me—”
“She stayed,” he said. “She called me from the shop. And that’s where I found her—with you.” If only he had been able to get there in time, the girl might not be fighting for her life at that very moment.
“She left,” Maria argued, “right after I read her cards. I tried to stop her.”
“Was that when you struggled?”
“Struggled?”
“The table was overturned, the cards scattered across the floor.” He caught her hands in his and stroked his thumbs over the scratches on the backs of them. As if she felt the same jolt he did, she jerked her hands from his. “Is that when she scratched you, or was it when you tied the noose around her neck?”
She shook her head. “No. I found her like that...when I came back to the shop.”
“So you left the shop, too? You chased after her?”
“Not right away,” she said. “I made her the amulet first. Then I tried to find her—to give it to her.”
“Amulet?” The dried plants hanging, like the rope, from the rafters, and the crystals and candles hadn’t been just for ambiance. She used them, as witches had centuries ago, to cast spells.
“I made it of herbs and crystals to ward off the evil and protect her from harm.”
“It didn’t work.” Harm had befallen Raven. And from the last words the girl had said to him, he had his prime suspect sitting across the table from him. Their knees touched again, his sliding between hers. The warmth of her body emanated through their rain-damp clothes, and heat rushed through him.
Another image flashed through his mind.
Her hair tangled across his pillow. Her nails digging into his shoulders, then clawing down his back. She clutched at him, her body tensing beneath his. She cried out his name. “Seth!”
He blinked, forcing the thoughts from his brain. He had been focused on the case—and on finding her—for too long. Had he—as some of his colleagues had suggested—become obsessed? His obsession needed to be justice. Not her. He coughed, clearing the thickness of desire from his throat, and asked, “What were you saying?”
Her brow furrowed with confusion, but then she repeated, “I couldn’t find her—to give the amulet to her.”
“You did find her,” he pointed out. “Or had you stayed at the shop the whole time, waiting for her?”
Had Maria been there already when Raven had called him? After hearing the terror in the girl’s voice, he’d driven as fast as he could and also had called Sheriff Moore as he had left the motel, hoping the older lawman had been closer. Still, Seth had beaten him to the Magik Shoppe.
She shook her head again, making her wild curls cascade around the shoulders of her worn sweater. “It wasn’t me. Someone else must have been there. Someone else hurt her. I tried to help her. That’s why I had the knife. I cut her down.” She shivered. “You’ll see—when she wakes up, Raven will tell you everything.”
“I hope like hell she can,” he said. The girl had mentioned having evidence to prove that Maria was the one he had been looking for, the killer he was determined to stop. That was why she’d gone back to the shop, to find him that evidence. She’d risked her life for it. But what he’d found on her didn’t prove that Maria was a murderer, just that she was Maria Cooper. There must have been something else...
He pulled his cell from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, checking to see if he had missed any calls. “I left a message for the hospital to call me as soon as she regained consciousness.”
“And they haven’t called.”
Regret trapped his breath in his lungs. Had he been too late? Had his efforts at reviving her been unsuccessful? “No. They haven’t.”
“She’s not dead.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he replied. “What the hell did you put on her throat and in her mouth?”
“Those were herbs that I use for healing,” she said. “The mixture should have restored her breathing and reduced the swelling in her throat.”
He held up his cell phone. “I don’t think it worked,” he said. “Or I would have a call by now.”
Maria gazed around the small room as if searching the corners for something. For what? And she insisted, “She can’t be dead.”
“You better hope like hell she isn’t, because
