Page 82 of Wicche Hunt

Thankfully, Osso pulled up a moment later, jumped out of the car, and stood between the patrol officer and us, so we put our hands down. Osso kept his voice low, but from the way the man wilted, I’d guess he’d been dressed down quite harshly. The cop quickly got back into his car and pulled away.

“Idiot,” Osso grumbled. He gave Declan and me one assessing look and then met Hernández at the stalker’s car. They both put on gloves. Hernández opened the passenger’s door while Osso went around to the driver’s.

Hernández hesitated and turned to us. “Did either of you touch anything?”

We both shook our heads.

“We need to make sure he doesn’t need assistance and then we’ll take your statements,” she said.

“I’ve got this,” Osso said. “You go ahead and get started. I’ll call in the coroner.”

“Oh, great,” I said.

Hernández paused, pulling off her gloves. “See if you can get Andy to come. I think he’s back on nights.”

Osso nodded and then hit the trunk button. When it opened, Hernandez, Declan, and I saw a hatchet, a tire iron, and an unzipped duffle bag with rope, zip ties, and duct tape. Whatever else was in there, I couldn’t see and didn’t want to know about.

Hernández moved to block my view of the trunk. “Why don’t you guys go in and we’ll come for your statements in a few minutes?”

Osso joined her at the trunk and gave Declan a look before tilting his head. I read it as well as Declan, who stood and pulled me up with him. They wanted me out of here.

“I really do appreciate you guys trying to protect me, but I already know what he planned to do with me.” The sun had finally set, and the scene was getting dark. “I’ll put on the outdoor lights. We’ll be in the studio when you’re ready.”

Hernández nodded. Declan grabbed my backpack and we headed in. I knew the man’s death had been his own fault, that he’d pulled the trigger, but even though there was one fewer man in the world who wanted to hurt me, I couldn’t help but feel like there were too damn many to begin with.

THIRTY-TWO

The Benefits of a Sturdy Table

When we went in, I hit the outdoor lights switch and then locked the door.

Declan paused and studied the painting progress. “Looks like you were able to do some work today.”

I nodded. “Not much, but at least I finished the big wall.”

He stared into the corner, at the short wall connecting the road side of the gallery and the parking lot side. “I don’t know how you did it, but that triangular storage room in the corner disappeared.”

I smacked his arm. “Right? It’s an optical illusion I created through brushstroke angles and paint colors. If it was bright in here, you’d see it.” I flicked my fingers and the overhead lights came on.

He shook his head. “I see it because I’m looking for it. If I wasn’t, my eyes would have gone right past it. You better watch out. You’re going to get people running into that wall.”

“I have big, glass-fronted display cases that go there. And it’s not a storage room. I’ll be using it to give readings. I can’t do that out here once I open, and I don’t want clients in my studio. Too much of what I see is painful. I don’t want that energy in my creative space.”

“Is there anything in the room yet?” he asked.

I shook my head. “The gallery is the priority. I haven’t scheduled any readings for a little while so I can get the main space ready.”

“Let’s look. Do you have the furniture you need?” His fingers slid down my arm before clasping my hand.

As we walked across the huge space, I said, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Checking to see if my girlfriend needs me to make any pieces for her reading room?” He gave me a look that caused mad flutterings.

“Yeah. That’s it.” I played along, knowing full well he was trying to take my mind off the man who’d intended to hurt me in dark and varied ways.

It was a decent-sized room, somewhere between a small storage room and a large walk-in closet, but it worked fine for what I did. I made sure there were tall windows so clients didn’t feel too claustrophobic.

“Nice light,” he said, looking up.

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