Free Heart of the Witch by Alicia Dean

bastard, fine. If the coven's powers aided in his apprehension, fine. If he spoke to the authorities about what happened… well, that might not be so fine.
    As much as she tried to convince herself to concentrate on her sister's happiness, the pall of evil hung heavy over her heart. She knew that things would never be the same. She would spend her days as the condemned had for hundreds of years before her: waiting for the noose to draw closed around her neck.
----

Chapter Twelve

     
    Nick still lived in the gray-brick, single-story, three-bed-room home he'd shared with Annie. It was two bedrooms too large now that his wife was gone. He no longer hosted overnight guests, and he certainly wouldn't need the extra rooms for children. It was just him and Dog. Always would be.
    He stared down at the newspaper clippings littering the surface of the coffee table. Nick hadn't clipped them himself. When he'd left the force, his partner at the time had given them to him. Keepsakes, he'd said. And Nick had kept them. The question was, why had he kept them? Their subject wasn't exactly something he wanted to remember.
    Nick picked up the framed photo of Annie. She wasn't smiling in the picture. Her expression was pensive as she stared off into the distance. He didn't know what she was looking at, didn't remember who had taken it, but he'd always liked the picture, and she'd framed it for him. She'd always had a great smile, but there was something particular about her thoughtful expression in this photo that appealed to him. Her blonde hair was down around her shoulders the way he liked. She wasn't wearing a lot of makeup. The photo was simple and real—the way he remembered Annie. Simple and real… and gone forever.
    He lay the photo on the table facedown and picked up his glass. Poured it full of whiskey. His gaze fell on the clippings again. Why had he taken on the Tin Man case?
    Who was he kidding? The man in those articles was someone different, someone he could never be again. If he stayed on this case, he'd fail. Plus, he'd have to see the Skyler woman again. He wasn't sure why, but that thought made him supremely uncomfortable. He couldn't figure out why he'd had such a strong reaction to her, but didn't think he could blame it totally on booze. Or on his long stretch of celibacy.
    Not wanting to examine his reactions further, he pushed all thoughts from his mind. Draining the glass, he poured another. Then, picking up the phone, he dialed Phil's number at the office. He got a recording that said the office was closed until Monday, as he'd known it would. It was easier to let someone down over voice mail than in person. He punched Phil's extension when the recording prompted, then left a message.
    "Lassiter here. I'm afraid I'm going to have to withdraw from the case. The trail's cold, and I don't see it getting any warmer. The cops can do more than I can, so I don't feel right taking your money. I'll give you back what you've already paid me." Nick wasn't sure how he'd do that. He'd already spent most of it, but he'd figure out something. "Sorry, man. Good luck."
    He thought he'd feel relief, but when he hung up all he felt was shame. Dog came over and lay on the floor beside his chair. Nick reached down and rubbed the animal's head, scratching the dog behind the ears the way he liked. At least he could make someone happy. Even if it was just a mutt.
    "You need a treat, boy?"
    Dog whimpered and wagged his tail.
    "Yeah, me too," Nick said.
    He went to the kitchen and came back with a couple of jerky treats. Dog wolfed them down while Nick twisted the cap off some Jack Daniel's. He'd decided to splurge on the good stuff tonight. After all, it wasn't every day he threw away his only source of income.
    He flipped the television on. ESPN was showing highlights of Ken Griffey, Jr.'s return to the Seattle Mariners this past baseball season. Nick splashed more whiskey from the half-empty bottle into the glass and squinted at the