Free Raven's Cove - Jenna Ryan by Intrigue Romance Page B

short—”
    “He is short,” Jasmine interrupted. “Bad divorce, alcoholic lawyer, cop paycheck. Math’s easy.”
    Riese shrugged. “Maybe I’ll cut him some slack. Point is, I’m feeling frazzled right now because I have eight people in my regular rooms and two more in the studio suites. I don’t have to feed the two, but even eight reads like eighty when your assistant takes a header and your personal best menu item is KD and ketchup. I can get my aunt to fill in for a while, but crème brûlée’s hell and gone beyond her, and that’s what my flyboy assistant put down for tonight’s dessert.” She studied Jasmine’s face as they passed through the enormous dining room. “You sure you’re not related to Lacey?”
    “Pretty sure.”
    “Too bad. Blume blood’s not a bad thing to have. Some say it’s evil, but others swear it’s the opposite. Evil for obvious reasons, but good because it’s like a vaccination. You have the blood, you live a good long life without worry, and I’ll buy anything that says I’m not going to die a horrible death.”
    So would Jasmine, if such a thing could actually be bought.
    The kitchen, when they reached it, was larger than her Salem apartment and twice as forbidding as any exhibit she’d designed at Witch House. She was eyeing a black monstrosity that might have been an oven, when Riese’s cell phone rang.
    “Hello… Hang on. Go ahead and explore,” she mouthed, then frowned into her cell. “What?” While Jasmine rattled the heavy oven door, Riese fisted her free hand on her hip. “What do you mean, he told you I’d pay?” With a smile that was more of a grimace, she lowered the phone. “I appear to have a—situation. Feel free to bake if the urge strikes.”
    “Don’t count on it,” Jasmine said as Riese stalked out.
    Giving up on the stuck oven door, she took a walk around the room. Her own great-grandmother might have enjoyed this place, but it felt like a time warp to her.
    Far below a bank of leaded windows, she heard the raging force of the ocean. With each wave that broke, a question sprang to life in her head. Why was Boxman here? Was Wainwright really dead? Where had Daniel gone? Why use an obscure legend to threaten them? Why not just torture and kill them in the usual way?
    Pressing on her temples, Jasmine willed the darker thoughts away. She should go upstairs, lock her bedroom doors and order Boris to attack anyone who entered—including a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed cop whose sexy half smiles were threatening to snap the last threads of her sanity.
    More waves collided with the rocks below. The lights, already dim, flickered. Glancing up, she skirted a butcher-block island complete with a thirty-piece knife set and a rack loaded with cast-iron pots.
    As hard as she fought them, more thoughts and questions crept in. Why had Rogan brought her to Raven’s Cove? To keep her safe was a given, but not the whole reason. Rogan’s agenda was never simple, even if it appeared that way on the surface. What was his motive here, his plan? Why had he been the one to appear in her home last night? What did the killer really want?
    Why was she standing here thinking about it?
    Using annoyance to battle fear, she located the swinging door. Forget crème brûlée and foolish assistants, it was past time for Rogan to share at least a portion of his knowledge with her.
    The phone ringing in her coat pocket distracted her. She pulled out her cell and regarded the screen. Colleen Ellis. With her thumb poised on Talk, she debated how much she should confide to her mother. All of it? Some? None? She waited through two more rings before putting the call through.
    “Hey, Mom. I thought you were going to be out of touch for at least another day.”
    “I’m not your mommy, Jasmine,” a creepy but familiar voice replied. “I made your phone lie to you. Lying’s what I do, at least in the small ways. In the big ones, I always tell the absolute truth. Do you