Her head snapped back, and she crumpled. He caught her before she hit the carpet and laid her down on the sofa. The last thing he wanted was her head smashing against the coffee table or floor—not when she might be the only one who could lead them to the kids. He had no idea how deeply Hank was involved. It was still possible the man had no true idea what Eleanor was doing.
Possible, but not likely.
He quickly frisked her but found little beyond the fact she was wearing no underwear. He stood up and studied the room. There had to be something, somewhere, that would give them a more of a lead. He turned and walked towards the door. Maybe her bedroom was a good place to start… The light around him suddenly buzzed, and for an instant, the doorway blurred.
He shook his head, and the doorway steadied. He took another step, and the room whirled briefly. The buzzing was growing, shooting pain through his head. The drug—it may have been a truth drug, but it was also beginning to affect his ability to see and walk straight. He'd better leave while he still could.
He got out of the house then called to his alternate shape. He had to get back to Maddie before the drug took a firm hold.
Maddie glanced at her watch for the thousandth time. It was nearing midnight and still no word from Jon.
Obviously, he was having such a good time he wasn't in a hurry to get back. Let's just hope he remembers why he's seducing Eleanor…
And that, she thought with a frown, was an extremely bitchy thought. She rose from the sofa and walked across to the window. The curtains were a sun-faded orange and smelled of faintly stale beer and smoke.
Just like the room. The Sea View was not one of the more classy motels. But the old guy at the desk had been nice, even though she'd clearly woken him up. And it certainly felt a lot safer waiting here than it would have back at the inn.
She pushed the curtains aside, leaned against the windowpane and studied the waves lapping the beach across the road.
Trouble was, she was getting tired of waiting. Tired of doing nothing but running.
It was way past time she started taking control of her life. Or at least one tiny part of it. Thanks to Jon, she now knew that it was possible to control her gifts. So why not extend that? Why not try to find Evan with them?
Fear leapt up and clenched her throat tight. She bit her lip and leaned her forehead against the cool glass pane. All her life she'd been taught to fear her gifts, to despise what they could do. And in truth, up until now they had caused her nothing but grief. But here, at last, was a chance to do some good, a chance to save a life rather than take it.
If she had the courage.
I can do this. For Evan, I can do this.
She took a deep breath then walked across to her bag, digging around until she found Evan's gold chain.
Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn't.
Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, she looped the chain around her hand and closed her eyes. She formed a picture of Evan in her mind and projected her need to find him.
Nothing happened.
She frowned slightly. Thought of him laughing as they played football together, remembered the look on his face the Halloween she'd dressed up as a witch and come visiting. Still nothing happened. No images came.
She sighed and opened her eyes. Maybe she needed another focus—what had set her abilities off recently? The smell of citrus—oranges!
She scrambled off the sofa and ran to the door. The light was still on in the office. She grabbed her key and ran across.
The old man looked up as she ran in. "Just caught me," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you, lass?"
"Is there anywhere near I can get some oranges?"
If he was surprised by her odd request, he certainly didn't show it. "There's very little open at this hour, I'm afraid." He frowned thoughtfully, gnarled fingers tapping the desk. "But I've a couple of old ones out back. If all you want is juice, they'd be fine."
Maddie grinned in relief. "That would be great. Thanks."
She collected the oranges and returned to her room. After locking the door, she found a small knife and sliced them open, putting the halves into a small bowl before returning to the sofa.
Her heart raced uncomfortably in her chest—a rhythm caused more by uncertainty than fear. She'd failed at everything else she'd tried to do in her life; she didn't want to fail at this.
She brought the bowl up to her nose and took a deep sniff. The faint scent of citrus ran around her, sweet and compelling. She picked up the chain and once again pictured Evan's smiling face in her mind.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then darkness rushed at her, pulling her down into its grip. She fought the tide, thinking of Evan, trying to compel the dream in that direction.
The darkness swirled then slowly cleared, revealing the familiar interior of the old cabin. In one corner she could see the bundle of blankets that was Evan and the second teenager. In the other, a bright fire.
Sitting in a chair beside the fire was Hank. She frowned. What was he doing at the cabin when he was supposedly the night watch at the inn?
The dream shimmered, fading slightly. She forced herself to concentrate. She had to try to direct the dream to the cabin's exterior… the image blurred for a minute, then reformed. Suddenly, she was outside. Tall, snow-dusted pines surrounded the clearing like sentries on duty. A windbreak, she thought.
The trees were too regimented to be anything else. The dream drifted forward; a rutted, slushy track led away from the front of the cabin and through the pines.
Her dream followed it. The track wound down the mountainside, past the bluish pines and into mountain wildness. Finally, it came to a main road. The letterbox on the side of the road said Malkin Cabin. The dream drifted on and came to a sign—"Jewell, 15 miles."
A huge crash wrenched her from the dream. With a squeak of fright, she leapt to her feet, her heart thumping rapidly somewhere in vicinity of her throat.
Someone or something was outside her room.
Chapter Eleven
Maddie took a deep breath, then gathered her courage and walked across to the window. Pushing the curtains to one side, she looked out.
Jon was sprawled across the front of her truck. That must have been the crash she'd heard—but how the heck had he gotten there? He looked as if he'd been thrown there, and he certainly wasn't moving.
Her breath caught in her throat… was he hurt?
She ran for the door. He jerked upright when she rushed out, a smile touching his full lips.
"Maddie. Glad to see you."
There was a cut on his cheek. Though it didn't look deep, blood was smeared over the right side of his face. His speech was slurred, and his blue eyes were slightly unfocused. Great, she thought sourly, he's drunk. And he's dented my damn hood. She frowned and glanced upwards. To cause such a big dent, he'd have to have done a swan dive from above the car, but there was no overhanging veranda, nothing he could have leapt off. So how had he managed to land face first in the middle of her hood? Fly?
Her gaze widened at the thought. Ohmigod, he could fly. He had told her he was a shapeshifter. That his other shape was a hawk. She licked her lips, studying him nervously. She hadn't really believed him before. Something deep within had refused to, even though she'd been attacked by ghosts, whose existence she would have relegated to the realms of fairy tales right along with shapeshifters.
Her gaze slipped to the dent underneath him. If he could fly, you'd think he'd at least be able to land a little better.
She saw the old guy in the office peering out his window and offered Jon a hand. "Here, let me help you inside before we attract too much attention."