“My friend could find it.”
He gave a gentle laugh. “Maybe you did hit your head.”
“Yeah.” She had, damn it. So why wasn’t she hurt? A horrifying idea occurred to her, one that made her lightheaded and nauseous all over again. “Seth,” she said. “How long have I been here?”
“Just since last night.” He smirked. “And I still don’t know your name.”
Last night. So she hadn’t been unconscious for weeks, at least. For some reason that didn’t bring much relief. “It’s Jazz,” she said.
“Jazz. With the beautiful eyes.”
Her breath caught. She’d always hated her eyes — they were different colours. One brown, one green. Donatti had loved them. Called them her goddess gaze, with the same unmistakable husky tone Seth had just used. The one that said he wished for a private room and a few hours alone. She and Donatti hadn’t gotten much of that since he came back. Now they never would.
“I’m sorry,” Seth said before she could get good and annoyed. “That was uncalled for.”
“I want to see the wreck.”
He stared at her. “The what?”
“The car. The crash site. Donatti.” Her throat closed around his name. “I just can’t believe he’s. . gone. I have to see.” And maybe she could salvage her cell phone. If she could, she’d walk the paved road, in the direction she should’ve chosen, until she got a signal.
Damn it. If she’d just turned around at the first sign of weirdness, that ghostly overgrown DeSoto, Donatti would still be alive. She’d killed him. And gotten herself more lost than he ever could have.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She should’ve apologized. She owed him that.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Seth spoke gently, as if comforting a child. “It’s not pretty, Jazz. Not at all.”
She glared across the table. “I want to see him. Take me there.”
“Okay.” He held up a hand. “I’ll take you. But please, relax for a few minutes. Drink your coffee. I’ll fix something to eat, and then we’ll go.”
She didn’t want any goddamn coffee. She wanted to go home, to hold her baby and find some way to tell him his daddy was never coming back, to share her grief with someone who knew her, knew Donatti. But Seth had agreed to take her, and being pushy or demanding might change his mind. She’d never find it without him.
“All right,” she finally said, and added, “Thank you,” because it seemed appropriate.
He smiled tentatively. “Toast okay?”
“Perfect.” She managed to smile back.
While he stood and walked to a cupboard, Jazz eyed the mug suspiciously. Dandelion coffee, huh? She half expected to see little yellow petals floating in it. But it looked like coffee, and smelled like coffee. She raised it to her mouth and took a tentative sip.
It tasted like heaven.
“My God,” she murmured. Another swallow, and the taste coated her throat — silky smooth, nutty and sweet, better than anything Starbucks ever dreamed about serving. And somehow, familiar. “This is dandelions?”
“Mountain grown. The best kind,” Seth said without turning.
“It’s fantastic.” She’d tasted this before. Impossible, but she knew the flavour. She drank again, trying to remember. It seemed important.
Her eyelids grew heavy. At once, she wanted nothing more than to stretch out, right here on the table, and close them. But she shouldn’t want that. “Seth,” she said thickly. “I think. .”
He turned, and his concerned features appeared to distort. “Maybe you should rest before we go,” he said. “Just for a little while. You’ve had such a hard night.”
“Rest,” she slurred. “I need rest.”
You need to get out! He’s drugged you!
Even if her mind had managed to grasp the warning, her body couldn’t obey. She slid smoothly into sleep, the mug falling from her fingers and toppling on the table. An errant phrase, stark and baffling, imprinted on her thoughts just before she dropped into unconsciousness.
The nectar of the gods.
Somebody was banging on the door.
“Go ’way,” Jazz muttered, pulling a pillow over her sickly throbbing head. Good lord, what had she done last night? This was one killer fucking hangover.
Killer. Last night, she’d crashed the car. Killed Donatti. And was in a remote, inaccessible cabin with a lunatic who’d drugged her to sleep.
She bolted upright. Same bedroom, same french doors, still wide open on an expanse of woods that glowed a rich gold in the slant of late afternoon light. Seth hadn’t tried to lock her in. Probably because he knew she had nowhere to go if she ran. So he hadn’t been lying about the miles-from-nowhere thing.
The pounding came again, from the front of the cabin. No sign of Seth answering the door. Maybe he was the one banging — but why would he knock at his own place? Sluggish hope stirred in her. She got up and headed out of the room, holding her breath. Maybe the rangers had found the car, and come back to see if Seth knew anything about it.
The bastard knew a lot about it. Too much.
She passed through a hall, the kitchen, a den and into a living room. Didn’t see Seth anywhere. There, the front door. More knocking sounded as she approached it — shorter, weaker. Like whoever was out there had decided nobody was home, but they’d try one more time anyway.
Halfway across the room, she froze. She had no idea who or what was on the other side of that door. It could be a friend of Seth’s, even an accomplice. She scanned the room for something useful and weapon-like, spotted a fireplace and a neatly corralled set of iron tools beside it. Perfect. She crossed to it, grabbed the heavy poker and went back to the door.
A thud from outside shook the house.
Drawing the poker back for a quick strike, Jazz turned the knob and yanked the door open. For a split second she saw no one. Then she spotted a bedraggled figure leaning on the outer wall, just to the left of the jamb.
Male, filthy, gasping for breath. Bruised and bloodied.
Donatti. Alive.
The poker fell from her numb fingers. She rushed out to him, unable to speak. Embraced him mud, blood and all. He was soaked, fever-hot beneath his torn clothes. But so real. So very not dead.
“Jazz. Thank God.” He strained to speak, returned the embrace one-armed. “Knew I’d find you. Sorry it. . took so long.”
The thousand questions she wanted to ask would have to wait. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “Can you walk?”
He gave a rusty laugh. “Walked here. Would prefer to stop walking now.”
“Sorry. Short version — the guy who lives here told me you were dead, and drugged me when I said I wanted to see the wreck.”
“So. . no hot shower, huh. No soft bed.”
“No. And no mirrors or windows. Just block glass.”
He focused on her, blue eyes filling with shock. “What?”
“Yeah. I didn’t like it, either.” She kissed him, fast and urgent. “I’m sorry, Donatti. Don’t ask why. I’ll tell you later.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “You’re the boss.”
“Right.” She hesitated, then moved to the door and picked up the poker. “I’m bringing this. Can you find your way back to the car?”
“Think so.” He frowned. “Why? It’s totalled. Can’t even fix it with magic.”
“My phone,” she said. “Hopefully, it’s not too busted. Maybe you can fix that if it is. And we’ll just keep going until we get a signal, and call Ian.”
“Good plan.” He moved a step forward, groaned and dropped to his knees. “Then again, maybe not.”
Jazz bit her lip. She hated to force him into this, ached to see him so battered, but they couldn’t stay here. Seth obviously didn’t want Donatti around. He’d left him for dead. “You got a better one?” she said.