Heart of the Witch by Alicia Dean Read Free Book Online Page A

target practice. From the police reports Nick obtained, he'd learned that the killer had only enjoyed a short time here—at least, he'd only had a short time here with Ravyn. He'd only had time for his preliminary work: burning her with his knife.
    Nick thought again about the woman he'd seen in the shop. He'd since discovered—by crack detective work, which consisted of asking the woman who ran the cafe next door—that the dark-haired woman was indeed Ravyn Skyler. His reaction to her still baffled him. Nick chalked it up to too much booze and too long without a woman. It was a normal male reaction to long legs and fuck-me eyes. He definitely had to tread lightly there.
    He turned off the engine and sat for a while, staring at the cabin. In his mind, Nick pictured a shadowed figure bending over Ravyn, pressing the red-hot steel of his knife against her pale flesh. There would be terror in those green eyes. She would have been helpless and innocent. At the mercy of a maniac.
    His chest tightened, and Nick forced the image away. At least the girl had survived. When would the bastard strike again? Would the next victim be so lucky? There was no way to know.
    Nick climbed out of his Mustang and walked toward the cabin, bending to slip under the yellow crime-scene tape. Trees shrouded the yard, still dressed in leaves that would start to fall in a few weeks. The killer would have had a measure of concealment here, but only through the spring and summer months and for part of the fall. This hadn't stopped him from killing year-round. The authorities weren't sure that he'd brought all of his victims here, but they suspected it. If he had, the Tin Man would need a new killing ground.
    Nick tried the door, and it swung open. He stepped inside and saw why it wasn't secured. The only lock was one of those old-fashioned hooks, which had long since rusted. Dingy sheets covered the windows. The cabin smelled musty, as if some animal had made its home here not too long ago. The odor of burnt flesh lingered in the air.
    In spite of the cool October breeze drifting through the cracks in the walls, the cabin was warm. Underneath Nick's jacket, sweat trickled down his back and sides.
    A hospital bed sat incongruously in the center of the main room. Straps hung from either side. Nick examined the ends, which looked as if they'd been cut clean through. In addition to the bed, there was a frayed orange sofa with yellowed stuffing poking from its threadbare upholstery.
    Nick squatted in front of the fireplace. Ashes remained, but they had been sifted through recently. The CSI techs would have gone over everything. So, what was he doing here?
    He thought back over Ravyn Skyler's account of that night. She hadn't been able to identify her assailant; she could only give the police vague details. He'd worn a beard, and she hadn't been able to make out his eye color because it was dark. The composite sketch in the newspaper had looked generic. A nondescript, bearded man. He could be anyone.
    Nick stood, and his gaze roamed over the room once more. He noted the position of the bed, the window, the fireplace. He recalled her story. Something didn't quite fit. He wasn't sure what.
    He crossed his arms and felt the bulge of the whiskey bottle in his jacket pocket. Pulling it out, he considered taking a drink. Just one. But unscrewing the lid, he hesitated and closed the bottle again. He'd driven here, and in spite of his lack of concern for rules in general, not drinking and driving was one he followed closely. Most of the time.
    As he was putting the half pint back in his pocket, it slipped from his fingers. There was a brief moment of panic in which he anticipated the crash of broken glass, but it didn't come. He bent to pick up the bottle, relieved it was still intact. But before he could straighten, he noticed a small, oblong, blue-gray object in the dust of the cabin floor.
    He picked it up and studied it. Some kind of medication? A capsule. Had the