He laughed at his own joke and Scarlett cringed. He was obviously some piss artist who’d been drunk long before the free wedding bar opened.
“No,” she growled, adding a grudging, “thank you,” as she remembered her mother’s dire warnings to be nice to Doyle and Violet’s guests.
“I’m Joe,” he continued, unfazed by her refusal. The human leaned forward and brushed against her shoulder, the alcohol fumes on his breath wafting into her face as he called out to get the bartender’s attention.
Scarlett jerked away, sweat trickling an uncomfortable path between her breasts. He was oblivious to her anxiety as he accepted a fresh drink and pointed for hers to be refilled. Then he clinked his glass against hers with a hearty, “To Doyle and Violet!”
Nearby guests cheered and raised their glasses in salute. It seemed Scarlett was expected to do the same, and she tried to steady her shaking hand as she lifted her own drink.
People crowded closer to tap her glass, a suffocating mass of bodies hemming her in. Their voices crashed against her senses, loud and unintelligible through the blood pounding in her ears.
Scarlett looked up toward the rustic wooden planks of the ceiling and tried to suck more air into her lungs. Her vision wavered as she blinked at the roof timbers, decorated with white paper garlands and strings of tiny lights. The myriad twinkling points grew brighter and coalesced into a dazzling supernova.
Scarlett swayed on her stool.
Suddenly there was a hand at her elbow, pulling her to her feet and leading her away from the cluster of humans.
Pat Sparrow’s familiar scent of woodland spice enveloped her and she almost sobbed with the relief of it. He was her brother’s best friend, and one of the few men outside her family that she trusted.
“Easy there, Letty,” he murmured in Gaelic as he steered her from the restaurant and toward a quiet bench on the docks. Tiki torches lent a velvety glow to the walkway. They flickered in the breeze, their fiery reflections shimmering on the rippled surface of the water.
Pat urged her to sit.
Scarlett’s panic faded to annoyed embarrassment. “I’m fine,” she snapped in their home tongue.
He sighed and gave her a look so filled with pity it made her want to scream. “Letty, you haven’t been fine for almost two hundred years.”
She scowled at him. “Well, I would be if I didn’t have to visit the blasted human realm every time I want to see my own brother. Now that he’s taking one of them as his soul mate, he’ll probably never come home,” she predicted with disgust.
Pat arched a brow at her. “Violet is perfectly lovely, and she makes Doyle happier than I’ve ever seen him. Besides, you know we don’t choose our soul mates. If we’re lucky, fate allows us to find them.”
Scarlett knew he was right. She had even developed a grudging affection for her brother’s human. But the look in Pat’s eyes when he spoke of soul mates left her no doubt that he was thinking of his own date.
“I suppose you think you’ve found your soul mate as well,” she scoffed. “Though, in that sleeveless dress of hers, it’s hard not to notice that your Aegishjalmur tattoo hasn’t imprinted on her yet. At least Doyle’s human can claim that much.”
The warmth in Pat’s eyes fled. “You and I have been friends for a long time, Letty, but I’m warning you to tread lightly on the subject of Sydney. She is my soul mate. My tattoo reacts to her touch. You know my human blood has always interfered with my sidhe magic. That must be why the Aegishjalmur didn’t imprint on her skin.”
“Sparrow?” called a concerned female voice. “Is she okay?”
Scarlett smiled sourly at the human in question. Sydney appeared ethereal in her ankle length, strapless gown. Her long, golden-brown hair floated in a cloud around her pale shoulders, and she looked softer and more feminine than Scarlett would ever be.
“Yes, love, just give us another minute,” Pat replied.
“No problem.” Sydney smiled at him, her eyes sympathetic as they travelled to Scarlett before she turned and went back inside.
Humiliation stained Scarlett’s cheeks as she wondered what Pat had told his human about her. “Sparrow?” she mocked. “Do you think you and your ‘soul mate’ will graduate to a first name basis any time soon?”
Pat’s jaw clenched. “You need to stop pretending you’re jealous of her,” he snapped in English. “You’ve used me as an excuse not to live your life for far too long.”
He got up and followed Sydney back to the reception, leaving Scarlett feeling as if he’d slapped her. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to allow the tears to escape them.
She needed to get out of there. But she’d never hear the end of it if she left her brother’s wedding this early.
Maybe she had time to slip away for a calming walk on the beach. She rose from the bench, hoping her mother hadn’t already noticed her absence. The heel of her shoe snagged on a wooden deck plank and she expelled a vivid curse, barely catching herself from toppling over.
She’d give both pinky toes to be able to conjure her favorite pair of leather boots right now. But unlike Pat, she didn’t have Seelie clearance to use gratuitous magic in the human realm.
Muttering to herself, Scarlett yanked off the ridiculous shoes and set out barefoot down the ramp and away from the party.
The solitude and salt air was a balm to her frazzled nerves as she meandered along the deserted sidewalk. If this place wasn’t infested with humans, she might actually enjoy spending time here.
She turned down a residential street that bordered the beach, Pat’s parting words replaying in her mind. He’d accused her of using him as an excuse not to live her life. And if she was honest with herself, she knew it for truth.
When she was younger, she hadn’t had eyes for anyone but him. Though she hadn’t been just another village girl swooning after his mouthwatering looks. She’d been a terrified teenager who idolized the boy that had saved her.
She closed her eyes and slammed her mental shutters down against the memory. Shaking her head, she drifted to a stop and peered across the unfenced yard of the house to her left.
It looked like cutting through the property would bring her straight to the ocean. There were lights on behind the windows of the house, but the curtains were drawn. She was debating the wisdom of trespassing, when she sensed that she was being watched.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Grey stood in the shadows outside the quaint beachside cottage. Ceramic garden gnomes peaked out from the colorful hibiscus and bougainvillea blooming along the fence-line. A welcome mat embroidered with butterflies beckoned visitors onto the front porch.
The cheerfulness felt grotesque, considering the profanities that had been committed inside the cottage less than forty-eight hours ago. The profile fit the unsub he’d been chasing for three months now. He’d been to three other crime scenes, just like this one, spread across the country from New Hampshire, to Colorado, to Texas, and now Florida.
He couldn’t figure out how this psycho was choosing his victims. Much less how he found the time to travel across North America stalking them.
Grey sighed and shook his head, trying to push his frustration aside and get into the mind of the killer.
Key Largo was a beach community. It thrived on tourism. None of the residents would think twice about a stranger hanging around this neighborhood.
The perimeter of the yard was a thick mass of foliage. Normally it would provide an ideal place for a predator to lie in wait. But the thorns on these bushes would scratch the hell out of anyone who tried to use