Cait opened her car door and slid out, surprised to find her legs a little wobbly after all. By the time she’d cleared the front of the car, Sam’s door slammed and he came right at her, his expression so dark and furious, she at last felt a thrill of fear.
Adrenaline kicked in, and Cait dashed to the door, fishing in her pocket for her keys.
But he was faster, pushing her against the door and reaching high for the key on the ledge. With a grip on her upper arm, he unlocked the door and pushed her, slamming them inside.
His hand dropped from her arm, and she lifted a hand to rub her skin, pretending it hurt, but he didn’t show an ounce of remorse. His expression was scary—his jaw so tight a muscle jumped along the edge. His eyebrows lowered, which shadowed his eyes and made them even more menacing.
“I’ll just go get a shower,” she said, pointing to her bedroom door.
But when she started to turn away, he said, “Cait.”
Just the one word. So clipped it cut.
“You’re off this case.”
Her head swiveled back. “You can’t. You need me.”
“You don’t have a shred of self-preservation. You walked into that elevator, knowing what that bastard was. I don’t know why the hotel didn’t suck you through those doors. Maybe it was Morin’s spell, but you still put yourself in danger. It stops.” He held out his hand. The key lay in the center of his palm. “Keep it off the ledge.”
Her stomach dropped to her toes, sickening her more than the joyride in the elevator had. She scraped it off his palm and curled her fingers around it, not saying a word as he let himself out. This time, he closed the door with a finality that felt like a body blow.
Cait sat huddled in a booth at O’Malley’s. She stared at her Coke, wondering why she hadn’t issued a protest when Pauly slid the glass in front of her. She’d never wanted to stop drinking. Sam had wanted that for her. But he’d handed her back her key. Telling her by his gesture that they were over.
She’d glanced around her empty apartment and nearly wept. But she wasn’t a crier. This time, she’d screwed up so badly, she didn’t know what to do next. She felt so hollow, so alone, she was actually glad to find Sylvia on the doorstep after she’d gathered herself together and decided to skip out to the bar.
“Joo screwed the pooch,
Cait didn’t answer, her mind made up she was going to wallow in grief for a good long time.
“Man’s right. Joo crazy. Don’ know why joo thought joo could win against somet’ing like that.” Sylvia paused in her monologue. “Hey, joo know that guy? He’s starin’.”
Cait hardly had the energy to lift her head and follow Sylvia’s gaze. But when she did, she sat straighter. Her eyes blurred for a second, but she quickly blinked away the tears.
Her father sat at his table, a Guinness in front of him, glaring back. When she held his gaze, he eased off his chair and approached. His glance went to Sylvia. “Scoot.”
“No please?” Sylvia said, narrowing her thickly mascaraed eyes.
“I’ve forgotten how to be polite,” Paddy O’Connell said, one side of his mouth quirking up. “I could just sit on you, but I really don’t want to get that intimate, sweetheart.”
A frown dug a line between her brows, but Sylvia moved down the seat, making room for Cait’s father on the bench seat.
“Who’s the dead guy?” Sylvia whispered, although Paddy could hear every word.
“My dad,” Cait whispered, her gaze unblinking and locked on her father’s figure sitting across the table. She was afraid to blink in case he wisped away as he had the first and only time she’d seen him here.
“What’s the matter, Caitydid?” he asked in the deep, gravelly voice she remembered from her childhood, the one he’d used after he’d gathered her in his arms and sat her on his knee.
“Her man dumped her.”
Paddy’s rusty eyebrows shot up. “Sam?”
“Joo know about him?” Cait asked, then realized she’d mimicked Sylvia’s accent. “You know Sam?”
Paddy nodded. “I’ve seen him here with you. Before you could see me. Man’s head over heels. What did you do?”
She scowled. “You automatically assume it’s my fault?”
His lips pursed. “It’s me you’re talkin’ to, girlie.”
Cait plucked at an imaginary thread on her jacket, forgetting for the moment she’d meant to keep staring. “I made a mistake. He’s a little angry. Handed back my key.”
“Doesn’t seem the type to go back on a decision. That mistake must not have been so little.”
Her lips twisted, and she was afraid she’d start crying, but she lifted her head. “I flirted with a demon. Used myself as bait. Not something I planned. I think the surprise nearly gave him a heart attack. And things went sideways pretty fast.”
Paddy shook his head. “It’s your mother’s fault. She thought magic was the answer to everything, that because she was a witch, she could breeze through any crisis so long as she could find the right spell.”
“I’m not like her,” Cait said, feeling a twinge of disloyalty. “I’m not flighty.”
“Really? And your baiting a demon showed common sense?”
Cait squirmed in her chair, not unaware that she was receiving a scolding from a dead man. “I don’t take magic for granted. Barely use it. I’m a PI before I’m a witch. Most days, I live in the real world. I don’t wave a wand—”
“You don’t have a wand. Neither did your mother. But you still act before you think.” His lips twitched. “You must be drivin’ that boy out of his mind.”
His words and his tone indicated he felt more than a little empathy for Sam’s point of view.
Cait slumped in her seat. “Maybe you should be haunting him instead of me, seeing as you two have so much in common.”
“Wouldn’t do any good. We can’t exactly compare notes.” Paddy O’Connell fell silent.
Cait drank in the sight of him, so large and sturdy. A stolid mountain of a man. His hair was the same dark red she remembered. Freckles blended with his tanned skin. “I miss you, Daddy.”
“I’ve always been here,” he said with a sad smile. “You’re the love of my life, Caitydid.”
Tears engulfed her eyes, and she blinked, sending them in trails down her cheeks.
“Give him some space to get over bein’ scared.”
“I don’t think space is going to do it,” she said, a hitch in her voice. “I think he meant it. He’s done with me.”
“When love’s that strong, Caity, a man can’t fight it. He’ll be back.”
“You and Mom?”
He shook his head, the light in his green eyes growing dim. “We were mismatched from the start, although we both tried really hard to make a go of being together. We wanted different things. I couldn’t walk through the house or lay my head on a pillow without finding some kind of gris-gris bag or dried-up reptile. I didn’t understand or believe in her ability. In the end, that’s what parted us. Not some bullet.”
She reached her hand across the table but stopped just shy of his hand. One touch would emphasize the gulf between them.
“You go home,” her father said. “You do whatever he asked of you. Don’t add to his worries.”
“But I can’t, Daddy. I’m the only one who can fight this thing.”
Paddy sighed. “Then you’ve made your choice. Don’t expect him to ever agree. A man comes to a point where he has to let go, or he’ll never find peace.” He pushed up from his seat, then halted. “You seeing that Morin?” he asked, his voice roughening.
The way he said Morin’s name erased any doubts he knew about Morin’s role in her life—and her mother’s. “Not often. Only when I need advice.”
“Keep it that way. He’s a user. He may have powers, but look at the mess he got himself into. You’re best to stay away from all that. Your mother didn’t learn her lesson until too late. She still hasn’t.”
“Like I’m seeing you now?” He shook his head. “Haven’t since she summoned me. I was at peace, but then
