Page 4 of Just a Little Wicked (Wicked Sisters #2)

Missy

Maybe if I try twin telepathy, you’ll answer.

Missy

Okay, I’m doing it. I’m contacting you via my mind.

Missy

Aunt Rose just walked past and asked if I was constipated. I guess it didn’t work, because you’re still gone and silent. You’re always silent, but not like this. I don’t like it.

I t was dark by the time Winter made her way to a family-run diner with a giant carved lobster guarding the doors. She ordered a cup of chowder and forced the spoon between her lips, barely tasting the buttery cream and tender chunks of meat.

Four days.

She had until the day of Holly’s wedding to accomplish the impossible and get out of this situation unscathed, and no matter which way she looked at the problem, she had yet to catch even a glimmer of a solution.

The waitress brought her another cup of coffee. “Would you like anything else, hon?”

“No, thank you,” Winter mumbled.

“I’ll take a Reuben with fries,” a man said, pulling out the chair across from Winter.

The waitress gawked at him as he gracefully settled his large body into the seat and flashed her a charming smile.

“Got it,” she stammered, and swung away, patting her hair.

Winter’s fingers reflexively closed around the spoon handle as she contemplated stabbing him with it.

There was absolutely no way he’d found her so quickly, and certainly not by word of mouth or by cell phone, since she didn’t have one.

Her brain raced until she landed on the only explanation.

She gritted her teeth. “You bugged my truck.”

“I recognized that rusty hunk of metal before I got on the boat, and figured it was better safe than sorry when it came to you.” Erikson leaned back and scanned the diner, taking in the lobster nets and fishermen’s coats that decorated the walls.

“Everyone really leans into the whole coastal theme here.”

“It brings in money.”

“I’m sure it does. Once, maybe three years ago, Connor and I investigated a small island off the coast of Greece, where sailors swore there were sirens. We took down dozens of eyewitness accounts, and even though we never spotted one, it remains one of our most popular episodes today.”

“Good for you.”

Erikson continued, seemingly unaffected by her bad mood. “Do you know what a siren is, Winter?”

“A woman who sings sailors to their deaths.”

“Right. They sit on rocks and sing the most beautiful songs, drawing the ships nearer and nearer, until they crash. Why do you think they do it? Do they enjoy destruction?”

“They’re not real, Erikson.” Christ, at least she hoped they weren’t. If anything, sirens sounded a little Wicked.

His eyes crinkled. “Maybe not, or maybe they’re hidden in plain sight, like you and the other Wickeds.”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!”

“I hear the word ‘wicked’ every four seconds in New England. ‘That’s wicked good chowdah,’” he said, mimicking a strong Maine accent, and Winter’s lips couldn’t help twitching.

“No one will think twice about hearing it. But if it makes you feel better, I won’t say it out loud again.

Back to my point. I think it’s curious that sirens are yet another entirely female species, and here I am, chasing a beautiful woman by the sea, who is likely to be the death of my patience. Are you sure you’re not a siren?”

Winter’s retort was momentarily stymied by the realization that he’d called her beautiful, and her heart lurched in her chest. She wasn’t beautiful.

She was cute. Pixie-like. Her sister, Holly, had been born with all of the “beautiful” genes in the family—high cheekbones, a curvy figure, and dark hair—while she and Missy had been born with, well, the elf genes.

Shaking off what had to be a fabricated bit of flattery designed to disarm her, she said, “No one is making you follow me around like a stalker.”

The waitress appeared with his drink at the same moment the word “stalker” left Winter’s lips. The older woman narrowed her eyes as she set the water glass on the table with a clink. “You all right, honey?”

Winter gave Erikson a wicked grin, enjoying the way his eyebrows pinched, before she said, “Yes, I’m fine.”

The waitress nodded and bustled back to the kitchen, angling such an obvious “I’m-watching-you” glare at Erikson that Winter instantly loved her.

“Someone’s not a fan,” she taunted.

Erikson took a long swallow of his lemon water, and her gaze caught on the strong column of his throat before she averted her eyes to her chowder cup.

“She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last,” he said carelessly, setting the glass down with more finesse than the suspicious waitress.

“I’m on a three-week hiatus from filming, and I’d hoped to spend it planning a bachelor party for Connor, drinking beer at some dive bar, and watching basketball.

But instead, I’m chasing after you, because for some reason I simply cannot fathom, you refuse to come home for your sister’s wedding. ”

“You don’t have to fathom my reasons. You don’t have to chase me around. In fact, I figured you’d be too busy drying off.”

Erikson glowered. “That water was cold, Winter. Just like your frigid heart.”

She did smile then, enjoying the description. “You survived.”

He made a noise of disgust. “I owe you for that. You’d better watch your back, Celeste, or you’re going to take a dunking the next time we’re near the water.”

There wouldn’t be a next time they were near the water, but if he did try, he’d get a real taste of her anger. The flare of emotion felt good. It warmed her numb emotions for a second before burning out, once again leaving her a shell of hopelessness.

“You seem more stone-cold than usual,” he observed. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. Tell me why I’m chasing you all over Maine. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t,” she replied flatly.

That piqued his interest. He leaned on his forearms. “It’s paranormal, then?”

She didn’t reply, and that was answer enough.

“Why haven’t you said anything about it to your sisters?”

“They can’t help. No one can.”

The waitress returned with his sandwich and Winter apathetically stirred her chowder while Erikson dug in with an appetite befitting a man of his size who’d just swum fifty yards in the freezing Atlantic waters while fully clothed.

“Does it have to do with your visions?” he asked in between bites.

She stared at him, and he shrugged. “Holly said you had a really bad one before you left. Said you withdrew and stopped eating. She figures this all has to do with it.”

She was right, but Winter didn’t say so. He already knew more than he should.

Erikson plowed through his sandwich and fries, eating them without ketchup like some kind of monster, all while the din in the dimly-lit diner increased as locals came through the door for dinner, coffee, and conversation.

When he finished, he nodded to her mostly untouched chowder. “You didn’t eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He didn’t reply, but when the bill came, he paid it while Winter was pulling out her cash. “I can pay for my own food.”

“I don’t think your six-dollar chowder is going to break my bank account.”

Erikson was probably a millionaire, but that didn’t mean she liked taking anything from him. Winter and her sisters had grown up with just enough to get by, and she didn’t care to feel like a charity case.

Erikson stood and gestured to the door. “Since I don’t trust you to follow me back to Wicked Good Apples in your own truck, we’ll take mine and come back for yours after the wedding.”

She bit back a sigh. He still wasn’t getting it. She wasn’t going home, at least not yet. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

She thought it best to save the fight for when they were out of public, though, so she demurely exited with him into the cool night.

Her easy acquiescence only made him tense as they walked under the twinkling stars, the storm having blown farther out to sea while they ate.

The scent of brine drifted off the dark water that lapped against the rocks in the distance.

Erikson stuck close to her side, like he was afraid she was going to run at any moment, and she glanced up at him in exasperation. He was delusional if he thought he could make her do anything she didn’t want to do.

“It’s late,” she finally said. “Let’s spend the night at the bed and breakfast, and we’ll head out in the morning.”

“So you can sneak out in the middle of the night? I don’t think so.”

Dammit, that had been her exact plan—after she found and ditched the GPS tracker he’d stuck on her vehicle.

“Listen,” she said, halting and turning to him.

They were on the dirt pathway that cut between the town center and the bed and breakfast. It had an unimpeded view of the ocean a dozen or so yards away, and was well trodden from tourists earlier in the season, although it was dark and deserted now.

“Let me be clear: I don’t need you to ferry me back home like some errant child.

I don’t need your help, and I don’t want your help.

I’m in an impossible situation right now, and you’re not making it any better with your badgering. ”

“What impossible situation?”

Winter felt like she was going to scream.

“Winter, if I don’t bring you home, you know Holly will delay her wedding and come look for you herself.”

“I’ll come home for the wedding. I promise. I just need some time to think before I do.”