Raven's Hollow. Jenna Ryan

gave the ends of his hair a playful flick with one hand, and skimmed the fingers of her other across his cheek. “What do you see?”

      He kissed her forehead. “Unless Molly’s taking a late night stroll, someone’s out there.”

      “Wonderful. Can you tell if ‘someone’s’ carrying a gun?”

      “I’ll need more than a glimpse for that. The light’s pretty much nonexistent.”

      “I am so getting a generator.”

      Ten seconds ticked by. “There it is.” He drew his own gun from the back of his jeans. “Considering its remote location, Bellam Manor’s a busy place tonight. Is there a side door?”

      “Through the pantry. Eli, are you sure...?”

      “Dead raven,” he reminded her, and she held up her hands in surrender.

      A feeble streak of lightning flashed as the storm limped grudgingly out to sea. With his gun pointed skyward, and his eyes alert, Eli inched the pantry door open, waited a beat, then stepped out into the gusting rain.

      “Come on,” he muttered to the shadowy caller. “Give me a target.”

      He got one ten seconds later in the form of a barely there movement that indicated the caller was creeping along the back of the house.

      Whoever it was wore a long coat and had one hand pressed to the outer wall. The other hand—he couldn’t tell. Might be carrying a weapon, might be holding something else. Like another dead bird?

      Able to just make out the flat rocks ahead, he jammed the gun in his waistband and went for a takedown. When the shadow lost its balance on the slippery ground, Eli knew it was over.

      One solid tackle was all it took. Surprised by the ease of the capture, rather than plant a knee, he flipped his quarry over. And found himself face-to-face with a writhing, swearing female.

      Even fully pinned, she bucked, thrashed and squirmed, twisting her head from side to side. At length, she settled for spitting at him.