Page 4 of Sweetwater and the Witch

“Wired? Gee, I guess I am a little tense. Clarence Fitch just tried to ice out my talent. He was going to do to me what he did to those other three women—flatline my senses and leave me in a waking coma.”

“Take it easy,” Collins said. “Calm down.”

She couldn’t believe it when he reached out a hand and patted her on the head. This was the problem with being on the short side, she fumed. She stepped back out of reach. The dust bunny growled at Collins.

Collins blinked and hastily retrieved his hand. “Everything’s okay now. The team is here. All the bad guys are on their way to prison or, in the case of Fitch, a para-psych hospital for the criminally insane.”

Ravenna narrowed her eyes. “You cut it a little close, didn’t you?”

“Sorry about that. One of the locators jammed. We got conflicting readings. Had to wait until the tech guy figured out what was going on.”

“Better late than never, I guess.”

“We got here in the nick of time, and that’s what counts, right?” Collins said cheerfully. “By the way, Fitch and the others keep saying there was a for-real paranormal fire in that chamber. Any idea what they’re talking about?”

She rezzed up a bright little smile. “Nope. Fitch is delusional. Thinks he really is a witch hunter. His followers are deluded, too.”

A young FBPI agent appeared in the doorway. She had thought she knew all the members of the task force, but she didn’t recognize him. His name tag was partially obscured by the locator attached to his bulky flamer-proof vest. He was in full takedown gear—boots, black trousers and shirt, and a utility belt studded with serious law enforcement hardware, including a flamer—but somehow he made the clunky outfit look good.

“We’ve got things under control, sir,” he said. “But some of the suspects are insisting Ms.Chastain tried to roast them all alive.”

“You know how it is with suspects,” Ravenna said. “They tend to exaggerate.”

The agent looked amused. “They say they thought Fitch was going to go up in flames and that they would all be next.”

Collins frowned, and then his brow cleared. He patted Ravenna on the shoulder this time and winked. “You got hold of a flamer, huh? Aren’t you glad I made you go through that basic weapons training course when you got assigned to my team? Nice work holding off that bunch until we got here.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” Ravenna said.

Well, no. Defending herself against a crowd of murderous cult followers was not in her job description, and they both knew it. She was the team’s criminal profiler. She was not supposed to get close to the scene of the action, let alone end up in harm’s way. But the sarcasm blew straight past Collins without disturbing his crisp FBPI haircut.

“Right,” he said. “See you back on the surface. How about we get together to celebrate with a drink tonight?”

“Love to,” she said. “But I’ve got to wash a load of clothes.”

“Some other time, then,” he said, unfazed. “Catch you later.”

Collins vanished back into the chamber to take charge. The FBPI agent studied Ravenna.

“Got hold of a flamer, huh?” he said. He gave her a knowing smile. “Smart move.”

“I got lucky.”

“Pretty amazing luck. Not everyone could grab a flamer from a trained Guild man.”

“Yay, me.” She studied him. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Ravenna Chastain, the team profiler.”

“Oh, sorry.” He glanced down at his vest and adjusted the locator so that his name tag was visible. “My name’s Sweetwater. Jeff Sweetwater.”

“Sweetwater?” Startled, she took a closer look at him. “As in one of the Amber, Inc., Sweetwaters?”

He winced. “Afraid so.”

“I have to tell you, I’m a little surprised.”

“That a Sweetwater joined the FBPI?”

“I suppose so. Never really thought about it. I assumed the Sweetwaters all worked in the family business.”

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