Pirate's Persuasion

by Lisa Kessler

  Drake cleared his throat. “Why don’t you start with how you knew I’d be here?”

  Her shoulders relaxed, her lips curving gently at the corners. He caught himself hoping she might smile. “We have a mutual friend.”

  “We do?” It had to be Agent Bale, but Drake wouldn’t call the head of Department 13 a “friend.” They hadn’t heard from him since the altercation at the cemetery anyway.

  Besides, Agent Bale wouldn’t have known Drake was installing the restored doors at the Juliette Gordon Low birthplace tonight…unless the agent was spying on him.

  He wouldn’t put that past Bale.

  “One-Eyed Bob.” She grinned, and the moonlight danced in her light eyes, sending an unusual flare of warmth through his cold heart. “I just finished a job at Oatland Island and chatted with him over a plate of fried shrimp and hushpuppies. When I mentioned meeting you at the cemetery a few weeks ago and that I needed to find you again, Bob knew you were hanging doors. He told me I might be able to catch you before you went home.”

  Drake smirked. Bob. He should’ve known.

  The one-eyed pirate had been the cook on the Sea Dog and drank from the Holy Grail with the rest of the crew. These days he owned Bob’s Seafood, a popular restaurant with the locals. “I’ll have to thank him later.”

  “I’m glad I found you.”

  Something about the spark in her eyes seemed…familiar. He shoved the thought aside, unwilling to examine it any closer. A stark memory of that night in the cemetery filled his head. He hadn’t put himself between her and the barrel of a gun through a conscious decision or a heroic urge.

  It had been instinct.

  And he had no fucking clue why. The endless passing of decades might be catching up with him, stealing his sanity.

  He scanned the darkened street. “Where is this danger you wanted to warn me about?”

  “You won’t be able to see it coming. Not with your eyes.”

  He frowned, looking her way again. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means the danger won’t be from a gun.”

  He chuckled and put his toolbox in the truck beside the ladder. “Do you always talk in riddles?”

  “This isn’t a joke.” She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “I warned you that this would sound impossible. No matter how it sounds, it’s still real.”

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked.

  “I came here to pass on a warning. If you don’t believe me, that’s your business. I have no way to prove it to you.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “Never mind. I did what I could. What you choose to do with the information is up to you.”

  She was no shrinking violet, he would give her that. He hadn’t meant to offend her, not really. He’d spent over two hundred years on his own. The few women he’d enjoyed an evening with didn’t usually involve much conversation. He was rusty. Aw hell, if he was honest, he’d never been good at chatting with women. Not since Lucy.

  Fuck. The last thing he needed was to dredge up memories of the love he’d left behind in England lifetimes ago.

  “Wait.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  She shifted her stance. “The Oatland Island preserve hired me to calm a spiritual disturbance tonight, and while I finished up, a ghost of a young boy showed up.” Her gaze went distant as she shook her head. “I don’t usually see them, but he was clear.”

  Her lips were still moving, even though Drake could no longer make out her words. Shrieks deafened him, piercing his senses like daggers. He winced, unable to catch his breath as he covered his ears. It did nothing to muffle the high-pitched screech.

  Heather came forward, concern lining her eyes. Her mouth kept moving, but the wailing inside his ears drowned out her voice. He grunted, grinding his teeth and stumbling backward until he landed against the tailgate of his truck. Grasping the side with one hand, he struggled to stay upright as the sound threatened to crack his skull. He pressed his other hand over his ear. There was no silencing the assault.

  Then just as suddenly as it came on, it was gone. Drake collapsed to his knees, breaking out in a sweat, his hands trembling. His head throbbed, residual pain lancing through his temples like an icepick. What the fuck was that?

  Heather knelt beside him. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice came out hoarse, his throat raw. Had he been screaming?

  She took his hand to steady him as he got to his feet. The simple touch warmed him from the inside out, like a balm for his soul. He stared into her ethereal eyes, somehow both lost and found. He stroked his thumb over the smooth skin of her knuckles and realized his hands were shaking.

  He released her and whispered, “I need to get to the Sea Dog.”

  Chapter Two

  For the life of her, Heather couldn’t figure out why Drake insisted she take him to a replica of a pirate ship instead of a hospital. The original Sea Dog sank just outside the mouth of the Savannah River in 1795. A few years ago the Spanish galleon was rebuilt, complete with huge black sails, and now it sat docked along River Street.

  The ghost boy had shown her a sailing ship, too, old like this one…although the one in her vision had more sails. Maybe there was a connection? More likely she was reading far too much into the glimpse she’d seen.

  Her steering wheel vibrated as they got closer to the water. The historic road had never been paved, and the old cobblestones forced drivers to slow down. In hindsight, keeping the area in its original state probably helped with the traffic in the area. Most locals parked on the streets above and walked down to save their vehicles.

  She glanced his way as they neared the dock. “Are you sure about this? The boat may not even be open.”

  Maybe Drake knew the owner.

  “I built the damned thing,” he grunted, still massaging his temple.

  Until she understood what brought this big strong carpenter to his knees, she wouldn’t press him too hard to see a doctor. What if it had been an attack from the witches the boy had warned her about?

  Rumors had been circulating among the local metaphysical community about a coven dipping their toes into black magic. Heather hadn’t wanted to believe it. Nine times out of ten the gossip was just that, talk.

  However, after her encounter with the boy who begged her to protect Drake, it was tough not to see the earlier incident as an attack on him. She’d experienced enough unexplainable events, through both her mediumship work and assisting Agent David Bale and Department 13 to protect Americans from paranormal threats, to recognize that this dimension carried both the sinister and the innocent, both darkness and light.

  And darkness always came at a steep price.

  She crossed the gangplank onto the ship, following Drake. He hadn’t spoken another word since they got out of the car. They’d left his truck parked at the Juliette Gordon Low house in the historic district after she persuaded him to let her drive him to River Street. If he had another attack while behind the wheel of his truck, he might not survive it.

  Once she stepped onto the deck of the ship, she marveled at the solid construction. Drake built this? Impressive. Not that she thought of herself as any kind of nautical expert, but she’d played enough hours of Skull & Crossbones online to feel somewhat knowledgeable, even if this was her first time on an actual pirate ship.

  Drake cleared his throat, and she turned to find him rubbing his forehead. “The others are coming, so you don’t need to stay. One of the crew can take me back to my truck.”

  His voice was still raspy, but stronger.

  She frowned. “Did you hear what I said back there before you fell?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t hear anything over the banshee in my ears.”

  At least he didn’t try to lie. Heather glanced around the deck. “Maybe you should sit down.
”

  He chuckled. “No deck furniture on this vessel.”

  She looked up and caught the hint of a smile on his face. Heat blossomed low in her belly. She reined that unwanted energy back in before it had a chance to break free. The last thing she needed was a man. Especially one with a grin that made her knees wobble.

  She’d sworn off love, and she’d been much happier since, or at least, safer.

  Heather scanned the deck. He was right. Not a single chair. “Even pirates need to sit sometimes. There must be something around here someplace.”

  He crossed in front of her. “Follow me.”

  He led her through a door that opened into a small, efficient-looking kitchen and pulled over two stools. “This is One-Eyed Bob’s galley.”

  “Bob didn’t tell me you both play pirate on the Sea Dog.” Suddenly she had a million questions. The night she discovered Drake and his friends in the Bonaventure Cemetery, she’d gone with Agent David Bale. Her ex. No. Her colleague. It was better this way.

  David kept many secrets, and because of his top secret work for the government, she didn’t dig for answers. She’d stumbled onto his true age through her communications with one of his dead informants. Through some magical herb concoction, David had been able to halt aging and heal from bullet and stab wounds. Even though he didn’t look a day over forty, David had started working for Department 13 before the Kennedy assassination.

  And the night she accompanied him to the Bonaventure Cemetery, he’d been trying to stop one of his brother’s descendants who’d come in contact with Pandora’s Box. The legend was very much real and contained enough evil to lay waste to the world if someone opened it. They saved humanity, but she never did find out why Drake and the others were there.

  His shoulders tensed as he sat on the stool. “Bob and I don’t play here, we sail.” He broke eye contact, staring at the door. “So what did I miss when the banshee wailing started?”

  Heather slid her hands into the pockets of her cape. “I started to tell you I’m a medium, and a spirit asked me to protect you.” She waited for him to look at her before adding, “It was a boy. He called you his uncle.”

  All the color drained from Drake’s face. He stood up quickly and clasped the back of his neck. “Protect me from what?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. He said they were witches. He said they’ll make you think it was your fault. Does that mean anything to you?”

  He rubbed his forehead and met her eyes. She recognized the body language instantly. Her clients had the same reaction when she told them something they weren’t ready to admit to another soul.

  “No. Sorry.” His jaw clenched in resolution. “I’m no one’s uncle.”

  She studied him for a moment, taking in the tightness in his broad shoulders, the way his rough hands balled into fists at his sides, and the strong angles of his handsome face. There was something about him. Yes, he was nice to look at, but he also tugged at her soul. She recognized he was hiding something, although she barely knew him, and being near him kindled a yearning to help that didn’t make sense.

  Ugh. The last thing she needed was a broody, secretive man in her life. Two years ago, when federal agent David Bale walked out of her life, leaving behind a spectacular fireball of emotional wreckage, she swore to herself she’d never repeat that mistake.

  Whatever haunted Drake, he wasn’t ready to face it, and she didn’t have the fortitude to guide him through it.

  “I guess I’ve done all I can, then.” She stood and lifted the hood of her wool cape over her head, covering her silver hair.

  Drake opened his mouth to speak, but another man’s voice filled the void.

  “Drake? Where are you?”

  “In the galley, quartermaster!” Drake called without taking his eyes off Heather. “Colton owns the Sea Dog.”

  A tall man about Drake’s age walked through the door, ducking his head as he came inside. His eyes widened when he noticed her. He glanced at Drake. “You’re not alone.”

  “I was his ride.” She offered her hand. “I’m Heather Storrey.”

  Colton shook her hand without hesitation, arching a brow. “The woman who speaks to the dead.”

  She chuckled with a shrug. “I’ve been known to.”

  Colton looked over at Drake. “You two know each other?”

  Drake crossed to her side, the heat from his body radiating right through her cape.

  He nodded. “We met in the Bonaventure Cemetery.” His voice was stronger now, a good sign. “She was helping Agent Bale.”

  Colton turned her way. “You know Bale, too?”

  “Yes.” She shrugged, intentionally leaving out the part about how David stomped all over her heart. “I do some consulting for him when he needs information from the other side of the veil.”

  “Good to meet you,” Colton said, and he sounded like he meant it.

  She’d grown so accustomed to being “observed” by people that meeting someone who didn’t take notice of her unique appearance felt…odd. She glanced at Drake. He hadn’t been affected, either. In fact, the first time they’d met, he hadn’t hesitated to put himself between her and an armed gunman. He hadn’t given her appearance a second glance.

  Colton’s full attention shifted back to Drake. “What happened? Your text sounded urgent.”

  Drake crossed his arms, defensive. “I’m not sure. Heather tried to warn me about danger blowing my way, and then a banshee wailed in my ears.”

  Colton’s eyes widened. He didn’t call Drake a liar, and there wasn’t a trace of laughter on his face. “Not a good sign.” He shook his head, his gaze going distant. “I should call the others. We could all be in danger.”

  She caught Drake’s eye. Was he going to tell Colton about the boy, the witches, anything she’d conveyed about the threat? A good psychic kept her client’s secrets. She wasn’t going to break her own rule and spill details in front of his friend. Not that Drake was a client. He wasn’t exactly a friend yet, either.

  Although it didn’t make sense, her gut instinct demanded she protect him. She didn’t have to understand why. She trusted the universe to reveal answers when the time was right.

  Usually.

  She’d be careful. No getting emotionally attached.

  With her boundaries in place, she lifted her eyes. Drake’s gaze connected with hers on a visceral level. A vision flashed through her mind. He offered her his hand with a bow and that devilish smile on his face…and no scar on his brow. She blinked, the hazy slip through the timeline sealing her firmly back into the present.

  Drake frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Heather nodded and cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll let you know if I get any more messages about the danger.” She turned to Colton and forced a smile. “Nice to meet you. This is an amazing ship you have here.”

  She went to the door leading to the open deck. A hand settled on her shoulder. “Wait.”

  “I’ve told you all I can.” She risked a look into Drake’s eyes. No visions. She relaxed a little. “I know how to find you if that changes.”

  “What if I need to contact you?”

  She plucked a business card from the pocket of her cape and held it out to him. “Please be careful.”

  Before he could say anything else, she hurried back into the chill of the night air. Visions weren’t a new phenomenon in her line of work, but this had been different and threw her equilibrium off. Usually she saw a scene as an outsider looking in.

  This time, she’d been present, an active participant. Drake had been bowing to her, his hand outstretched, and no sign of the old injury over his eyebrow.

  She’d never known him without the scar.

  Chapter Three

  Drake turned the business card over in his hand, his attention on Colton. “Didn’t mean to worry you, quar
termaster. The unholy screeching screwed with my head. I’m all right now.”

  Colton clenched his jaw, unconvinced. “Do you think the medium had anything to do with it?”

  Drake rolled his shoulders back, surprised he hadn’t even considered that angle. He shook his head. “No. Why warn me about danger if she was going to attack me all along?”

  “I could call Agent Bale. Maybe he could vouch for her intentions.”

  Colton knew as well as anyone that since the fight in the Bonaventure Cemetery, Agent Bale had ended their tenuous relationship. None of the crew had heard from him since. The chances of Bale getting involved to help any of them with a banshee wail were nonexistent.

  “The banshee is a warning of impending death.” Drake let out a humorless chuckle. “If her screech was meant for us, that would be one less problem for Bale. No incentive for him to help us unravel it.” He shrugged. “I can’t die anyway, remember?”

  Colton raised a brow. “We heal rapidly and we don’t age. Doesn’t mean if someone separated you from your head you wouldn’t die.”

  “My head’s not going anywhere,” Drake scoffed.

  “Whatever the hell it is, we need to figure out how to stop it.” Colton’s somber gaze weighed on Drake for a moment then he cleared his throat. “Maybe killing you isn’t what it’s after. Eternity is a long time to be lost in your own head.”

  Silence hung between them like a specter. Drake walked to the ship’s railing, staring into the dark water of the Savannah River. Colton and the rest of the Sea Dog crew had no idea how many times Drake had balanced on the narrow rope between reality and the abyss of despair. The weight of his failure the night the Sea Dog sank below the surface of the Atlantic still hung like a millstone around his neck. Time hadn’t dulled the guilt he wore like a second skin.

  “I’m fine,” Drake muttered. “If you’re still concerned, we can warn the others tomorrow. I shouldn’t have worried you tonight. This isn’t the first time I’ve had ringing in my ears.”