by Lisa Kessler
“What?” Drake huffed, pushing his way through to her side. “No. He’ll tear it down and build a hotel. Don’t do this.”
The thought of her family’s legacy being demolished made her sick to her stomach, but what other option did she have? She looked up at Drake. “If it’ll get all of you to work together, then it’s worth it.”
He shook his head, his voice softening. “She can’t kill me.”
David interrupted. “And who will she come after when she figures that out?” He stared at Drake. “How can she hurt you the most?”
A chill shot down Heather’s spine.
She would be the next target. No. Her own sister wouldn’t attack her. They still didn’t know why she was going after Drake. Until they did, this was the only way to protect him.
Heather held her hand out to Flynn. “Do we have a deal?”
His blue eyes flicked toward Drake and back to her, his lips curving into a feral smile. “It’s a deal, lass.” He straightened up, facing David. “How soon will your team have the location of the figurehead?”
“We’d already know if your master gunner hadn’t blown my undercover operation into the coven.”
“Fuck off.” Greyson stormed into David’s personal space. “Drake has his dagger back so she can’t cast her magic on him. I did that while you were hiding in the shadows watching.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Heather scanned the four men’s faces and waited for them to focus on her instead of the raging testosterone swirling around. “David, will you let Flynn know when you have the location? I’ll reach out to some of my spirits from the other side and see if they can find it.”
He gave her a stiff nod. “All right.” He pointed at Flynn. “Keep your crew organized. Another loose cannon, and this could blow up in our faces.”
As David left the ship, Drake led Heather farther down the deck, keeping his voice low. “I can’t let you lose your house.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat as the weight of her bargain settled onto her shoulders. “We need Flynn and your crew to work with David. There’s no other option.”
When this was over, she’d have nothing left. If everyone was right about her sister, Ashley could be in jail, and Heather would lose the only home she’d ever known. Her birthright.
But Drake would be safe. She studied his weathered face, the concern lining his eyes. No man had ever put her needs ahead of his own. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t hesitated to make the deal with Flynn. It made sense. She had no doubt Drake would have done the same for her.
“I’ll be all right as long as you are. Our souls found each other again. We deserve a better ending this time.” She reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking his tanned skin. “Will you…tell me what happened between you and Lucy?”
His shoulders tensed and his voice dropped to a raw whisper. “I set sail to earn enough money to prove to her father I could be a good husband. Flynn filled my head with tales of pirate treasure and assured me we’d be back at port within two years.” He stared up at the stars. “Kissed her goodbye at the dock, and I never saw her again.” His gaze locked on hers. “I want a better ending this time, too.”
“If my sister figures out you’re immortal, we both know the best way to hurt you would be to come after me. I still can’t imagine she’d take it that far, but I’ll admit my judgment might be clouded where she’s concerned.” She rested her hand over his heart. “The sooner David locks that figurehead in the Department 13 vault, the better.”
Drake turned away from her, breaking eye contact as he stared out at the dark water. “There is another way. You’d be safe and keep your house if I walk away right now. She can’t kill me, and she wouldn’t have a reason to go after you to get to me.”
Heather’s heart twisted. Was he right? Even if the plan worked and David locked the figurehead away, what kind of future did they really have? She would age and die, leaving Drake behind, alone and heartbroken. Again.
Maybe their souls were never meant to be together.
The song from the attic wandered through her mind. Johnny Mercer’s song about the angels asking about the thrill of being alive and she would remember…Drake. Every kiss, every touch, every smile.
She stepped in front of him and waited for him to look at her. “There is nothing noble about walking out on someone you care about. You wouldn’t walk out on any of your crew. You’d fight beside them. I’m asking you to do the same for me. For us.” She searched his eyes and reached up to caress his stubble-covered jawline. “There will be other houses, Drake, but there’s only one you.”
…
Drake lost himself in her ice-blue eyes. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t walk away now. But as long as she was mortal, her vulnerability would be the end of him. He bent to taste her lips, to reassure himself she was real.
She wrapped her arms around him, her body pressing tight to his. Gods, she fit perfectly in his arms. Made for him, his safe port in the storm. After lifetimes apart, he’d found her again.
And he wasn’t going to lose her. Whatever it took.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead on hers. “I’ll build you a new house.”
Her smile had his sea legs swaying. “I’d love that.”
“So we fight.”
She nodded with a determined glint in her eyes. “We fight.”
He took her hand, their fingers lacing together. “Then I better introduce you to the rest of the crew.”
Keegan, the ship’s pilot, and his raven-haired historian, Char, approached with Caleb, the navigator, and John, the boatswain trailing behind. They quickly introduced themselves and then made room for the first mate, Duke.
Drake never had much interaction with the hulking first mate. It was clear from the start that Flynn chose this mountain of a man to be his personal bodyguard, and until now, that had been all Drake needed to know.
Duke offered his large hand to Heather, taking hers in a gentle grip. “Good to meet you. Officially.”
Heather arched a brow. “Have we met before?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “You helped me with a ghost problem a few years ago.”
“But I’m sure I’ve never seen you before.” Heather chuckled. “Trust me, there’s no way I would forget you.”
Drake rolled his shoulders back against an unfamiliar spike of jealousy.
Duke released her hand. “We talked over the phone. You connected with the spirits on the property I bought and told me how to help them move on. I never would have slept again without your help.”
Heather chuckled, releasing his hand. “I’m glad my suggestions worked for you.”
Duke straightened, making eye contact with Drake. “She’s legit.”
Drake caught her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “She’s the best.” Duke made his way back to Flynn’s side, and Drake turned to Heather. “I think you’ve already met everyone else.”
“I’ll never be able to keep them all straight,” she murmured.
“Pirates rarely give tests, lass.”
Heather rolled her eyes, laughing, and damn it all, he would never get tired of hearing it.
Chapter Eighteen
David slammed his door a little harder than he intended. He was in bed with the immortal pirates again. Damn it.
When Drake contacted him earlier tonight, worried Heather could become the coven’s next target, David had to agree. If the mental assaults Drake had endured were incapacitating, he didn’t want to imagine how much worse they would be against a woman who could hear spirits without the aid of witchcraft and ancient relics.
Thinking about it was enough to have his heart rate elevating. He took a breath, pressed Kingsley’s name on his phone, and waited for the Brit to pick up.
“I don’t have the figurehead’s location yet.” Kingsley sighed. “It�
��s not like we’ve got a tracker on it, but that would have been an excellent plan. Too bad I wasn’t consulted.”
David ignored the sarcasm. “There’s been a little change in plans.”
“Oh?” The frenetic typing stopped on the other end of the line.
“Now that we know Ashley Storrey has the figurehead, once we pinpoint the location, the Sea Dog crew will recover it for us.” David braced himself for Kingsley’s sarcastic response.
But it didn’t materialize.
“My suggestion would be to visit the Digi Robins warehouse we found in Brunswick. We never raided it, so as far as Ms. Storrey knows, it’s still under the radar.”
David wrote himself a note to find the address in the database. “I’ll check it out, but that may be too far from Savannah. Seems like she’d need to touch it to cast the spell, right? It’s gotta be close by.”
“I’m a shamanic computer programmer, not a high priestess. I have no idea how the figurehead’s magic works. I’ll keep searching.” He paused and added, “Watch your back out there. You’re not the only one looking for this. The Serpents must want it, too.”
“Right. I’m also going to need Ashley’s home address.”
“You’ll have it shortly.”
“Thanks, King.”
David set his phone aside and pulled his hair back from his forehead. He had to give Ashley Storrey credit. The woman was fearless to make a trade with the Serpent Society, and then when the relic she traded turned out to be a forgery, she not only kept the figurehead, but also stole the serpent ring off of Dr. Trumain’s dead finger. Ballsy move.
But why? The ring wasn’t imbued with magic. Was it just to piss them off, or maybe to let them know she wasn’t afraid of them? Her reasons didn’t matter at this point.
Obviously she was confident in her magic and her ability to control the army of the dead with the figurehead. She likely believed she was safe, but she didn’t understand who she was up against. David had barely survived his first run-in with the fanatical group, and he was a trained government agent.
Now that he knew the identity of the coven’s high priestess, tailing her would be his best chance of finding the figurehead. His phone buzzed and an address lit up the screen. Time to get back to work.
David drove to the address King sent. He parked two blocks away from Ashley’s home and got out of the car, scanning the area. Unlike her sister, Ashley embraced the luxury offered in a new high-end development on the outskirts of Savannah. No history here. The majority of the community was two-story structures, but Ashley’s was one of the few single-story brick houses on the street. This time of night, most of the homes were dark, but light filtered into the darkness from the back of Ashley’s property.
He made his way around the perimeter, grateful to find her side gate unlocked. If he could scout her property without her knowledge, he could avoid another magical showdown. Although, he’d be prepared this time.
Light poured from the picture window around the back of the house as he slowly eased the gate open. The hinges creaked and he froze, holding his breath. When he was certain he hadn’t attracted any attention, he crouched lower and made his way to the other side of the window before risking a look. Ashley sat with her back to him, working on a laptop. Good. He scanned the living room, taking note of the contemporary furnishings and high tech gadgets. Nothing like her twin sister’s home filled with antiques and family heirlooms, pieces that made the place look and feel welcoming.
The figurehead from the Flying Dutchman would definitely stand out in this cold futuristic interior, not that she’d keep it in plain sight, but he had to check. He hustled farther along the perimeter until a storage shed came into view to the right of the main house. His pulse kicked up a notch.
As he approached the shed, the hair on his arms prickled. Shit. He brought his hand up, his fingers searching for the source of the tension in the air. Magic sparked near the deadbolt lock on the shed. He circled the structure, hoping for another opening or a window, but the rest of the shed’s construction was solid. No way to see what was inside.
He circled back to the door, staring at the lock. Ashley had set powerful magic wards around this shed, and like artists with their different paints and techniques, every magic-worker had their own style, their own take on a spell. Some wards were simple enough to disarm, while others could take him a week to find the right combination of symbols and words to release the metaphysical lock.
The back door opened and the beam of a flashlight swept across the yard.
“Who’s there?” Ashley shouted.
And some wards were complex enough to warn the one who set them when they were being touched or tampered with. Shit. David reached into his pocket, brushing his thumb across a smooth stone as he murmured a few words in Latin.
For now, she wouldn’t be able to see him, but his invisibility spell had limitations. The moment his skin came in contact with anything that he wasn’t holding when the spell was cast, it would be broken. But it was the best plan he had for now.
David stalked across her backyard again, passing her silently as she walked to the shed. Once he was a few feet away, he increased his pace. At the side gate, he checked over his shoulder. The moment he touched the latch, he’d be visible.
Ashley inspected the lock on the shed, and David made his move. He freed the latch without a sound, but hinges of the gate screamed as he pulled it open. The flashlight swung in his direction as he bolted through the gate.
David didn’t stop running until he reached his car. He fired up the engine, the tires screeching as he cranked the wheel into a tight U-turn and punched the accelerator. He hadn’t laid eyes on the figurehead, but he had a good idea where it could be. The trick would be getting it out before Ashley decided to move it.
…
While Drake was in the kitchen having hushed conversations with some of his crewmates, Heather opened her laptop and clicked on the Skull & Crossbones icon. The game loaded, and the chat screen beeped with repeated messages. Heather scrolled back through Queenie’s notes, frowning. Yes, Heather had been neglecting their gaming time since Drake came into her life, but Queenie’s messages were a little over the top. They devolved as they went on from pouty, to passive aggressive, to threatening to stop playing altogether.
Heather sighed, her fingers poised over the keyboard.
GrayGhost: Sorry to be MIA for so long. Life got crazy.
The cursor blinked in silent answer. Queenie usually kept her settings on offline to stay cloaked from other players, so Heather had no idea if Queenie was even playing right now. Heather clicked on a solo quest, but as the screen changed and the weapons choices came up, the chat chimed.
PirateQueen817: How’s Drake?
Heather glanced at the kitchen door and back to the screen.
GrayGhost: He’s better actually. I’ve never met anyone like him.
She braced herself for something snarky like the earlier posts she’d missed while she was out with Drake.
PirateQueen817: So tell me everything.
Heather smiled, the tension leaving her shoulders as she shared the past few days with her closest friend. She started with the romantic dance in the attic after she found the hope chest her mother and grandmother had put together for her. And ended with trying to find the coven who was attacking him.
PirateQueen817: Wow. Sounds like you’re getting in pretty deep with this guy. You haven’t known him very long. Just don’t want you to get hurt.
Heather stared at the keyboard. Queenie was right, she hadn’t known Drake long, but he’d stepped in front of a gunman for her. Their souls had recognized each other even before they did. How could she explain all that without outing Drake’s immortality?
Queenie knew all about Heather’s metaphysical work, so she didn’t think her friend would freak out, but she needed to tread ligh
tly.
GrayGhost: This is going to sound crazy, but we talked about the night he put himself between me and a gun in the Bonaventure Cemetery, and I had a vision of him from another lifetime. In a past life, we were in love, but the story had a different ending. Maybe we can fix that this time around.
She held her breath, waiting for Queenie to respond.
PirateQueen817: How do you know it was him? Did he look exactly the same?
Heather worried her lower lip. A little lie to protect Drake wouldn’t hurt anything.
GrayGhost: His eyes looked the same, but it was more of a feeling. I asked him about it and he told me he’d had a recurring dream with that same scene.
PirateQueen817: No offense, hon, but that sounds pretty convenient. He’s a carpenter, and you’re a famous spiritual medium with a big house in the historic district. Don’t get played.
Heather straightened up on the couch, aching to defend Drake’s intentions and his honor. But as her fingers brushed the keys, she stopped, skimming Queenie’s reply. Her eyes narrowed, and a chill shot down her spine. How did Queenie know where she lived?
Did I tell her at some point? Her heart raced in answer. They’d been chatting online for months. Maybe she’d mentioned Savannah or her grandmother’s house, but she hadn’t meant to. Neither one of them had shared first names or contact info. It was just Queenie and GrayGhost chatting. They’d talked about their jobs. Heather had told her she was a medium who sometimes helped the government solve cases, and Queenie worked for a charity.
PirateQueen817: You still there? I didn’t mean to be a killjoy. I’m sure Drake is amazing and his intentions are pure. I’m just a bitter bitch. You know that.
Heather rubbed her hand on her leg. She must’ve mentioned her house during one of their gaming sessions. There was no other explanation.
GrayGhost: You’re not a bitch. It’s nice to know someone is looking out for me. Sorry I ignored your messages earlier. Ready to sink some ships?
