Bayou Heat

by Donna Kauffman

  “I hear you. No sign of them yet. Better make it fast, Teague.”

  “Trust me, Skeet.” Teague signed off, then crouched down off the trail as he nered the clearing just behind the hounfour. Trust. The word burned in his gut. He searched the crowd gathered there. The ceremony had just begun.

  “Where are you?” he whispered under his breath. He spied her a second later, standing near the house. He took a deep breath but felt no relief. Not yet. Verifying she was there and okay went a long way toward easing the niggling sense that something was horribly wrong with tonight’s setup.

  He’d been over it and over it, but everything was in place. If all went as planned, it would go down in less than an hour. He’d be tied up for the rest of the night, and possibly longer depending on how things shook down with Arnaud’s boss.

  He had to see her now. One last time.

  No. He refused to think that way. He’d been angry and hurt when he left her office the day before. But in time he was able to see her side of it. He couldn’t change his responsibilities, and that meant he had to keep his true identity a secret—from everyone—until it was over.

  But no matter how long it took him to tie up loose ends, he would come back to her. For her. He’d tell her anything she wanted to know. And she’d listen to what he had to say.

  A shadow moved next to Erin. Teague tensed and was almost out of the underbrush when the light of the ceremonial fire highlighted the man’s face.

  Marshall.

  What in the hell was he doing here?

  Teague tried to tell himself that Marshall’s obvious concern for Erin’s welfare and safety was a good thing. He should feel better knowing she was being looked after.

  His hands tightened into fists. He’d never been possessive. Possessions had a way of disappearing. Better not to get attached. A creed he’d followed all his life.

  But Erin was different. His jaw flexed when Marshall moved closer. She was so damn independent, she’d never be truly owned by anyone. And that was her greatest allure. To possess any part of her was to be possessed in return.

  And he’d give everything he was to be hers. Already had in fact.

  Shutting out useless frustration and debilitating anger, he focused on her exclusively, studying every inch of her. “One night, Erin. One more night, then I’m coming for you. No more running away. For either of us.”

  He moved backward until he reached the track, then slipped silently back to the bateau. He lowered his chin and spoke. “Update.”

  “One boat sighted upriver. Arrival time ten minutes, twelve at the outside.”

  “Okay. It’s party time.”

  Marshall had been hovering all night. Erin was pleased that he’d accompanied her. Not because she felt the need for a chaperone, but because this way she could keep her eye on him. He’d questioned her at length about her talk with Teague, but she’d finally convinced him she hadn’t learned anything.

  Nothing she was willing to share.

  She’d asked Marshall what he planned to do, but he’d been very closemouthed. Her instincts were clamoring. She had a very bad feeling about tonight. She just wanted it to be over.

  One way or another.

  Belisaire stepped into the small clearing. Two dozen or more hounsis surrounded her. The cata and seconde drums continued, only now the hounsis began to sing and dance.

  Her attention was riveted on the scene unfolding before her, and it wasn’t until the drums abruptly stopped that she realized Marshall had slipped away.

  Her heart pounded like the pulsing rhythm filling the air, as she quickly scanned the area. Nothing.

  She had promised Belisaire she would stay near the house. Or go inside if things got out of hand in any way that made her uncomfortable.

  The maman drums began their thundering pulse. Torn between the unfolding ceremony and a strong sense of unease about Marshall’s plans for the night, she finally caved in to the latter and stepped inside the house. Any hopes about him going for a glass of water or something equally innocuous were quickly dashed.

  She stepped outside again and did another, more thorough examination of the peristyle. Still nothing. Then she caught a flash of movement, a shadow disappearing down the trail to the rear boathouse.

  She followed instinctively, making it to the boathouse in time to see a small joug slide from the dock into the dark waters of the bayou.

  As quietly as she could, she climbed into a bateau and set out after it.

  She couldn’t see for sure, but she knew it was Marshall.

  Had he learned where Teague was?

  It didn’t take long for her to realize where they were headed. The direction couldn’t be a coincidence. Marie’s house.

  Erin stayed to the side, as close to the tangled snarl of roots along the banks as she could. She stopped and waited for Marshall to get to the small dock. After several minutes passed, she followed. She was caught off guard by the sight of several small boats and one air boat tied to the now crowded dock.

  The thought of the dangers in taking an air boat through the bayou at night made her shiver. Was it Teague’s?

  She made her way slowly along the trail. The moon was full and bright, but the shadows still dominated the tangled path.

  She estimated she still had a few dozen yards to go when she heard voices.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  Erin’s heart began to pound. Teague.

  “Surprised to see me?”

  “Get out of here, Marshall, before you get us both killed.”

  “Where’s the rest of the party?”

  Erin couldn’t believe how calm Marshall sounded. Confident. She crept closer, until she could peek into the small clearing in front of the charred remains of the house.

  “Marshall, I have no idea why you’re here, but do as I say and get out now. I’ll answer your questions later.”

  “You’re good at saying that, Teague. Erin wasn’t too happy with you the other day.”

  She stopped breathing for a second.

  “I’ll deal with Erin later. And you. Leave.”

  “You really have no idea why I’m here, do you?”

  Erin watched Teague’s entire body tense as he stepped from the shadows, the moonlight filtering down to illuminate his face. They were less than ten feet apart now, facing each other.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” His quiet tone was both threat and challenge.

  “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in what you are doing here.”

  “And how is that?”

  “You’re my brother. I don’t want to see you get into any trouble you can’t handle.”

  “And I suppose you know all about trouble, huh, Marshall? You’re life is so filled with danger and intrigue.”

  “You have no idea what my life is or isn’t, Teague.”

  “And neither do you know mine. Now, unless you have something important to tell me, I need you to get the hell out of the way and let me conduct my own business.”

  “It’s your business that concerns me. I think you ought to give some thought to leaving yourself.”

  On a muttered oath, Teague took another step toward Marshall.

  The gun appeared in Marshall’s hand so quickly, Erin had to blink twice to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

  “Don’t make me do something I’ll regret, Teague.”

  Teague froze. “What in the hell is going on here, Marshall?”

  “Erin, I want you to step from the bushes and come over here.”

  She froze.

  “Now, Erin.”

  “Erin, get out of here.” Teague’s voice was harder, colder than Marshall’s.

  “She’s the one that led me to you.”

  Erin stepped into the clearing. “Marshall, stop. Someone is going to get hurt.”

  Teague’s attention swung to her. “Did you, Erin?”

  She looked at him helplessly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” She closed the dis
tance between herself and Marshall. “Marshall just wants to keep you from making a mistake here, Teague. So do I.”

  “Is that so? What kind of mistake?”

  “He thinks you’re involved in something … illegal.”

  “And what do you think?”

  She shivered despite herself. “I don’t know what to think. You wouldn’t tell me anything. Then Marshall told me about finding you in Miami, working under an assumed name, mixed up with some pretty rough characters. And I do know you’re involved in more than running a pool hall, Teague.” She stepped closer.

  “Stop,” both men ordered her.

  She did, but said, “Tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

  “Why bother?”

  Because I love you, she wanted to shout. Make it all better. Make this all go away.

  Her silence spoke for her.

  “I see.” He turned back to Marshall. “So what did you two do? Is Bodette on his way here to catch me in the act?”

  “Teague, please—”

  He swung to her. “Please what, Erin? I asked you to trust me. To accept what I told you, and what I couldn’t. You have a funny way of believing in me.”

  Marshall interrupted. “We can settle this back at Beaumarchais.” He waved the gun. “Come on.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Teague, don’t make this any harder on yourself,” Erin implored.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated. “You two have no idea what you’ve stumbled into here. Go home. Call Bodette. By the time he explains it all to you, this will be over. You can have him waiting for me in Bruneaux, I don’t care. Just get the hell out of here now.”

  “Bodette?” Erin echoed. “What does he—”

  “No.” Marshall almost shouted the word.

  Erin turned to him. He was so agitated he was trembling.

  “Marshall, why don’t you put the gun away. Surely we can work this all out.”

  Marshall laughed. “So naive. So blind. Both of you. God, if this wasn’t so important I’d enjoy the irony of it all.” Before she could think to move, he reached out and caught her arm. In the next instant she was trapped in front of him, the long ugly barrel of his gun pressed under her chin.

  “Close, Teague. So close.”

  Teague’s stomach turned at the sight before him. It was beyond anything his worst nightmare could have conjured. Who was this man? And how in the hell would he ever forgive himself if he didn’t figure it out in time?

  “What’s going on here, Marshall?”

  “Your mistake, Teague,” he said, ignoring the question, “was in giving me something to use as leverage.”

  He tugged Erin closer to him. Teague used discipline he didn’t know he possessed to keep himself from launching across the clearing at his half brother.

  “She has nothing to do with whatever is between us, Marsh. Let her go.”

  Marshall laughed; the sound crawled up Teague’s spine. “Why did you have to come back?” His voice was almost a whine. “You almost ruined everything. Almost. Where is your partner, Teague?”

  Dread twisted deep in his stomach. No. No way. It couldn’t be. “Why did you track me down in Miami?” he asked, knowing he didn’t want to hear this answer.

  “You’re my only brother. I wanted to know where you were. Family ties. Brotherly love.” He reeled them off flatly, as if by rote.

  “Bull.” He nodded toward the gun Marshall held. “You have a funny way of showing brotherly love.”

  Something in Marshall seemed to snap. His face contorted. Teague was stunned by the hatred in his face.

  “You don’t know jack about being a brother, or love, or anything else, Teague. The going got tough and you split. Did you ever think you weren’t the only one who had it rough?”

  “You didn’t want my help as I recall.”

  “No, I didn’t. What I wanted was respect.” He waved the gun at Teague but quickly pressed it back against Erin. “I was the golden boy. I did everything right. Not like you. I studied hard, worked hard. And I was still Grant Sullivan’s bastard son. Just like you. But you gave up. I stuck it out. And I finally learned the secret. The secret to being accepted. To getting what I wanted. I learned that the only thing anyone really respects is power.”

  “So you got some,” he breathed. “How, Marshall?”

  “The interesting thing to me was that no one ever suspected,” he went on. “I was just the wealthy college professor, happily bucking Sullivan tradition and not giving a hoot.” His smile turned nasty. “I didn’t want Father’s money or prestige handed down to me. I had that just by being his son. By staying. True power doesn’t work that way. You have to earn it on your own. I did, Teague. Oh, did I ever.”

  “Marshall?” Erin’s one word was a confused plea.

  He didn’t even look at her. “Toss me your gun. Both of them. Now.”

  Erin’s attention spun wildly from Marshall back to Teague. Her fear and concern for both men along with the stunning revelations pouring from Marshall made her almost unaware of her own predicament.

  “Now, Teague.” He pressed the gun so tightly into her throat she couldn’t swallow. “I have no problem using this, you know.”

  Teague tossed his guns.

  Erin whimpered, not in fear, but in protest for the destruction that was taking place in front of her.

  Any doubt she had about that disappeared with Teague’s next question.

  “Arnaud works for you, doesn’t he?”

  THIRTEEN

  She didn’t have to ask who Arnaud was. Marshall was involved. Drugs. Arms. It didn’t matter.

  What did was that she still didn’t know why Teague was there. But she did know one thing. She loved him. She trusted him. She believed in him.

  And she could help him.

  She stared at him, willing him to look at her, despite what he now thought of her. That she’d betrayed him, like everyone else in his life, even his own family. She hadn’t led Marshall to him, but she had betrayed him in her heart by doubting him.

  Erin felt Marshall’s body tighten behind hers, as Teague’s face twisted in rage and pain. Her heart broke for him even as her mind raced ahead, looking for any opportunity to act. Waiting for the exact right moment. If she was wrong, she could be horribly tragically wrong.

  But then nothing about this was going to end without horror or tragedy.

  There was a rustling in the trees next to them, and Marshall stilled. “Arnaud?”

  A small shadow moved between them, shrouded in a dark cloak.

  “Stop!” Marshall ordered.

  The cloak dropped.

  Belisaire.

  “Stop this now.” Her words addressed both men, though she looked at neither.

  “Belisaire, this doesn’t concern you. Leave now.” Teague never looked away from Marshall.

  “What you do in my swamp concerns me.” She turned to face him. “How dare you desecrate this sacred place, Teague. How dare you conduct your illicit business here.”

  Teague just stood there.

  “Belisaire,” Erin said, “you don’t—”

  “I have it under control,” Marshall broke in, stopping her words with his gun. “I’ve stopped him.”

  The older woman ignored Erin’s outburst and Marshall’s words.

  “I gave you a choice, Teague. I brought her in. I opened the door, gave you an alternative. A way out. And yet you chose to do this instead.” She was rigid with fury as she swept the air sharply with her raised hand.

  Erin stared at Teague, tears swimming in her eyes. Stop, she wanted to scream. Leave him with something. Someone.

  She mentally implored Teague to explain, all the while knowing he wouldn’t. And that he should never have had to in the first place.

  Shame crawled through her.

  Belisaire had asked how he dared. But the real question was how dare they. All of them.

  “Move out of the way, Belisaire,” Marshall instructed. It wa
s clear Marshall had every intention of making this work to his advantage. As he’d done from the very beginning, Erin now realized. “This will all be over soon. No one will be hurt.”

  Belisaire whirled to face Marshall.

  “You were supposed to help me. To help Teague. I would never have allowed you to attend the ritual tonight if I’d known your true purpose. You told me you were here to help. You will regret this, Marshall.” She leveled a finger at Marshall. “You should never have crossed me.”

  Erin felt the instinctive shiver that raced over the man who held her.

  Then, as if seeing Erin for the first time, Belisaire stilled at the sight of the gun pressed tight against Erin’s throat. And it seemed as if she aged right before their eyes.

  Her shoulders drooped and she suddenly seemed very small and frail. Where only moments before she had been the all-powerful priestess spewing righteous fury, she was now simply an old woman who looked lost and confused.

  “Marshall?” she whispered. “What in the world are you doing, chèr?”

  Marshall laughed, and his hold on Erin relaxed a fraction.

  In that instant Erin saw her chance.

  She drove her booted heel as hard against his shin as she could. Throwing her head back, she used her skull to smash into Marshall’s nose.

  “Now!” she screamed over Marshall’s howl of rage and pain. She dove for Belisaire, praying Teague would react to her cry.

  Erin took Belisaire down in a tumble, trying her best to shelter the woman’s fragile body. The first shot cracked over their heads, but their forward motion prevented Erin from seeing if the bullet had found its target.

  She felt a heavy thud nearby, and turned her head in time to see Teague roll onto his belly, his gun propped on his forearm, aimed directly at Marshall.

  Marshall, blood pouring from his nose, swung his gun to where Erin and Belisaire lay.

  “Don’t do it. Don’t make me do it, Marshall.” Teague was panting. “For God’s sake.”

  The gun wavered in Marshall’s hand.

  “It’s over, Marsh. Can’t you see that?” His voice broke. “It’s already too late.”

  “Too late,” Marshall echoed hollowly. “I guess it has been right from the start, hasn’t it.” His arm went limp, the gun angling to the ground as he fell to his knees.