by Rebecca York
The captive stared at him, trying to take in what was happening. “Why are you doing this?”
Falcon lifted one shoulder. “You killed Jenna Foster.”
The wrinkled face contorted with fear. “No!”
Falcon kept his voice mild. “Of course you did. It’s all written down in those secret records from the historical society. The ones you thought were locked up. But I know how to open a safe. Pretty stupid of you to keep that stuff around. What, do you have a death wish or something?”
“I thought…”
“What?”
“Those records were supposed to be…gone.”
Falcon snorted, “Well, it’s too bad for you they were in that safe—big as life and twice as plain. Maybe you weren’t the one who tossed that firebomb into her cabin. But you were the one who stirred people up against her.”
“No!”
It was time to make this man face the consequences of his actions. Falcon stepped forward and gave him a good slap across the face.
“Don’t lie to me! You were the leader of the God-fearing people in town. You rented her that cabin so you could keep an eye on her. And when you decided she had done evil, you whipped up the town against her.”
Barnette goggled at him.
“You killed her, and you and your good buddies drove the others like her out of town. That’s how you got the land for your damn park. I always wondered why my uncle sold that property. But I’ve put two and two together—and they add up to over three hundred acres he let you practically steal, so he’d have money to move his family. That’s true, isn’t it?”
The old man moaned.
“Say it!”
“Yes. It’s true. I wanted that land to benefit the good people in town. I opened the park to bring money to the area.”
“How much other stuff like that did you pull?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure.”
Barnette’s eyes filled with tears. “Let me go,” he pleaded. “I can pay you.”
“How much?”
“A million dollars.”
“That’s very generous of you, but money’s not the point. We don’t want your damn money.”
“But I heard you say you were leaving a ransom note.”
“That was the story we wanted James to believe. But we knew Adam Marshall wouldn’t fall for it. We knew he’d come out here looking for you. And when he does, we’ll be ready for him.”
He turned to Razorback. “Light the fire.”
The old man cringed. “Are you going to burn me?”
Falcon laughed. “You burned her up. Maybe that would be poetic justice; but actually, we have other plans for you.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
WHEN THE FIRE was blazing, Falcon nodded toward Starflower. She brought a long stick with a wad of cloth at the end, cloth that had been soaked in a drugged solution.
Everyone in the clan watched eagerly as she thrust it into the fire, watching it smolder.
The first hints of aromatic smoke drifted toward him, and he took a breath, smiling as he looked over at Barnette. The smoke didn’t work quite so well for them now as it had the first few times. The effect was less, and they were going to have to find a way to boost the pleasure. But it was still potent, and he knew that it would hit the old man hard because this was his first time.
“You’ll like this,” he murmured.
“What is it?” the captive quavered.
Falcon laughed. “Something to put you in the right frame of mind for the festivities.”
“No. Please.”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Falcon growled, then turned away.
Starflower brought the brand toward her face, inhaling deeply. Her eyes took on a dreamy look as she held out the offering to the rest of them.
Each in turn, they leaned over to drink in the smoke.
Falcon was last. After he had taken his first portion, he turned and walked toward Barnette, thrusting the brand into his face, forcing him to breathe the smoke.
Starflower had come up behind Falcon, caressing the bare skin of his back, trailing her hand down to his hips and then his buttocks. He felt himself getting hard and looked back toward her.
“Later. We’ll have fun later. But business before pleasure.”
She made a pouting face but took her hand off his body.
Falcon turned his attention back to the old man who coughed and swivelled his head away. But there was no escape from the inevitable. All Falcon had to do was move the stick so it was in his face again. He watched with satisfaction as the old man’s eyes glazed over.
With a smile, he picked up the knife that he’d left on the ground near the tree. “I think you’re overdressed for this party, don’t you?” he asked, inserting his knife into the fabric of Barnette’s shirt and ripping it open.
SARA listened to the men talking about their rescue plans. She was confident she’d be safe with James’s sister, but she wasn’t so sure about Adam. He’d done enough already. She wanted to beg him to stay out of the swamp today. But she imagined he wouldn’t listen to her.
She turned to face him. “I want to talk to you about this.”
“About what?” he demanded.
“Can we have some privacy?”
“I’d like the sheriff to be in on the discussion,” he answered, his tone brusque.
She swung her gaze to Delacorte. There were reasons why she wanted to keep the conversation with Adam private. Like, was he going into the swamp as a wolf or a man? But how could he go as a wolf, if he was supposed to be staying in communication by cell phone.
It struck her then how much her thinking had changed over the past few days. She had accepted the wolf because the wolf was part of Adam.
She studied him now, convinced that he was deliberately making sure she couldn’t talk him out of looking for Barnette. She sighed. “Okay. Did you talk to the sheriff about what happened the last time you encountered those people in the swamp?”
“Yes.”
“So he knows that they were having some kind of ceremony using drugged smoke. He knows that the smoke made you high. He knows that they chased you through the underbrush and almost killed you.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw James’s eyes bug out, as he took in the exchange.
Adam’s gaze had narrowed. “I told him what happened. The smoke was a problem, but I don’t think it will be a problem now.”
“Why not?”
She saw him hesitate for a second before going on, and she wanted to challenge that hesitation. But he was already answering the question.
“Because they have a kidnap victim. It’s not like the last time when they were having a party.”
His reasoning made sense, but she wanted to tell him she was still worried. She wanted to beg him to keep out of it. But she knew that he wasn’t just going after the people who had abducted Barnette. He was also going after the people who had tried to harm her. Probably the sheriff knew that, too.
She gave a tight nod, feeling like she had no choice but to agree. And once she said the word, the plans proceeded with lightning speed.
James called his sister, and after a few minutes conversation, she offered to take Sara in.
As James put down the phone, Sara looked at Adam, wanting more than ever to be alone with him. “Can you drive me down there?” she asked.
Delacorte shook his head. “It would be better if I did it. That way you’ll be introduced to Tyreen by a neighbor.”
“Who happens to be the sheriff,” Adam pointed out.
Sara nodded, understanding the wisdom of that approach. Still she didn’t like the look of relief on Adam’s face. He didn’t want her to beg him to stay out of danger.
“We’d better go,” Delacorte said.
“I wish I could change my clothes,” Sara murmured. “I’ve been dressed in this outfit since…” She stopped short, unwilling to give away that she had been waiting up for Adam to
come home from his spying trip into town.
Lord, it seemed like a thousand years ago since he’d tracked her father to his house.
She glanced at Delacorte. He was waiting for her. Letting him wait for another few moments, she crossed to Adam and reached for him. He went still for several heartbeats, then he raised his arms and hugged her to him.
She wiped their audience from her mind, focusing only on Adam as she tipped her head up and pressed her mouth to his. He looked shocked, then settled into the kiss. And she felt the familiar consuming passion that she always felt when they came together.
But he only allowed himself a few seconds of the intimate contact before he raised his head.
“Be careful,” she ordered.
“I will,” he said, the answer sounding automatic.
“Adam. I mean it. I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to you.”
His face took on a look of sudden intensity. She felt him clench his hands on her arms before asking, “Does that mean you’ll marry me when I come back?”
Totally unprepared for the question, she gasped. “That’s not playing fair!”
“I want it settled before I go. I want to be thinking about how much I’ll appreciate coming back to you.”
She knew what he was doing—manipulating her. Yet she was willing to be manipulated because the crisis had done wonders to clarify her thinking. “Yes,” she breathed.
He hugged her tighter with a kind of savage triumph, almost crushing the breath out of her. When he released her, she felt momentarily dizzy. Then the world snapped back into focus. A few feet away, she heard two men shuffling their feet and clearing their throats.
She looked around and blinked, seeing the bemused expression on Delacorte’s face.
“Good going, son,” he said with a note of awe in his voice.
Her own face flamed. “Let’s go,” she muttered, marching toward the door.
“You go on out,” he said, “I want to have a word with the sheriff.”
She glared at him. “You don’t want to be alone with me. But you want to talk to him in private?”
“Yes.”
SARA had left the house angry, angry with Adam for keeping secrets, even if he thought it was for her own good.
She sat tensely in the front seat of the sheriff’s pickup truck. But as they rode toward town, fatigue won out over tension. She’d been up all night, and now she slumped against the passenger door. One moment she had closed her eyes. In the next, she felt the truck come to a stop.
Looking up, she saw she was in a driveway between a beat-up station wagon and a large, fenced backyard where two dogs barked and jumped at the chain links. One was a shepherd. The other some kind of standard poodle mix. To her right, Sara saw a small woman with skin the color of coffee with a nice dollop of cream. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. Dressed in jeans and a baggy red sweater, she was standing inside the fence on the back porch of the two-story clapboard house.
That must be Tyreen Vincent, James’s sister, she thought.
Delacorte looked around, then turned to Sara. “Best you get into the house quickly. I don’t want the neighbors wondering what you’re doing here.”
What a white lady is doing here, she silently edited his statement. But she kept the observation to herself.
Tyreen was looking down at them, an uncertain expression on her face. The sheriff had told Sara that she lived there with her husband, Noah, and her children, Trinity and Isaac.
More than a bit uncomfortable, Sara took a tentative step forward. She was imposing on these people. And she didn’t even know how long she would have to stay. Would someone be able to get her a change of clothing from Nature’s Refuge? She hoped so.
The yard had been turned into a dirt patch by the dogs. They were still barking and jumping, and Sara eyed them uncertainly.
“Amos and Andy won’t hurt you,” Tyreen said as she hurried down the back walk.
“Amos and Andy!” Despite the circumstances, Sara grinned, glad that she’d landed with someone who had a sense of humor. She reached to open the gate, then stepped inside, staggering back as one of the big dogs leaped up, put its paws on her shoulders and licked her face.
“Amos! Mind you manners,” Tyreen called out as she pulled at the dog’s collar.
“It’s okay. I love dogs,” Sara told her as Amos detached himself from her shoulders. “And I love your names, boys.” She continued talking to the dogs, partly because she did like animals, and partly because she knew that they were helping to break the ice with their owner.
“Let’s get inside,” Delacorte said.
“Yes. Right.”
Leaving the canines outside, they stepped into a country kitchen with pine cabinets, a vinyl tile floor, and a long trestle table over at one side.
“I’m sorry for imposing on you,” Sara said.
“No. This is fine. I know James wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
Delacorte nodded. “I told you over the phone that this visit has to be kept confidential for the time being. We’re in the middle of a kidnapping case. And Dr. Weston—”
“Sara. Please call me Sara,” she interjected quickly. “You must be Tyreen. I appreciate your letting me stay here. I don’t want to be any trouble to you.” She held out her hand, and the other woman shook it.
“The kids are going to be home from school at three-thirty. They’re going to tell their friends that a white lady is staying at our house.”
“We don’t want the kidnappers to know that the police are involved,” Delacorte broke in. “Maybe she can hide out in one of the bedrooms for a while. She’s been up for hours, and she fell asleep on the ride over.”
“If that wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Sara said quickly.
“It’s a good solution. I can take you up to the guest bedroom, and tell the kids we’ve got some unexpected company. After you come down, I’ll keep them inside.”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Delacorte shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’d best be going.”
As he turned to leave, Sara reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Call me the minute you know something.”
“I will.”
Her hand dropped away, and he opened the door, leaving her alone with this woman she had just met. A woman who was taking in a stranger out of kindness and probably a sense of duty.
“So, can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked.
There was curiosity, too, Sara amended her assessment. She swallowed. “I wish I could. But the bottom line for me is that the man I love is going off with Sheriff Delacorte to look for the kidnappers. And I could put him in more danger than he’s already in by talking about the situation.”
The black woman’s face contorted. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“I’d like to be alone for a while. Then, later I can help you get dinner ready.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“I don’t want to be any extra work.”
Tyreen led the way upstairs to a small room that was dominated by a double bed. “It’s not very plush,” she said.
“It’s perfect. Just let me borrow your bathroom, and I’ll flop into bed and get some sleep.”
ADAM stood at the edge of a patch of brackish ground and shifted the knapsack on his shoulder. Sara was safe. He couldn’t have come here without being sure of that. The knowledge that she was out of danger gave him the freedom to concentrate on what he had to do now.
He and Delacorte had left as soon as the sheriff had gotten back from stashing Sara. Before moving out, they discussed where to look. Delacorte had chosen the area where the campfire had been that first time. Probably he thought that was the most likely place to find the witches. Adam didn’t agree. He was pretty sure they would be somewhere else, somewhere less obvious.
He had a cell phone with him, and he had promised to use it. But getting help would depend on his being able to describe his location, which migh
t be a problem deep in the swamp.
He would have liked to go on this hunting expedition as a wolf. But that was out of the question.
He sniffed the wind and caught a scent he had smelled before. The smoke that had turned his head muzzy. In front of Sara, he had told the others that he didn’t expect it was going to be a problem.
Actually, he’d been thinking that the witches might well use the stuff. And if they did, it would lead him to them. But at the same time, he’d have to be damn careful. The fumes had overpowered him last time. This time it wasn’t going to happen, because he’d come prepared. He hoped.
First he took a quick breath to tell him the direction the poisoned fumes were coming from. It was still far away, its tendrils reaching toward him, pulling at him.
The effect was dangerous. Not just because it muddled his mind. It was addictive, and he was more susceptible than most, because of his physiology.
Too damn bad.
Before the probing tendrils could choke off his rational thoughts, he took a gas mask out of his knapsack and pulled it over his head, adjusting the nosepiece and the straps so it was comfortable.
Just before they’d left the mansion, he’d told the sheriff it might be a good idea to bring along a mask. He hadn’t wanted to talk about that in front of Sara because he hadn’t wanted to alarm her.
He’d thought he was being clever by thinking of the protective gear. He’d read a lot about gas masks on the Internet before he’d bought one. In fact, it had been in the package Delacorte had brought into his office a couple of days ago.
It was a good model. At least the reviews said it was good.
But he’d never used one before. A surge of claustrophobia made him grit his teeth like when he tried the thing on. But it hadn’t been quite so bad.
Stop it, he ordered himself. This isn’t any worse than a snorkeling mask. You’ve snorkeled on a couple of vacations.
Yeah, he’d snorkeled plenty of times. And this wasn’t anything like the same sensation.
A snorkeling mask only fits over the front of the face. This thing enclosed a lot more of his head.
He took a breath, fighting a choking sensation.
