Pirate's Passion (Sentinels of Savannah)

by Lisa Kessler

  The tears did her in. Charlotte craned her neck to see her mother. The lines on her mom’s face made her seem much older. Her shoulders bunched up like she was trying to make herself as small as possible, and Charlotte’s indignation fizzled.

  Her mother had never made much money, enabled her alcoholic father, and then lied about his death, but under all the screw-ups and failures, Charlotte never doubted her love.

  Kelly Pratt was a mess by most standards, but she was the only mother Charlotte would ever have.

  Charlotte reached out and took her mom’s hand. Her mother’s red-rimmed eyes met hers, and Charlotte forced out a whisper. “I love you, Mom. I’ll get past this; just give me some time.”

  Her mom nodded, squeezing her hand. Before she could reply, the door opened, and Charlotte’s dad came in with a black bag. He unzipped it on the table, firing off orders to her mother.

  Charlotte had never seen this side of him. He set up an altar, meticulous in placing the crystals and runes in a geometric pattern. Her mother returned to his side with a lighter. He brought the flame down to the bundle of sage lying in an abalone shell. Using a large feather, he scooped the smoke until it surrounded Charlotte.

  “I cast out all entities that are not for my daughter’s highest good. As long as we remain within these walls, white light and our ancestors protect us, and when Charlotte’s spirit flies free, we will watch over her earthly vessel and keep her from all harm. So mote it be.”

  His voice was hypnotic, his movements fluid, nothing like the drunk with shaky fingers and red eyes who used to come home and pass out on the couch.

  He put the sage on the table and motioned for her to lie down. “Close your eyes, Charlotte. Focus on my voice.”

  She followed his directions, took deep breaths, slowly sinking into the earth. Her thoughts gradually emptied of worldly care. Something rattled, and the rhythmic thump of a drum called to her, her pulse matching the slow, steady rhythm.

  His tone deepened, beckoning her to let go, the ultimate freedom. Her limbs tingled, and eventually she didn’t “feel” anything. She opened her eyes, finding herself hovering over the scene below. Her body was perfectly still on the couch.

  Panic swelled, but her father’s voice induced calm. Gradually, Charlotte realized her chest rose and fell below. She wasn’t dead; she was…free?

  Her father scanned the room. “If your spirit is with us, give me a sign.”

  Charlotte tried to answer him, but her vocal cords were apparently still on the couch. The smoke from the smoldering sage rose in a straight line up toward the ceiling. She attempted to lift an arm, but her spirit self was invisible, even to her.

  She focused on the smoke, pushing her will toward it, but the line of incense never moved.

  “Dammit.” How had she physically hurt anyone like this? She couldn’t even move weightless smoke.

  Her mother whispered, “Are you sure she’s all right?”

  “Yes.” He looked up, right at her—or through her. “I sense her close by. Magpie, if you can hear me, your body is safe, and you can return anytime, simply will your spirit back into your flesh.” Her father closed his eyes, murmuring, “For now, explore. Distance means nothing to your spirit.”

  Where would she go? And what did he mean “will” her spirit back into her body? Ugh. She should have asked these things before leaving her body.

  She focused on his face, praying he might somehow “hear” her. “Can you find me if I get lost?”

  His lips curved, although his eyes remained closed. “Your body is your anchor. You can find it anywhere.”

  “You hear me.”

  He lifted his palms. “Faintly through the veil.” He added in a whisper, “Come back soon.”

  Distance meant nothing. Okay. She could go anywhere. But where?

  Keegan’s face filled her consciousness. His crooked smile, the sexy gruffness in his voice when he whispered against her ear.

  Suddenly, her surroundings were gone. She was inside a barn of some kind. She’d never been here before. Then Keegan’s voice pulled her focus.

  “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  A man in a black robe stepped out of the shadows with his gun raised. Before Keegan could react, gunshots deafened her nonexistent ears. A bolt of energy jolted through her spirit. Maybe that’s all she was now. Her heart would’ve been racing if she had one.

  Keegan dropped to the ground, grasping his knee.

  Another man in a black robe approached. “Cut through his pants and see if the wound heals.”

  For a second, Keegan’s focus moved from his leg. He looked up, right at her, and frowned, confusion in his eyes. He couldn’t possibly see her, but maybe he sensed a presence? She couldn’t be sure.

  The shooter holstered his gun and came closer. He knelt beside Keegan with his pocketknife out, but before he could cut the jeans, Keegan snatched his wrist, turning the blade onto the robed man as they rolled across the floor.

  Charlotte screamed, but there was no sound. She scanned the big area for something, anything she could use as a weapon. A pair of iron hooks hung from the bale of hay. She moved closer, willing them to move.

  Nothing.

  Damn it!

  Keegan scrambled, rolling on top of his attacker and pressing the blade closer and closer to the other man’s throat. “These are my favorite pants, you fanatical asshole.”

  From the corner of the room, Agent Bale sprinted forward, gun raised. “We need him alive, Keegan.”

  Charlotte scanned for the second robed man, wishing she could warn Agent Bale there were two armed men. Suddenly the other robed man stepped into the light, behind Agent Bale, and fired one shot.

  Agent Bale crumpled to the ground face-first. The barrel lifted again, this time aiming at the back of Keegan’s head as he wrestled on top of the other robed man.

  Rage and terror blended together into raw power, shooting through her spirit, burning with intention. And suddenly the iron hay hook flew across the barn like a bullet.

  The pointed tip of the hook pierced the armed man’s forehead. He gurgled, dropping the gun as he collapsed to his knees and finally fell forward, motionless on the floor.

  Charlotte bolted upright on the couch, gasping for air and trembling. She blinked, staring at her father, her stomach retching at the rapid change in locations. “I… Oh God.”

  Her father wrapped her in his arms as the terror he’d locked away in that black box for years overtook her. Every memory came back to mingle with the bloody scene in the barn, but one realization was crystal clear.

  She was dangerous.

  …

  “You are one lucky bastard.” Keegan removed the blade from the man’s throat and buried it in his thigh. “This should keep you from slithering away.”

  The robed man screamed as Keegan crawled toward Agent Bale. He peered over at the bastard who’d shot Bale and probably would’ve shot Keegan, too. A hay hook jutted out of the man’s skull. Impossible.

  He looked over his shoulder to the stack of hay bales. The other hook was still buried in the alfalfa. He turned to the dead man again. The hook had flown at least a hundred feet and saved their asses.

  It should have baffled him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Char took his advice. There wasn’t time to question it now. He winced as he sat up. Damn it. He wasn’t healing instantly, and he’d forgotten how much it fucking hurt to get shot. He was still conscious, so the bullet didn’t hit an artery. He couldn’t say the same for Bale.

  He pushed Agent Bale’s black jacket up, inspecting the wound. Right into the kidney. Shit. Bale wasn’t gushing blood, so maybe the bullet hadn’t done as much damage as he thought. He rolled the agent over onto his back to check for an exit wound through his chest.

  “Right pocket,” Agent Bale wheezed.

  Keegan raised a brow and opened Agent Bale’s jacket. He patted down the inner pocket and slid his fingers inside. He withdrew a pouch and loos
ened the drawstring. Herbs?

  He sniffed and glanced at Agent Bale. “You need a hospital, mate, not some herbal tea.”

  “Put it on the wound.” Agent Bale’s words were wet, like he’d tried to speak and gargle at the same time. He needed a damn doctor.

  Keegan ground his teeth. There was no way he’d be able to carry Agent Bale out with his blown knee, but the agent didn’t have much time left.

  “Hurry.” Agent Bale winced. “Both sides.”

  He wasn’t going to argue with a dying man. Keegan took out a pinch and drizzled it over the bloody hole in the front of the agent’s shirt. As he pushed Bale over to get the entry wound, he noticed Agent Bale’s fevered whispers. Latin. Maybe he was giving himself last rites. Who knew?

  Keegan spread more herbs over Agent Bale’s back. “Now what?”

  Agent Bale closed his eyes. “Give me a minute.”

  The whispered Latin words came faster, frenzied, but gradually Agent Bale took deeper breaths. Keegan had witnessed plenty of magic in Savannah through his lifetimes in the city, but this was new. Until now, he’d thought the Grail was the only key to healing and immortality. Maybe he’d been wrong.

  No time for questions now. Since Bale didn’t seem likely to meet the reaper just yet, Keegan went back to the robed bastard.

  He’d already plucked the pocketknife from his thigh, brandishing it like a sword. “You’re dead.”

  “Nah.” Keegan shook his head. “Bum leg, maybe, but I’ve had worse.”

  Keegan circled the robed man, half his attention on Agent Bale, who seemed to be getting some color back in his face.

  The Serpent member lunged forward, lashing out with the knife. Keegan dodged the blade and landed a solid punch into the knife wound on the man’s thigh. He fell to the ground, wailing in pain as he dropped the weapon.

  Keegan bent over, gasping for air. He rested his hands on his thighs. His damn leg throbbed. Healing wasn’t coming fast enough. Fuck.

  Agent Bale came to his side, pouch in hand. “I can fix it.”

  “At what price, mate?”

  He opened the drawstrings and slid his fingers inside. “There are more ways to live forever than drinking out of that cup.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charlotte’s mom brought over a steaming teapot with three mugs. She poured as she spoke. “Have some tea, magpie. It’ll calm your nerves.”

  Please. Nothing could calm her nerves right now, but Charlotte was too exhausted to protest. She took a mug from her mother, marveling at the warmth seeping into her fingers.

  Her father lifted his cup. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  His proper British accent was oddly comforting, detached. He kept his cool demeanor in place like he was asking about her day at the museum and not if she had murdered people while her body lay dormant on the sofa.

  “I was in a barn someplace. Keegan and Agent Bale were—”

  He set his mug down, his brow furrowed. “Your boyfriend is with Agent Bale?” He stood up, wringing his hands. “I should have insisted he leave. The pirate can expose both of us now.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Keegan would never betray us, Dad.”

  His gaze landed heavily on her. “How can you be sure?”

  Honest question. She hadn’t known Keegan long. But for a reason she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, she’d never been more confident. It wasn’t in his nature. Yes, he was a pirate, but he was also loyal to his crew.

  “He won’t.” She set her mug on the table. “I was worried about Mom tonight, and he came with me without question.”

  “He wanted information.” Her father rolled his eyes. “Agent Bale probably asked him to get close to you.”

  She nodded slowly. “Actually, he did.” Her father’s jaw went slack as she went on. “Keegan let me listen in when Agent Bale called him.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He doesn’t want anything to happen to me.”

  Her father’s fingers twitched, and he vanished into her kitchen. Charlotte sighed. “The liquor cabinet is to the left of the fridge.”

  While he filled his glass, her mother whispered, “You really like Keegan.”

  Gradually, Charlotte nodded. “Yeah, I do.” She glanced at the kitchen, keeping her voice low. “But there’s no future. He’s immortal, and according to his friends, he lost someone years ago, and the grief drove him mad for a while. I couldn’t ask him to stand by and watch me grow old and die.”

  She raised a brow. “You love this man.”

  “What?” Charlotte frowned. “No. Why would you say that? I barely know him.”

  “Not true. You studied everything you could find about that crew. I’ve read your book. Samuel Keegan was his name. He was at the helm the night the Sea Dog sank. The stories said he stayed on board until he was sure every member of the crew was safe.”

  Charlotte stared at her mother. Until now, it never occurred to her that her mom had read her books.

  Her mom picked up her tea again and took a sip before answering. “I know you don’t think much of me, but I’m proud of you, and I watch. He protected you tonight and brought you home, just like he protected his crew.”

  Charlotte’s brain finally engaged. “That means he’s got a moral code he lives by. It doesn’t mean I love him.”

  “When you needed someone, you called him, and magpie, you never allow yourself to need anyone.” She replaced her mug on the table. “And even though you enjoy his company, you’re willing to give him up to protect him in return. That’s love.”

  Was it? Charlotte sat back on the couch, the memories of the fight at the barn filling her head. How had she finally made the hay hook into a projectile weapon?

  Her heart.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened as she lifted her gaze to her mother’s face. “I know how it works now.”

  “Good.” Her father came back with a scotch on the rocks. “You used your energy to move physical items, then?”

  Her hands trembled. Charlotte laced her fingers together tightly as she looked up at him. “I killed someone.”

  He didn’t reply. The ice clinked in the glass as he raised it to his lips and knocked back the amber liquid. He sat beside her, the wobble in his voice betraying his fear. “Tell me everything.”

  …

  Agent Bale’s chest still hurt like hell, but the bleeding had stopped. He couldn’t say the same for the pirate’s leg. David held out a small amount of the dried herbs in the center of his palm for Keegan’s inspection.

  “These are charmed herbs and roots, doused in water drawn from the Fountain of Youth and bound by oil made from Gilead balm. With the proper incantation, they heal and slow the aging process until it’s almost nonexistent.”

  A muscle jumped in Keegan’s cheek and sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn’t reach for the healing herbs. “I’ll wait for the cup, mate.”

  David glanced down at Keegan’s blood-soaked pants leg. “Then we’d better get you to a hospital before your leg gets infected.”

  “It’s not healing as fast as it used to, but it’ll patch itself up.” He hobbled over to the bales of hay, leaning against them. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Your choice.” David shrugged as he pulled the strings to close the pouch. “Quick thinking with the hook.”

  He scrutinized the pirate’s reaction. With Keegan’s injured leg, David wasn’t sure how the wounded pirate got across the barn to grab the hook, let alone throw it with such accuracy, but David had been facedown in the dirt with a bullet wound at the time, so he didn’t see any of it happen.

  “Pirates make do with weapons we have on hand.” Keegan raised a brow. “I saved your ‘trained agent’ ass.”

  David chuckled, tucking the pouch back into his coat pocket. Keegan hadn’t hesitated, no breaking eye contact and no rapid blinking. None of the telltale signs of lying, but David still had his doubts. If his hunch was correct, and Dr. Charlotte Sinclair was Kingsley Pratt’s daughter, her ability to astral proj
ect would make tossing a hay hook child’s play.

  If he was right, she would be an asset to his agency, but first, he’d have to determine how to control her. If her deadly power wasn’t containable, she would be too dangerous to allow to roam free.

  And he’d need to convince Kingsley of the threat as well, or he could lose his best shamanic programmer.

  He’d worry about it later. Right now, he had a suspect to question. He knelt beside the robed man, careful not to block the man’s view of his partner’s lifeless body.

  “Tell me where to find the Grail.”

  The man stared at the hook protruding from his partner’s forehead and finally shook his head. “If I tell you, they’ll kill me. I’m going to die either way, but it won’t be while I’m helping you.”

  David grabbed the man’s jaw with a tight grip, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I can protect you from them, but only if you give me information.” The man struggled to pull away, but David kept him in his grasp. “I’ll ask one more time. Where is the Grail?”

  The man’s gaze darted to the right, followed by a squeal escaping his lips. “I don’t know. I swear, I don’t know. None of us does.”

  David glanced over his shoulder. Keegan had the other hay hook in his hand, tossing it up, end over end, before catching the handle on the way back down. Maybe he had thrown the hook after all.

  Focusing on his suspect, David tried again. “Keegan has amazing aim. Better make your life valuable to me. Fast.”

  “It’s on a-a truck,” the man stammered. “DHL and UPS. Two boxes cross each other, and then ship again. There’s no way for us to know which box has the Grail and which one has a bag of nails.” He wet his lips. “The Lord’s cup was never meant for this world. We’re too weak to face the temptation it offers.”

  “Keegan,” David called over his shoulder. “I think he needs a little more incentive.”

  Suddenly a dagger landed beside the hood of the man’s black robe, the blade buried in the dirt. David had expected the hay hook, but the knife seemed to do the trick.

  The suspect screamed, chest heaving. “It stops at Tubby’s River Street and Amick’s on Tybee Island. We have a standing order to swap labels and ship the packages again.”