Bayou Bodyguard

by Jana DeLeon

  He stopped in the clearing they’d discovered earlier, and slowly walked around the side Justine had inspected. Nothing stood out on his first pass, but when he made a second pass, he saw a broken branch on a bush a couple of feet beyond the clearing. He stepped toward the broken branch and realized the brush beneath his feet was loose and had been cleverly placed to hide a barely visible trail that led deep into the swamp.

  He pulled his pistol from the waistband of his jeans and pushed through the dense undergrowth that almost covered the trail. Whatever had possessed Justine to venture out here without him, he hoped it hadn’t been a trap.

  JUSTINE CREPT DOWN the hidden trail, careful to listen as she progressed. So far, there had been no sign that anyone else occupied this area of the swamp with her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to let her guard down. Every time leaves rustled or a bird chirped, she paused, waiting to see if the sound of a human pursuer followed.

  She’d continued on the trail about fifty yards deeper into the swamp when she came to a dead end. A thick hedge of brambles rose in front of her and stretched out a good ten feet in each direction. Dismayed, she reached for a stick and tried to push some of the thick brush aside. If this trail turned out to be nothing more than a deer poacher’s secret pathway, she was going to be very disappointed.

  She peeked through a hole in the brambles and caught a flash of something gray and solid. Her pulse quickened. It looked like a stone structure. A wealthy Louisiana family would definitely have a mausoleum. After a cursory inspection of her options, she pushed through the brush to her left and followed the hedge of brambles to the end, and could hardly contain her excitement as she peered around the end of the hedge.

  She’d found the graveyard.

  A wrought-iron fence circled the graveyard, leaning in some places but still standing. Several crypts rose out of the bayou earth and littered the tiny graveyard. The largest and fanciest in the center of the graveyard must belong to the Borque family. The smaller ones were probably for generations of valued servants.

  She wrestled some with the rusty latch on the gate and pushed it open. It screeched in protest, and she froze as the sound echoed through the otherwise silent swamp. When she was satisfied that only the bayou creatures had heard the creaking gate, she slipped inside the graveyard and eased it closed behind her.

  She scanned the lettering on the front of the smaller mausoleums, and recognized one as Sissy’s family surname. The rest weren’t known to her, but she hadn’t yet compiled a list of all the servants. Likely, she’d find the names somewhere on that list, once it was compiled. She could feel her breath catch in her throat as she approached the big mausoleum in the center of the graveyard. It was probably twenty feet square and eight feet tall at the highest pitch of the sloped roof. The entire structure was carved granite, fashioned to appear as inset columns with an ornate arch.

  Even though age and weather had taken its toll on the structure, Justine could see some of the detailed work in the arch that hadn’t been eroded by the torrential rainstorms. In tucked away areas the granite shined, and Justine knew at one time the entire structure had been polished to a high sheen that would have felt like glass.

  In scrolled lettering across the base of the arched section was the family name Borque. Justine reached up and ran her hand across the grooved lettering, then drew it quickly back, surprised that the stone had been cold to the touch despite the warmth and humidity of the bayou. Even though winter was approaching, it was still a tepid eighty-five degrees.

  She placed her hand on one of the columns and drew it back again. Still cold. Despite the bayou heat, she felt a chill run through her and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Immediately, she chided herself for her lapse. It’s just stone. It can’t harm you.

  But what is contained inside might.

  The thought ripped through her consciousness, but rather than hearing her own voice, it was the voice of her mother that whispered the words in her mind. Justine knew her mother would tell her to leave this place…that evil called this place home, and if disturbed, would attach to her.

  But the answer you seek may lie inside these walls.

  This time her voice spoke. The voice of reason. The voice of discovery.

  Justine took a deep breath and blew it out slowly to steady her body and focus her mind. Even though the structure appeared completely solid, the crypt must have an opening. Somewhere on the outside surface was a lever that would open it. She took one final breath and reached up with one hand and felt the grooved carving at the top of the arch. She pressed each indentation and protrusion with her fingers, looking for the spot that wasn’t solid. As she reached the rim of the etching, she realized that the ornate scrolling contained an image within it. She pushed up on her toes, trying to determine what the image represented.

  The lion.

  Excitement coursed through her body. Inset in the carvings was a cleverly hidden etching of a lion. An etching that matched the description of the lion statue with emerald eyes that Franklin Borque had brought to laMalediction. A quick inspection of the other side of the arch revealed no lion in the scrolling. That had to be it. The lever must be contained within the lion.

  She ran her fingers across the surface of the lion. The entire etching was no bigger than two inches square, but as she pressed each spot on the lion, she grew more frustrated when nothing happened. Finally, she dropped her hands and took a step back. She was missing something. Something simple.

  She looked across the front of the crypt, up and down each column, and her gaze came to rest at the bottom of an interior column. There appeared to be a hairline crack at the bottom of the column. She reached down and pulled at the edge of the column with her fingers and was surprised when a solid piece of perfectly square granite detached from the column and fell off in her hand.

  The granite was so perfectly square, there was no doubt it had been cut in that fashion, and suddenly she knew exactly why. Reaching up, she pressed the granite square flat against the etched lion and immediately, a square piece of the marble shifted back and a panel of granite at the front of the crypt slid open.

  She’d had the forethought to bring her flashlight as well as her pistol, so she pulled the flashlight from the back pocket of her jeans and shined the light inside the crypt. It was divided into two sides by a walkway that started at the opening and ended at the back wall. Each side of the crypt contained vaults with the names of those contained inside.

  Shining her light on the first row of vaults, she stepped inside the crypt to read the names. The set closest to the opening were the more recent inhabitants of laMalediction and not of interest at the moment, so she moved down to the next section of vaults. She’d just bent over to read a name on a lower vault when she heard footsteps outside the crypt.

  She bolted for the opening but was too late. The granite door slid silently into place, leaving her with only her tiny flashlight against the pitch-black tomb. She pushed against the solid granite door, but it wouldn’t budge even a hair. Stepping back from the door, she took a deep breath and tried not to panic. There had to be a switch on the inside, right? Surely Franklin wouldn’t have built a mausoleum with no backup plan, in case someone was locked inside.

  But even if she figured a way out, the person who’d closed her inside was still out there.

  She blew out a breath and tried to stop the barrage of information flying through her mind. Focus on one thing at a time. You have your pistol. Find the way out of here first, and then be prepared to shoot whoever is waiting for you.

  Unless they left you here to die.

  She shook her head, trying to block that thought from her mind. There was another way out. She wouldn’t even consider an alternative. She guided the light from her flashlight around the perimeter of the opening, hoping to find a lion etching that would indicate the presence of a lever. But the inside contained no etching at all.

  Her stomach felt like solid lead had been pumped into it as sh
e slumped against the unmoving door and slid to the ground. She’d made a horrible mistake in not telling Brian her suspicions about the graveyard. The risk of exposing herself was far less than the situation she was now in, and in her frenzy for answers, she’d forgotten to think logically. What a fool she’d been.

  Get a grip!

  There had to be a way out. She didn’t know exactly why, but somewhere within her was a certainty that her life was not supposed to end this way. If she couldn’t find a lever, she’d try breaking through the ceiling with the front off of a vault. The ceiling wouldn’t be as thick as the sides, and with any luck, may be worn some by weather. Of course, that was assuming she could pry the front off a vault and that she could actually lift it over her head, but she wasn’t going to think about that now.

  She rose from the ground and pointed her flashlight at the top of the opening, studying every nick and mark on the granite for a sign of the elusive lever. Running her fingers lightly across the surface, she tried to detect any variation that might indicate a break in the seemingly solid slab. As she covered the door inch by inch, worry crept back in, strengthening with every unsuccessful minute.

  When she’d finished searching the entire wall, she leaned back against it, took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to maintain some level of calm. It wasn’t working. She was going to have to try to break her way out of the crypt, and could only hope and pray that she had the strength and the time to do so. If the crypt was airtight, she had a limited amount of air available. Leaning forward, she inspected the granite marker on the front of the vault. If she could open one and pry the front off, she could use it to break through the roof.

  She wasn’t going to think about what she might find inside the vault when she opened it.

  Positioning her fingers around the edges of the vault facing, she prepared to pull, but as her fingers tightened around the edges, she heard a noise outside. Frozen in place, she strained to make out the sound. It sounded like footsteps on the dying brush that covered the graveyard. She felt her blood run cold, and wondered who stood on the other side of the door, waiting for the right time to kill her.

  Chapter Ten

  Brian stared in amazement at the graveyard. Logically, he should have known the estate would contain a family cemetery, but his mind still hadn’t processed all the historical implications of the house and its history. This must be what Justine had been looking for when she’d snuck out. But why all the secrecy? Given her task at laMalediction, it made perfectly good sense that Justine would want to explore the family graveyard, and he would have gladly accompanied her here.

  He studied the ground at the gate opening and found a print that was probably made by Justine’s tennis shoes. Stepping through the gate, he glanced around the graveyard but didn’t see her anywhere. He looked at the ground again, but the muddy area at the gate was quickly replaced by brush and the footprints disappeared.

  “Justine?” he called out. Surely, she would answer, now that he’d caught her.

  But not even a breath of air answered his call.

  He frowned and scanned the perimeter of the graveyard. It didn’t appear to be very large, maybe half an acre. Even if she was behind one of the mausoleums where he couldn’t see her, she should have heard him call.

  Unless she’s unconscious.

  His mind flashed back to the first night at laMalediction that had ended with Justine knocked out by the intruder. Had she been tricked into coming to the graveyard? Was she here but unable to hear him or answer? A small wave of fear passed over him and he worked to squelch it. Now was not the time to think about what could happen. It was time for action.

  If he were Justine, what would he have focused on in the graveyard? The most likely answer was the Borque family. He scanned the graveyard again and settled on the largest crypt in the yard. That had to be it.

  He crossed the graveyard to the crypt and stood in front of the columned front. The earth in front of it was bare in spots, and he could make out the same tennis-shoe prints he’d found at the gate.

  And one other.

  His eyes widened and he squatted down to make sure he wasn’t wrong in his assessment, but up close, he was even more certain than before. A single, clear bootprint was pressed into the soft earth next to the multiple tennis-shoe prints. By the condition of the prints and the surrounding earth, he was sure all of them were made at the same time. There was no sign of a struggle, but this was only one small patch of dirt. The intruder could have caught up with Justine anywhere in the graveyard.

  “Justine!” he shouted again, his initial fear growing incrementally with each silent second.

  Instantly, he stilled. Something. He’d heard something…faint, but it sounded like a voice. He waited one second, two…there it was again. Justine’s voice. He was certain. It sounded so faint, but not as if it was coming from a distance, which made no sense—

  He stared at the front of the crypt and knew without a doubt that she was locked inside. But was she alone? Stepping up close to the front of the structure, he yelled right at the solid granite slab. “Justine, it’s Brian. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” her faint voice sounded from inside the crypt.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but I can’t find a way to open the door from the inside.”

  Brian scanned the front of the crypt, no clue how to open it from the outside. “How do I open it out here?”

  He leaned close to the granite, making sure he understood Justine’s instructions before stepping back and looking for the stone key she’d described that opened the door. He retrieved the block from its slot on the column and pressed it into the cleverly crafted lion etching. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, until it came out in a great whoosh as the granite door slid silently back and Justine tumbled out.

  He caught her as her feet got tangled in her rush to get out of the mausoleum, and she clung to him for a moment. With her chest pressed against his, he could feel her rapid heartbeat and couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must have been to be trapped inside the crypt.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice shaky. She loosened her grip a little and looked up at him, her green eyes finally showing the vulnerability that was buried deep beneath a hard exterior. His breath caught in his throat for just a moment, and before he could change his mind, he lowered his lips to hers.

  He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, and fully expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. She stiffened for just a millisecond, then relaxed in his arms and returned the kiss with the same intensity and passion he saw in her when she was working. Tightening his arms around her, he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Her tongue met his, swirling together in a sensual dance that had his body responding in ways that couldn’t be acted on at that moment, in that location.

  Suddenly, Justine broke off the kiss and stepped away from him. Her face was flushed and he could see her hardened nipples through her thin T-shirt. She stared at him, her expression a mixture of confusion, desire and fear, and Brian realized that the kiss had surprised her as much as it had him. They’d been so careful around each other, so deliberate, but clearly something much bigger was lurking just beneath the surface.

  Something that Justine didn’t want anything to do with, if he was reading her correctly.

  “I’m sorry,” he began.

  “No,” she stopped him. “Please don’t apologize. We were both scared and then relieved. It’s a normal reaction.”

  Brian frowned. He’d been scared and relieved before but hadn’t kissed anyone. Still, Justine was clearly shaken enough, so he didn’t argue with her. “What happened?”

  Justine glanced at the crypt. “I figured out how to open the door and stepped inside to read the inscriptions on the vaults. I heard the footsteps behind me and ran for the door, but it closed before I could get out.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. It could have been a man, woman or c
hild, for all I know.”

  Brian shook his head. “If it was a woman or a child, they were wearing large men’s boots. I found a print next to yours. See?” He pointed to the bootprint in front of one of the columns.

  Justine stared at the print for a couple of seconds, then nodded.

  Brian tried to get a read on her, but she’d slipped back into the guarded state that she usually existed in. His frustration at the entire situation—a situation he’d taken great measures to avoid—took hold, and he felt the blood rise to his face.

  “What the hell were you thinking, sneaking out?” he demanded.

  Justine’s eyes widened and she hesitated before answering. “I didn’t want an argument about coming out here.”

  “We were already out here this morning, looking specifically for a place someone could be hiding. You deliberately lied to me.”

  “I—I wasn’t certain.”

  Brian shook his head, not buying it for a moment. “And since I didn’t see any rope hanging around the library yesterday, I can only assume that you brought one with you, which means you planned to do this before we even arrived at the house today. Stop playing with me, Justine. I’m running out of patience and I do have the authority to remove you from this house.”

  Justine’s expression turned from belligerent to panicked in an instant. “Look, I’m not used to having an audience when I work, much less some hulking male watching my every move. You can’t expect me to change the way I feel overnight.”

  “I don’t expect you to change the way you feel at all, but I expect you to change the way you work immediately, because that’s what your client—my friends—require.”

  She studied him for a moment, perhaps looking for a weak point or an opening for her argument, but if that’s what she hoped for, she was sorely disappointed. On this issue, Brian had no room for maneuvering.

  “Fine,” she said, and sighed. “Now that you know what I came out here to find, are you going to give me any grief about searching the graveyard and making a record of what I find?”