Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3)

by Jana DeLeon

  She read about how Jonal convinced the plantation owner’s son that he could summon a demon to deal with his abusive father. About how the plantation owner had raped his mother and she’d given birth to him from it. And how Jonal had caught the owner looking at his ten-year-old sister and knew he had to stop the man from raping her as well.

  Anger coursed through her at what the young Jonal had been forced to endure. No matter how long she lived or how long she discussed this topic with Eleonore, Shaye would never understand how one human being could treat another as an object—something that didn’t merit even basic respect and treatment. Sociopaths were an exception in that they had no conscience, but the world also had a large number of people who were simply cruel and some who were evil for no other reason than they enjoyed it.

  She flipped the pages, scanning them, trying not to get slowed by reading too extensively. She paused long enough to read the section on how he extorted money from the plantation owner’s son, who’d been very successful. How Jonal had used the money to make himself rich and how he’d ensured that the man’s son would be forced to comply with Jonal’s demands as his father had.

  She took in a breath and slowly blew it out. Jonal Derameau had a lot of sins to confess. If he’d truly had a conversion in spirit, like Anna hoped, then he must have spent a lot of hours bending God’s ear. She forced herself to move past the pages that detailed the extortion and explained the video and the pictures. There would be time to process the entire document later, but right now, what she wanted was information on Jonal’s children. She turned page after page, her gaze flickering from top to bottom, but there was no mention of children until close to the end.

  He says I’m his father, but I know I’m not.

  She clutched the book and began to read about how the young man had secured a position in Jonal’s house without Jonal or Anna knowing his agenda. How he claimed to be a real worshipper of something he called the One and how he’d mocked Jonal for being a simple thief and a fraud. How he’d stolen the video, pictures, and brand from Jonal’s hiding place. How he would gain power through the One and the world would bow to him.

  Then she read about how Jonal waited until he was strong enough and went to the man’s home. When she got to the part where he saw a human leg hanging out of the bundle that the man carried into the house, she choked back a cry, already knowing what was coming. She read so quickly, the words began to blur, the other people, the goat mask, the room with the altar and the candles, Jonal shooting the man and burning the film and pictures, then carrying her from the house. Lastly, the drive to New Orleans and him placing her on the sidewalk where the cops could find her.

  The journal contained only one more entry.

  Emile Samba.

  Below that, directions to his home.

  26

  Jackson stood on the sidewalk and watched as Shaye’s SUV raced up the street toward his apartment and came to an abrupt stop in front of him. Before he could make a move, she pushed the driver’s door open and jumped out.

  “I need you to drive,” she said, then ran around to the passenger’s side.

  Completely confused but feeling the urgency of the situation, Jackson hopped into the driver’s seat and looked over at her. “Where are we going?”

  She looked at Jackson, her excitement clear. “I found him.”

  Jackson stared. “Him? Goat mask?”

  She nodded and gave him a quick rundown on Clara and the medical records, her visit to the attorney, her conversation with the maid, and the journal the maid had given her.

  “I have his home address!” Shaye exclaimed. “The place where he held me captive. It’s north of here set back in the woods. That’s the place where Jonal rescued me.”

  “Whoa. This Jonal rescued you? From goat mask’s house?”

  “I’ll explain everything on the way, but we have to get there. The other girl might still be alive. We have to save her.”

  Jackson understood the urgency as well as Shaye did, but what she hadn’t seemed to process thoroughly was the risk. “You want just the two of us to go there? Without backup?”

  “Who would you get for backup? If you ask for police backup then whoever is working with this man will alert him. He’ll kill the girl and escape, and since we know who he is now, he’ll never return. We’ll lose him forever.”

  Jackson knew she was right but he didn’t like the idea of just the two of them approaching a house in the middle of nowhere. They’d done it before, but Jackson also knew they’d gotten lucky. This killer might have all kinds of booby traps waiting for them, and if he had followers, they could be sitting in the woods just waiting for someone to show up.

  “What about Harold?” Jackson asked. “We trust him and I like our odds better with three.”

  Shaye yanked her phone out and dialed. When Harold answered, she blurted out, “I found his house. Jackson and I are going there now and need backup.”

  There was a pause, then she disconnected. “Pick him up at the Ritz.”

  Jackson put the SUV in Drive and pulled away from the curb, directing the car toward the Ritz. It wasn’t far from his apartment, and he made the drive quickly. Shaye was silent the entire time, flipping through the pages of the journal.

  Harold was standing on the curb in front of the hotel, holding a duffel bag. He tossed it in the backseat and jumped in beside it. “Thought I’d better bring all my weapons and ammo,” he said. “Fill me in.”

  Jackson nodded. “And tell me where I’m going.”

  Shaye gave Jackson directions, then started at the beginning, this time going into greater length about what she’d found and what she’d read in the journal, sometimes stopping her own narrative to read passages from the journal.

  “That’s incredible,” Harold said. “So this Jonal used the witchcraft, or whatever, to extort money out of the plantation owner’s son but Emile is the real deal. Not meaning he can summon a demon, but he thinks he can?”

  “That’s what Jonal thought. He says here that Emile’s mother killed herself in an asylum. I don’t think Emile came from mentally healthy stock, then add his daddy issues on top of it, along with his thirst for power, and you have the perfect storm.”

  Jackson’s mind reeled, trying to process everything Shaye had said and read. It was incredible how much damage had been done by one person’s desire for revenge, even though Jackson could understand Jonal’s reasons for it.

  “The brand with the initials,” Harold said. “That’s why someone in the police department hid evidence. Someone in the department is the plantation owner’s grandson. Emile blackmailed him with the film and photos.”

  Jackson glanced back at Harold, a sense of dread coming over him. He looked over at Shaye. “You said the son made his money in manufacturing, right?”

  She nodded. “Why?”

  “Grayson,” Jackson said, feeling completely ill. “He has this metal thing on his key ring and said it was something his father’s company made. He said he was an unexpected late arrival for his parents and an only child. His father died when he was young. The company went under before that.”

  “All of that fits,” Shaye said.

  “He requested me as his partner,” Jackson said, barely able to force the words out.

  “Knowing you were close to Shaye,” Harold said. “Jesus.”

  Everything flooded back to Jackson in a matter of seconds. Grayson’s compliments on Jackson’s “radar.” His insistence that he wanted to hear any theory Jackson developed, regardless of how far-fetched. His interest in Shaye and Corrine. His request to work on the Clancy files.

  “I’m sorry,” Shaye said.

  Jackson shook his head. “And I was beginning to think it was Vincent.”

  “Why?” Shaye asked.

  Jackson told them about Vincent’s voodoo shop visit.

  Harold frowned. “There are rumors that shop sells the kind of herb that isn’t legal.”

  “Pot?” Jackson asked.
“You think Vincent is smoking pot?”

  “There were rumors,” Harold said, “but I don’t think anyone cared enough to look into it.”

  “Well, at least we know now that it’s Grayson,” Jackson said. “But I have no idea how to prove it or what to do about it.”

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Harold said. “We have a much bigger issue to handle.”

  “The girl,” Shaye said.

  “Reagan Dugas,” Jackson said. “Corrine called me earlier. She thinks that’s who the girl is.”

  “We have to be careful not to catch her in the cross fire,” Shaye said.

  “Okay, so let’s talk about how we’re going to handle this,” Jackson said. “According to the satellite image Shaye pulled up, the house is in the middle of the forest, with only one road in or out. With only one way in, he’ll see us coming.”

  Harold nodded. “Depending on how dense the forest is, we’ll have to abandon the car at some point and continue on foot. It will be dark soon, and that should help us stay out of sight.”

  “Yeah, but it helps him as well,” Jackson said, “and it’s his turf.”

  “It’s not ideal,” Harold agreed, “but we have surprise on our side. He doesn’t know he’s been exposed. He’s afraid it will happen, but with us keeping it among ourselves, he’s not aware that it has.”

  Jackson glanced over at Shaye. “Let’s hope that’s enough.”

  He was more worried about her than anything else. All three of them were willingly putting themselves in a dangerous situation, but only one of them would literally be confronting the demon from her past. What if she got face-to-face with him and froze? What if he got the jump on them and he couldn’t save her? She would die at the hand of the one person in the world she feared the most. It was the most horrible thing he could imagine, and it was also a very real possibility.

  “When we get there,” Jackson said to Shaye, “maybe you should hang back. At least until we secure the house.”

  Shaye shook her head. “No way. You said it was a dangerous move with just two of us. Without me, you’re back to two.”

  Jackson struggled to hide his frustration, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Short of handcuffing Shaye to the vehicle, he wasn’t going to keep her from going to that house. The worst part was, he couldn’t blame her. If the situation were reversed, he’d be running in, guns blazing. How could he expect her to react differently?

  “The turnoff should be right up here,” Shaye said.

  Jackson scanned the side of the road, looking for the entry point, and finally spotted a dirt road, almost hidden by the weeds and disappearing sunlight. He turned right, and the SUV disappeared into a canopy of brush and trees, what was left of the sunlight extinguishing as he drove. The poorly maintained road forced him to cut his speed in half, and he clutched the steering wheel as the ruts attempted to yank it one direction, then another.

  “How much farther?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Shaye said. “My service dropped.”

  Jackson checked his phone. “Mine too.”

  “And mine,” Harold said.

  “Good thing we had no intention of calling for backup,” Jackson said.

  “The journal said the house was several miles into the forest,” Shaye said. “Depending on Jonal’s definition of ‘several’ that could mean three or eight or something else entirely.”

  “Did you form an opinion based on the satellite image?” Jackson asked.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say about five miles,” Shaye said, “assuming the structure I could see is the one we’re looking for. In nine years’ time, things could have changed.” She blew out a breath. “For all we know, the whole house might be gone and Emile has set up shop somewhere else.”

  “Let’s assume the best,” Harold said, “until we know otherwise. If it makes you feel any better, I have a feeling about this. I’m getting edgy, you know?”

  Jackson nodded. He knew exactly what Harold was talking about and he felt it himself. It was anticipation bundled with excitement tied up in adrenaline, and when he felt this way, it usually meant something big was about to happen. Jackson just prayed that the three of them were left standing to tell everyone about it when it was over. He didn’t have the same desire for Emile. The truth was, he really hoped Emile engaged. The last thing he wanted to think about was Shaye having to deal with that psycho’s trial.

  “We’ve gone four miles since we left the road,” Jackson said. “I don’t see any lights ahead, but it’s so dense, I don’t know that we would see anything unless we were directly on top of it.”

  “Go a little farther,” Harold suggested, “and then stop. One of us can run ahead and do some reconnaissance.”

  Jackson went another three-quarters of a mile, then slowed to a stop. Shaye pulled a flashlight out of her glove box and started to get out of the SUV. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

  “To check ahead,” Shaye said. “I run ten miles three times a week.”

  He already knew it was useless to argue, even though his own workout matched Shaye’s. “Stop as soon as you see something and come back. Do not approach the house alone.”

  “I’m determined,” Shaye said. “Not crazy.”

  She jumped out of the SUV and set off ahead of them at a good clip. Within a couple seconds, all Jackson could see was the light from the flashlight moving farther and farther away until finally, he didn’t see it at all.

  “Must be a bend in the road,” Harold said.

  Jackson nodded, mentally counting the seconds since the light had disappeared. He’d reached thirty when the light reappeared, growing larger as it moved closer. Seconds later, she opened the door, her face flushed.

  “The house is about fifty yards and to the left. There’s a light on inside and an old pickup truck parked out front.”

  “No other vehicles?” Jackson asked.

  Shaye shook her head. “No garage or barn, either.”

  “We still can’t assume he’s alone,” Harold said, “but I like the odds.” He opened his duffel bag and pulled out two pistols and several magazines. He placed the pistols into holsters at his waist and ankle, then stuffed the magazines in his pockets.

  Jackson checked his magazine and spare, took a flashlight from Harold, and looked over at Shaye. “Are you ready?”

  “I’ve been waiting nine years for this.”

  Reagan clutched the homemade dagger and slumped in the corner. She hoped it looked like she’d leaned against the wall, then slid down it as the drugs kicked in, because having her legs beneath her in a crouching position offered her more leverage for a strike. The key was patience, and that was going to be the hardest part. She had to wait until that monster was close enough to her that she was certain she could stab him where it counted. If she moved too soon, he might be able to block her, and then her advantage would be lost.

  And there would be no second chances.

  She’d heard scuffling above her, as she always did when he was coming, but this time, instead of dreading his arrival, it seemed as if she’d been waiting forever. At one point, she wondered if he wasn’t coming at all, but then she decided it was because she wasn’t drugged that it seemed to take so long. And because of her plan. The anticipation had her nerves on end. She was practically shaking from it.

  Most people probably never experienced anything like this—having to get one thing perfect and knowing they’d die if they didn’t. Combat military did, and some firefighters and cops, but that was a small amount of people compared with everyone in the country. The average person died in a car wreck or of some disease and didn’t have an opportunity to change it. She had an opportunity, but it was a very narrow one, and required skills she didn’t necessarily possess.

  You can do this.

  She’d been telling herself that all day, and she’d keep saying it over and over and over again, until she was far away from this pit of hell and the devil that controlled i
t.

  The sound of the door sliding open made her stiffen and suck in a breath. She forced herself to loosen her shoulders back to the slump, in order to appear semiconscious. Her plan wouldn’t work unless she caught him unaware. She heard the footsteps coming down the stone steps and forced herself to remain relaxed but as he grew closer, it became harder and harder to stay loose.

  When he was right in front of her, she opened her eyes a tiny bit—just enough to ascertain his body positioning—then as he reached for his pocket to pull out the needle he would use to knock her completely out, she gathered all of her strength, anger, and will to live and sprang.

  She swung the dagger directly at his crotch but he managed to partially block her and she hit him in the thigh instead. He screamed in pain and she kicked him as hard as possible. The kick threw him off balance and he fell backward, dropping the needle and the key. She jumped over him, but he managed to grab her foot as she went.

  She hit the ground, hands first, then her knees crashed into the stone and pain shot through her entire body. She kicked at his head, but he held fast to her foot with one hand while he reached for the needle with the other. She flipped her entire body over and got a good shot directly into his face, but as she connected, he shoved the needle into her calf.

  She yanked back before he could finish plunging the needle into her, but any amount of the poison in her bloodstream was a problem. She grabbed the key from the floor and bolted for the steps, pulling the needle out as she ran. When she reached the top of the stairs, she heard what sounded like a small explosion behind her. Bits of the door splintered and the pieces hit her face, cutting her skin.

  He was shooting at her!

  She jammed the key in the lock and turned it, then shoved the door open and ran out, stopping when she realized she was in the middle of a forest and not the city. She glanced back and her stomach rolled when she realized she’d been held in a crypt. She had no way to know which direction would get her to safety, or even how far it was from here, but she couldn’t afford to stick around.