Marcie had heard rumors that Lance was under investigation, again, but she didn’t know any details.
“Right before Sam left, we obtained a search warrant and arrived at Silver’s estate with full backup. A second team arrived at his Gardiner compound, where we know there’s an underground truck trailer storing marijuana. The SWAT guys, DEA, Interpol, Washington State Patrol, and even the Coast Guard were involved. Both places were clean except for a scribbled note with Sam’s name on it that we found in Lance Silver’s desk drawer. At the same time, a tip was phoned in telling the sheriff to check Sam’s locker at the gun club. There we’d find a key to Lance Silver’s estate, along with marijuana.”
“Did you?” Marcie leaned closer.
Diane glanced toward the door as she licked her lips. She met Marcie’s gaze straight on. “The deputies from the Sequim detachment checked when we were still on the island. And yes, they did, right where they were told it would be. There were five pounds of marijuana.”
Marcie clasped her hands on the table in front of her. Worried, she too watched the door. “Sam told me Lance had screwed him. Drugs were planted in his locker, and then he left, went back to New Orleans, where I met him.”
“Marcie, that’s not all that happened. We were ordered back by our boss, Dexter. A chopper flew Sam and me straight to the gun club, where Dexter waited. The sheriff had brought in IPB to investigate Sam, and they were interviewing the gun club manager, a short, balding little turd, when we walked in. Apparently, he had phoned the tip in but wouldn’t say how he knew. Sam lost his temper and hit the guy. We knew he had lied, and Sam would have beaten this jerk until he confessed if Dexter and I hadn’t pulled him off. There was an internal review, and charges of assault were pending, but Dexter made them go away. We knew Lance Silver had the wily prick in his pocket. Dexter leaned on the guy, told him he’d personally go through every part of his life until he found something to put him away, whether it was tax fraud or too many parking tickets. It was enough. That lowlife recanted everything and refused to press assault charges, said he now had reason to believe the drugs may have been planted.
“I knew Sam wasn’t sleeping, so that confession, packaged up with all the stress, was the final straw. He threw his badge on Dexter’s desk, furious, yelling that those drug dealers were so far above the law that, whatever justice the law preached, they’d find a way to get off. He wouldn’t listen to reason. I was afraid he’d do something stupid, so when I found out about you and how you landed in his path—well…” Diane splayed both hands in the air. “Let’s just say that, now that I’ve met you, I do believe you landed there for a reason, and you may have saved him from doing something really dumb. Please, don’t screw it up.”
Marcie pushed away from the table, telling Diane she needed to clean up. Diane’s soft brown eyes regarded her with sympathy, as if she understood Marcie’s ache for Sam. She stuffed her notebook in her coat pocket and went in search of Sam and Jesse.
Chapter Twenty-two
Marcie tilted her head back under the steamy, hot spray, doing her best to wash away all her worry for Sam. Now she understood better something Mama Reine said. Sam had been set up, just like Jerome. There was a strong spiritual connection between them. This was warfare on the divine level, with a dark entity who kept coming back—in a different body, a different life. She knew that if she tried too hard to analyze it, she wouldn’t grasp the allusion.
Marcie turned off the water, pulled the pink curtain back, dried off, and wrapped a thick towel around her. She pulled open the door and had no time to think when a familiar, slender hand clamped firmly over her mouth. She shrieked, but the sound didn’t carry.
“Sorry to scare you, Marcie, but keep your voice down. You’ll scare the birds. Now, what are you doing with the cops, and why didn’t you call me? I was worried about you.” Dan held her tight, the way a man does a simple possession.
She pushed his hand away and barely caught hold of the towel when it slipped down and exposed her breast. She grabbed the striped towel with both hands and held tight as she pushed past him into her bedroom. She grabbed her robe off a hook behind the door. Keeping her back to Dan, she dropped the towel and pulled it on.
“What are you doing spying on me?”
An easy smile lit up his alluring face. It always amazed her how his looks alone brought a hitch to her breath. His eyes, she always loved his eyes. But now there was something different about his sparkling, hazel gaze. The color had changed, but how? Then his natural charm flowed over her with devastating force. Marcie’s knees weakened, completely unprepared for his ability to bypass her defenses.
She kept forgetting to surround herself with the circle of white light—to call in her angels to protect her, to clearly see the gold cord connecting her to the universe. He was already inside her, manipulating her feelings, confusing her. Now she knew how he did it. He touched her, and in that second, he attached one of his dark cords to her.
“I was worried about you when I didn’t hear from you. I came out here to look for you.”
Then she remembered her earlier, wary, invasive feeling. “How long have you been here? Were you in my house earlier?”
His wicked smile was followed by a cold, mischievous laugh. His face hardened when he crossed his arms in front of him. The wall that he controlled around himself spoke of years of conditioning. Then she felt it, a subtle slip of energy from the top of her head like a breeze in the wind. Her heart pounded. She had to protect herself, to resist him. He was already confusing her. Good Lord, he was powerful. She sucked in a deep breath and halted his invasion by putting up her own circle. She called upon St. Michael, in her head, to cut his cords. It was hard because Dan was good at what he did and very dangerous. Why hadn’t she seen this before?
“You still have crops to bring in, Marcie, and my buyer’s waiting.” His voice was magnetic. She loved listening to him talk.
So much existed between them that they didn’t need to speak. He seemed to be aware of what she thought, what she’d done. Whatever his gift, he had a power she hadn’t seen before. He must have always known he had it, like a shaman, but not a good one. He could attach to her when her guard was down. He read her aura, her thoughts. To an unsuspecting person, he easily brought chaos, lies, and disorder, and he walked in the shadows. All this knowledge came to her now.
“Whatever you’re planning, I’d think again about betraying me,” he said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I can tell you one thing for sure, Dan; I’m done with you and your crop. If you want it—get it yourself.” She tried to hurry past him, but his arm snaked around her waist. The hold wasn’t brutal or hard, but it pinned her against his familiar body; a body she craved to, once again, entwine with hers. She breathed him in. He had no body odor, just a surprising earthy fragrance. To her physical self, it was a drug she craved, and that alone crept inside and whispered throughout her. He appeared dominant, in control, when he tried stealing her vibrant life force. But Marcie knew he’d fold if she leaned on him. Dan was a devious man who somehow always landed on his feet, skirting trouble by pinning it on others, mostly women, while he slithered away.
Dan cocked his head at an angle to look closer into her. He slipped in again, and with the invasion came nausea churning right in her center. She swallowed. Psychically, he was way too powerful for her. As Sally, her teacher, would say, she was still a babe in the woods, and she had no idea the power she was up against.
“I don’t think so, Marcie. You see, this is how it’s going to be. You’re going to finish what you started.”
“Get your hands off me and listen to me. I’m done. You can’t bully me anymore. I’m not that stupid. Now get out of my house.” She wrenched his arm away and pushed past him. Just touching him sizzled a lustful desire in her heart. She turned the corner, then another one, through the front room, the kitchen; breaking more contact with each wall between them. She needed to walk out of here, to walk it
off around her house—clear it out. Where were Sam and Diane? She willed them to return.
“That key and the pot found in your new lover’s locker at the gun club is just the beginning. The next time, he won’t be able to talk himself out of it or convince that cowardly manager to change his story. The evidence against him will be indisputable, and the crime will lock him away for life. Don’t mess with me, Marcie.”
His words stopped her cold. “How did you know?” She whirled around so fast that she nearly fell over, stumbling a couple steps as she bumped the table.
Clarity came with a warning. He wielded magic with his emotions, focused for his personal gain. She understood now what he did. He gathered inspiration and power from the forces of nature and the natural world around him, relying solely on his instincts. The strength of his belief in what he did was appalling. He manifested his greed no matter the consequences to those around him. Earth-based spirituality focused on one principal—harm none. He was going against nature. What she didn’t understand was why no karma had touched him.
His smile lit up his entire face. He looked different. It was his eyes again; they changed in color from golden brown to whisky flecked and amphibian. She knew, all too well, that the eyes were a window to the soul and everything attached to it. As gifted as the lineage Marcie came from was, wariness and fear warned her that he channeled his wants, his desires, and his magic in a way beyond anything she was familiar with—beyond her training with Sally. Her back was to the wall. She realized she had no choice.
“Good girl,” Dan said. “Oh, and just one more thing; Maggie’s going to help you.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Barefoot in the dirt, Marcie circled her quaint, log cottage counterclockwise again and again. How could she reverse what he had manifested; this ugly destruction he had put into play? She pleaded for help, and each time her head sucked her right back to him. She couldn’t read him no matter how hard she tried. He was superior in his skill. What kind of abomination of nature was he? Her skin crawled just thinking about the need to be with him that still slithered inside of her. It was a pure addiction that, she now knew, wasn’t entirely of her own doing. He’d created that. He knew her weakness. Now she fought with every nuance she could muster, calling all the good forces beyond her in love, hope, and faith to stop him and whatever else was at play. Let me go!
“What the hell are you doing?”
Sam, Jesse, and Diane circled around her cautiously. Their concern for her exploded with looks of horror across their faces, as if she’d suddenly lost her mind.
“Look at you. You’re a mess. Your legs are all scratched. They’re bleeding.” Sam hustled through the salal, huckleberry, and thorny blackberry bushes surrounding Marcie and easily scooped her up. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and held on while he hurried into the cottage. She breathed him in, his own piney scent bringing her back to him.
“Marcie, ease up on the grip. You’re choking me.”
“I’m sorry.” Tears burned her eyes, and she stifled a sob.
Sam used his foot to pull out a kitchen chair and eased her into it. She swiped at her eyes. Dirt smeared her pink housecoat, her feet, and her wet hair was a tangled mess.
“Marcie, what the hell were you doing? What’s wrong with you?” Sam hurried back with a washcloth and towel he’d grabbed from the bathroom. Jesse rifled under the kitchen sink for a bucket and pumped in some fresh water. Sam kneeled in front of her, dipping the rag in the bucket and bathing her cuts.
“I…” Her breath seeped out, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried again. “I was looking for you.” She couldn’t look at him. “Ouch.” Pain cut like sharp teeth when Sam wiped away blood oozing from several jagged scratches.
“Marcie, I need to put some antiseptic on these cuts or they’ll get infected.”
“No antiseptic. Over by the sink, there’s a bottle of distilled lavender. Bring it here. I’ll spray it on. It’ll work better and won’t hurt as much.” Diane was gone but had soon reappeared with thick cotton socks from Marcie’s drawer.
Marcie knew Sam was waiting for her to look up. He had a way of maintaining eye contact that went beyond a casual glimpse, but then he’d know, and she couldn’t take that chance, because he’d stop her, and this was the only way to protect him.
Chapter Twenty-four
“We need to get going and make the crossing before dark,” Marcie said. She glanced up at Diane, and, for a tiny moment before she turned away, Marcie was positive Diane knew. Of course they suspected something had happened. Look at her. She was a mess. She’d never been any good at hiding things.
“Marcie, you need to get dressed. Brush your hair,” Diane instructed her in a motherly way.
Marcie said nothing. She got up out of the chair and went to her bedroom. After she dressed and brushed her snarled hair, she crammed clothes into a black canvas bag, willing the constant trembling in her hands to stop. Her damp, brushed hair hung down her back. Dressed in blue jeans and a dark hoodie, she was ready. She carried the large tote out with her.
Jesse leaned against the kitchen sink, studying her with a cold, hard eye when she walked into the room.
“Where are Sam and Diane?” She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want to be alone with Jesse. She liked him, but he’d pull her secrets out.
“You’re pale, shaking, and scared shitless of something. I sent Sam and Diane out. They took a walk up to the main road, getting a feel for the area.” He shrugged. “What gives, Marcie? You ain’t the same calm, collected little girl who came back here with us this morning.”
She dropped her bag at her feet and wiped away the lone tear. “Jesse, have you ever had to do something you didn’t want to do but knew it was the only way to protect someone you love?”
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
No matter how much she wanted to confide in him, she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and summoned every ounce of strength to pull herself out of the miserable pit she’d sunk into. “No, it’s fine. We’d better go. The sun will be setting soon.” She looked up at him, but she couldn’t interpret what clouded his eyes: righteous fury, empathy, support, condemnation?
He walked straight at her. His narrowed eyes peeled back each one of her hidden layers and seemed to dig out her secrets. He picked up her bag, walked past her out the door. “Come on then, little girl. It’s getting dark, and the big bad wolf’s coming out soon.”
Her whole body trembled. She fisted her hands so hard her nails dug into the fatty flesh of her palms, desperate to find a way out of this living nightmare. She did the only thing she could; she followed Jesse, breathed, and climbed back into the truck.
* * * *
When they arrived back at Diane’s, Marcie told Sam, Diane, and Jesse she was tired, but what she really needed was space and time to think. She hefted her bag in her cozy room and perched on the edge of the soft bed. She’d taken no time to appreciate this welcoming room’s cozy décor. Creamy wainscoting trimmed warm, peach walls. A six-drawer, honey-colored dresser sat opposite the bed, mounted with a large mirror—a mirror that wouldn’t hide secrets or the dark circles under her puffy eyes. She could hear Sam, Diane, and Jesse through the closed door, involved in some deep discussion.
The bedside digital clock read 8:10 PM. She’d a lot of time to think, so she looked around for a distraction. Jerome’s letters beckoned from the oak nightstand beside the bed. Consumed by all this worry, she didn’t know if these letters would be enough to get her through the next few hours. She groaned and picked up the packet. A wider envelope dropped from the stack into her lap. Inside was a thin paper journal with a lovely handwritten inscription, Isabel Standford Morison.
Marcie propped up her pillows and leaned back, clicking on the bedside lamp. She gently opened the delicate journal and glanced at the first page.
July 18, 1824.
Rand and I will marry today. I am grateful he is willing to give me his name and be
a father to Jemmie, my precious boy. The secret of his father and the shame he’ll carry, I pray he’ll never find out. Rand promised no one would know. He said only that Jerome was killed and that it would be best if it were never discussed, never brought to light, or he would be unable to protect me and my child from disgrace. Jemmie would be taken from me. Oh, how I fear to even put those words down.
Guests are arriving. Soon I’ll have the protection of his name, and Jemmie will have the future he so rightly deserves.
Lies, deception, greed, lust, shame. Those words reminded Marcie of what she’d brought into her own life. Two sheets of paper slipped out from behind the journal. Carefully, she eased apart the thick paper, old and spotted. This one had no date, but as she read on, she was filled with sorrow and pain.
Marcie skimmed through; she managed to decipher the author as Isabel Marie Chamblee, daughter of Emiline and Benjamin Chamblee. She grew up on a plantation in the southern parish of Terrebonne. Her words were cold when she made brief mention of the slaves they owned, as if they were a herd of cattle to be fed and worked.
I met Jerome in the summer of 1813. He came with privateers Jean Lafitte and Barney Swade, who conducted business with my father. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. My father knew. That was why he forbade me to marry him and threatened to send me away. Daddy hated Jerome, said he was an Acadian with a questionable business practice. I disobeyed him and snuck away one night with Jerome. We married in a quiet ceremony, in New Orleans, with only Jean Lafitte and Barney Swade attending.
Jean is an amazing man. I always thought of him as being larger than life. I overheard him warn Jerome of the consequences of crossing my father. Jean urged him to move to his compound for protection, only Jerome was adamant we move to Grand Isle, where he had built a comfortable home. My darling husband refused Jean’s generosity. Jerome believed it was necessary to keep business at a distance. He’s so protective, and it bothers him so to leave me for weeks and months on end. He’s hired staff to care for me while he’s gone, a cook and a maid. He refused to use slaves. Although both the cook and maid are octoroons, he pays them a wage. They still address him as “Massar.” He remains indisputable, with his moral lines drawn, about owning another human being.
Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts Page 88
