by Polly Iyer
Maia felt ill. The group was increasing their criminal activities. Did they actually think they could get away with kidnapping someone as famous as Diana Racine? “What about Dione? Was she there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I can’t believe this. I heard whispers but not enough to piece it together.”
“They want Diana Racine’s eggs in hopes her psychic abilities will pass to one or more of her children. My visitor thought bringing her here was the best thing ever. Can you imagine?”
“They kidnapped the lieutenant too? Unbelievable.”
“I don’t know what they plan for him. They can’t let him go. He knows too much, and he’s a cop.”
Maia shivered in fear. “You’re right. This changes everything. We must do something and fast.”
“I thought Seth might have told you.”
“Ha. Seth doesn’t want anything to spoil his sex. That’s all he cares about.”
“He cares about you, Maia. I know he does.”
Maia turned away with a shrug, biting her bottom lip. Caring for her didn’t stop him from doing his job. “Maybe.”
Anat gripped Maia’s arm. “If this is none of my business, say so, but are you protected?”
“I have three children I hardly know. I’m not proud of allowing them to grow up in the hands of others. It won’t happen again. If I ever leave here, they’ll get the best medical and psychological care available, and I’ll be with them every step of the way.”
“Good girl. Okay then, let’s get started.” Anat went inside. She uncovered the diaper pail next to Chloe’s crib and lifted out the bag with the used diapers. Digging down under a clean second bag she plucked a small zipper-locked plastic bag containing about a dozen pills and beckoned Maia back to the balcony. “You’d better take these now in case the plan goes bad and something happens to me.”
Maia didn’t like the tone of Anat’s statement, but she took the bag. “What are these? Will they―”
“They’ll just make him sleep. Don’t worry.”
“Why did you hide them?”
“They don’t trust me, which accounts for the occasional room check. I don’t know what they expect to find, but they don’t find it. Part of the teenagers’ duties is to clean the rooms. One of them comes in with a master key every afternoon to take out the trash and remove the dirty diaper bag. She never checks under the clean bag.”
“Where did you get the pills?”
“I got them one at a time and squirreled them away for when I’d need them.”
Obviously, Anat chose to hold things back, like who’d been helping her. Not even Anat trusted her. Maia understood her caution. She wasn’t sure who to trust either. Maia swallowed and straightened her back. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
* * * * *
Maia’s heart beat like a jackhammer. She played games, read, and watched videos with the children all afternoon. Even Phillip loosened up a bit, chatting and laughing. They ate dinner together, served in her room. She admired Anat more with each passing hour. This was her life, and she’d used the time to fill herself with knowledge, to learn and create and bond with her child.
Maia doubted she’d survive years as a captive, but she’d been raised in the public eye, not in the compound. Silas and Selene indoctrinated her and Dione into their religion―or better yet, their cult, for that’s what it was. A cult that rejected God and worshipped the high priest of love and pleasure and fertility in His place, and damn anyone to Hell that got in the way.
When her half-siblings came along―Brigid, Nona, and three boys Maia knew only by name―they were shuttled off to the compound one by one, groomed to supply their precious genetic material to expand the population. Compton-Crane material.
Though she’d turned her children over to others, Selene visited frequently, returning to extol her offsprings’ superior attributes. How could they be anything less than perfect, considering their parents?
For fear of being discovered, “Selene’s children” were prohibited from going to Middlebridge College. Maia never understood why they were kept secret, but since Brigid and Nona slipped back and forth between New Orleans and the compound, she figured they enlisted new devotees without connecting the Crane and Compton families. She and Dione saw them when they gave birth, but it was far from a family reunion.
The thought brought Seth to mind. From the beginning, he was like a magnet, drawing her into him with his words and touch…until they took the second child, Iris, from her arms so she could return to the real world. Though she never lost her desire for Seth, she wouldn’t allow another baby to be plucked from her breast and nurtured by strangers. In spite of her vow, it happened one more time―without her consent.
She checked herself in the mirror, dabbed on his favorite perfume. Where was he? He should have come by now. Please don’t let me lose my nerve―fall helplessly into his charms―and forget my mission. I must do this.
A first-class chef was on call 24/7, and the food was outstanding. Meals were served in her suite. There was a mini-fridge for drinks, imported coffee beans, and tea, along with a few snacks. She made a pot of coffee, and the rich aroma filled the room. The jolt of caffeine would boost her energy level. It’d be a long night.
The coffeepot stopped gurgling. She poured a cup and waited, hoping her shaking hands wouldn’t give her away―hoping she could entice Seth into a cup of coffee before they made love.
The key turned in the door and Seth slipped into her room. Her heart rate skyrocketed, not only because of what she intended to do, but because it was Seth. He was as predictable as the earth’s rotation when it came to his nightly dose of sex. As always, he shut off the camera with a wink to the lens. Maia insisted on privacy from the start. She would not allow prying eyes to watch while they made love. Seth’s acquiescence to her wishes made Anat’s plan feasible.
Maia’s heart fluttered at the sight of him. His roguish smile and flashing black eyes broadcast his desires, and she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. He kissed her neck, and she felt weak.
“You smell of coffee and cream and sugar,” he said. “Good enough to drink.”
“I wanted to be alert to enjoy you. I needed the stimulant. Have a cup while it’s fresh.” She poured the brew into a giant mug. “Then you can lap up every drop of me until the wee hours of the morning.”
“Exactly what I had in mind,” Seth said.
Chapter Forty-Three
Who’s the Boss?
Beecher and Cash pulled into the circular drive of Martin Easley’s renovated Greek Revival, in the heart of the French Quarter. Beecher eased out of the air-conditioned car into the oppressive summer heat. Within seconds, his shirt stuck to his back and perspiration beaded his forehead. He mopped his brow and tiptoed on the chevron-patterned brick walkway, puddled from the automatic sprinkler system. The spray drenched the flowering shrubs around the house, releasing a mixture of perfumed scents. Beecher muffled a sneeze. Freaking allergies.
“This place must be worth a couple mil, even in this economy,” Beecher said.
Cash scanned the area. “You ever been in a house like this before?”
“Yeah, a domestic violence call a couple years back.” Beecher pulled his collar away from his neck. Damn crime to have to wear a tie in this heat. “Not anything I usually respond to, but I was nearby. A neighbor called it in. Husband was a mean drunk. Beat the crap out of her. Wife wouldn’t press charges. They rarely do, especially if they’d lose their cushy lifestyle. I’ve seen her in the society pages a time or two, without the black eye.”
“No shit.” Cash craned his neck to peek in the window. “This is my first.”
“This isn’t a social call, Cash. Don’t forget, this guy’s a Satan worshipper.”
“Man, I don’t understand tha―”
The door opened and a regal-looking black woman stood before them.
“May I help you?” she said.
Beecher crammed his ha
ndkerchief in his pocket. “I’m Detective Beecher, NOPD. This is Detective Cash. We have an appointment with Mr. Easley.”
She moved back so they could enter, directing them to a large living room. “I’ll tell him you’re here. Make yourselves comfortable.” Then she left.
“Jeez, will ya look at this place,” Cash whispered. “It’s like out of a magazine.”
“Actually, it was,” Martin Easley said, entering the room. “Architectural Digest featured the house after the renovations were completed last year. Sophia Reyes did the design. She’s amazing, really. Martin Easley.” He offered his hand to the two cops.
Beecher introduced himself and Cash. Easley motioned the men back to their seats. Tall and lean, almost gaunt, Easley wore slacks and a short-sleeve knit shirt sporting the polo-playing logo. His weathered look reminded Beecher of a lifelong mariner―tan, crinkled skin, sun-bleached hair. But instead of confidence, Beecher noticed shaky hands with nails bitten to the quick.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” Easley said.
“We understand you were recently in the company of Diana Racine.”
“Yes,” he answered, eyes darting between the two cops. “Silas―Mr. Compton―invited Ms. Racine and her friend for a delightful evening a week or so ago. Why?”
“Ms. Racine’s friend, Lieutenant Lucier, is our boss. They were invited to Mr. Compton’s house again. Now they’re missing.”
Easley swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “How strange. My wife and I were also invited to attend, but we had a previous engagement.”
“Do you mind telling us where?” Beecher asked.
Easley seemed at a loss for words, but he recovered. “Does it matter? I said we weren’t there. What’s this about, Detective? Am I under suspicion for something?”
“No sir, but we haven’t been able to connect with your friends. They’ve all left town for the weekend and haven’t returned. We’d like to ask them some questions. The captain thought you or your wife might help us.”
“I’d like to, but I haven’t a clue where they are. We’re good friends, but we’re not joined at the hip.”
Beecher found the temperature in the house to be on the chilly side, but Easley was sweating like he’d just run a marathon. “Is there someplace you all go on either Mr. Compton’s private jet or on Mr. Crane’s? Some place secret? A hideaway, if you will?”
“Are you accusing me of complicity in the disappearance of your boss and Ms. Racine? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
Easley ran a shaky finger across the top of his sweaty lip, glistening from the sun streaming in the bay windows. He acted nonchalant, but any idiot could see Martin Easley verged on falling apart. Beecher had never seen a thin man sweat so heavily.
“Do I need a lawyer present?” Easley asked.
“Any reason why you need one?” Beecher asked.
Easley squared his shoulders. “I know nothing about where your lieutenant is, nor do I know the whereabouts of Ms. Racine. And since that seems to be what you’re implying, I think you gentlemen should leave. If you have further questions, make it official and I shall arrange a lawyer to be present.”
Beecher rose and stood face to face with Easley. “I’m sure the captain will find that satisfactory.”
Easley stuttered a few unintelligible words, and was about to say something when Anastasia Easley sauntered confidently into the room. Beecher was struck by her classic green-eyed beauty. Her dark hair swept loosely into a topknot around her fine-featured face. A silk caftan cut low enough to expose two assets many women would pay good money for, clung to the contours of her body as she floated into the room. Beecher forced his focus away.
“There’s no need, Detective,” she said. “The fact is my husband is being gracious. We begged off Saturday because we really don’t believe in psychics. It makes us uncomfortable. Even if Ms. Racine is on the level, I’m not interested in knowing what will happen in my life, and neither is Martin. I made up the excuse to Silas that we had other plans we couldn’t break.” She exchanged glances with all three men. “Silas doesn’t like to be refused. Neither does my father.”
“So you intentionally begged off.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where your friends are, Mrs. Easley?” Beecher asked. “The dinner was supposed to be at the Comptons’ on Saturday, yet no one was in town Sunday morning, nor are they at their offices today.” Beecher paused. “The ladies are your sisters, correct?”
“Yes, but they don’t tell me every move they make. Have you tried my father’s lake house? Sometimes we go there on Sunday for a barbeque.”
Beecher shook his head. “Nope. We checked.”
“Sorry we can’t be more help, Detective. Now Martin and I must ask you to leave. If you have any other questions, we’ll be happy to meet your captain downtown—with our attorney.” Clearly uncomfortable, Martin Easley nodded, but his wife strode confidently to the door and opened it. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Beecher would have tipped his hat if he wore one. “Thank you for your time.”
Outside, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and not because of the heat. “She’s one beautiful woman.”
Cash glanced back at the house. “Damn straight. Did you see how she took control of the conversation?”
“Yeah, and she knew more than she let on.”
She sure as hell did. I should’ve pushed harder, made them talk. Should’ve. Both men got into the car.
“Bet she knows where the lieutenant is,” Cash said.
“I bet she does too. If he’s still alive.” A sick feeling lodged in the pit of Beecher’s belly. “Shit.”
Chapter Forty -Four
A Rude Awakening
Diana rummaged through the closet and chose a chiffon print dress with ruffles bordering the low neckline. She’d never buy anything like that. Too fussy. After she put it on and primped in the mirror, she looked like another person. Wasn’t that the point? She’d have to be another person to level the playing field. Her life and Lucier’s counted on how she controlled what happened next. She stopped, shook her head, chuckling. What was she thinking? A camera leered down at her from inside a locked room. She wasn’t at all in control.
If a ruffled dress played into their idea of who she needed to be, fine. She carefully applied her makeup and stood back one more time to take in the whole picture.
Here I am. Diana, Goddess of the Freaking Moon.
A knock on the door. Dinner, the voice said, and asked permission to enter. Diana said okay, and when the door slid open, a girl no more twelve or thirteen pushed a dinner cart holding plates with silver covers, then set the small table in the room with silver service and a bottle of expensive wine. A large man waited outside.
“The leader would like to see you after dinner, Ms. Racine,” the girl said.
“Who might that be?”
“That’s all I can say, but I was told to tell you there is nothing to fear.”
Yeah, right. I’m locked in a room God knows where, Ernie’s probably dead, or will be soon, and she says there’s nothing to fear. Diana tried to erase the thought about Lucier from her mind, but it hung there like a recalcitrant child, unwilling to behave.
“You mean my food won’t be laced with drugs?”
The girl frowned, obviously perplexed.
“You can tell whoever wants to see me that he can come in an hour’s time.”
She nodded and turned for the door without saying anything more, the perfect servant delivering a message from her master.
Leader. Is that what they called kidnappers these days? Diana referred to “the leader” as a man, and the girl made no correction. The women in Compton’s circle seemed to be held in an exalted state, maybe even in control. She pictured Selene and the others as examples of how to act when the leader came. She pictured Sophia Reyes with her husband’s hand tweaking her nipple while Diana watched. Was she in a bargaining position? She
’d find out soon enough. If so, she’d do whatever it took to free Lucier. Then, one of those body shocks attacked her. The kind where her stomach somersaulted and her heart rate shot into the stratosphere. Please, Ernie. Be alive.
She willed away the bad thoughts and forced herself to eat. Whatever happened, she’d need strength. The drugs had zapped most of hers. Eating wasn’t as much of a chore as she thought. Shrimp cocktail followed by prime rib, potatoes au gratin, and steamed green beans. Crème brulée for dessert. She devoured every morsel and felt better.
The knock on the door came in exactly one hour. “Who is it?” she asked.
“May I come in, Diana?”
The voice sounded vaguely familiar. It wasn’t Compton’s rasp nor the cultured tenor of Phillip Crane. Diana gave her permission, playing the diva. When the key turned and the door opened, her jaw dropped at the sight of her visitor.
Her voice cracked in shock. “Edward.”
“May I come in?” He stood outside, waiting for permission.
She managed a nod because words stuck in her throat. He stepped inside. “I don’t understand. I thought―”
“I’m sorry I deceived you,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”
She slumped into a chair, her mouth still open, and her hand pressed hard against her chest and rapidly beating heart. How could she have been so wrong? How could Edward Slater have fooled her so completely?
“I don’t…understand,” she stammered. “How could anyone understand this?”
“Give me a chance to explain,” he said.
She shook her head slowly, rejecting in advance anything Slater said. “You explained once, and I believed you.” She massaged her temples, trying to finesse away the vice-tightening sensation. This isn’t happening. I must be in the throes of another nightmare?
“Lies. All lies,” she mumbled. She faced him. “You had me going, Edward. What could you say now I’d believe? You drugged me, imprisoned me in a room somewhere on the planet, the object of a bizarre ritual to the devil, and I’m supposed to understand?”
