Bone Driven

by Hailey Edwards

  Conversation on an airboat is impossible unless you like screaming, so there was nothing for me to do but sit back and enjoy the ride. The spotlight mounted on the front of the boat cast a spear of light to dispel the darkness, but I didn’t worry about the narrow scope. Cole saw in the dark just fine. The light was a concession, one I appreciated since – his keen night vision or not – cruising the swamp past midnight at high speeds was enough to jumpstart my pulse.

  Twenty minutes into our ride, he killed the motor, and we coasted to a stop in an area that might have struck a familiar chord had I been able to see more trees to use as landmarks. While I studied the buttressed knees of a bald cypress tree, a sense of déjà vu swirled through me. As we drew closer, I spotted the knot where I had carved a date into the trunk in chunky numbers, a child’s remembrance of her unbirthday. “Why are we here?”

  “This is where Edward Boudreau pulled you from the swamp.” He shifted his angle to the right about a foot. “We breached two yards south of here.” He pointed off in the shadowed distance. “Less than a dozen yards east, War staged her grand entrance.”

  I stood and turned a slow circle, seeing the area through new eyes. I wished we had made the trip in daylight. I had been out here dozens of times to sit and think, but discovering this was a nexus point for us all gave me new perspective on this corner of the swamp.

  “Famine will breach here.” He knelt and removed a metal panel from a depression in the deck. “The broken seal is a beacon.” He removed what appeared to be a thin laptop encased in black metal, not dissimilar to my new phone. “She’ll follow its pull to this area when the time comes.” He tapped a few keys then set it on the seat beside me, angling so I could view the grid covering the screen. “Each square represents a different live video feed.”

  Vibrancy was not what I expected from a live feed given the hour. “They’re color night vision cameras?”

  “There’s more.” He pulled up a different screen covered in a multicolored graph that expanded as I watched. “Santiago talked me into purchasing an acoustic Doppler current profiler. He’s wanted one for years, and this gave him an excuse to write it off as a business expense.”

  The readout kept inching along, but I had no idea what it meant. “What is an acoustic Doppler whatchamacallit?”

  “ADCP is a hydroacoustic current meter similar to sonar,” he explained. “Using the Doppler effect of sound waves scattered back from particles within the water column, it measures current velocities over a depth range.”

  Sonar. Doppler. Particles. Velocities. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “According to Santiago, that means it measures the speed and direction of water currents.”

  Ah. Now that I got. “How much current is he expecting out here?” The surface was calm until you reached River Bend.

  “Large bodies gliding through the water create wakes the same as boats do,” Cole explained. “Santiago is hoping to train a program to spot anomalies so that when Famine breaches, we’ll get notified of the disturbance.” He flipped through a few more screens. “He mentioned side-scan sonar and something about a trawl, but I shut him down after he asked permission to buy scuba gear and a shark tank.”

  I brushed my fingers over the keys, switching back to the camera feed, and pulled up the one over our heads that showed a hulking man bent protectively around a slender woman half his size. “This must have taken days to install and connect.”

  “The order arrived the morning we were set to go to Ludlow.” He secured the laptop back in its bin then reclaimed his seat. “Thom was already in town running an errand, so I asked him to go in my place.”

  “You made the right call.” I spared him the need to make an excuse. “We needed a cool-down period.”

  “Yes,” he agreed without looking at me. “We did.”

  “Thom and I got the job done. That’s all that matters.” I gestured toward the laptop. “It’s not like you were twiddling your thumbs, either. I’d call how things shook out a win.”

  He turned his head in my direction but kept his eyes downcast. “Can I show you one more thing before I take you back?”

  “Sure.” I tightened my grip and told myself it was so I wouldn’t slide when he accelerated. “I’ve got time.”

  “Let me refresh the bait first.” Cole cracked open the cooler, and a wall of stank smacked me in the face so hard my eyes watered. “Santiago is using natural alligators as test subjects.” Rather than the hooks I expected, Cole threaded a piece of thin rope through the cavity of each whole raw chicken then tied them off on preset anchors floating in the water. “The rope breaks away easily, and we monitor the area to make sure none of the local wildlife is harmed.”

  That last part was a calculated kindness. The guys didn’t give a fig for much outside of the coterie, but they would fake compassion. For me.

  “Do you trust me?” Cole killed the light, and we plummeted into velvety darkness.

  My response was automatic. “Yes.”

  This time there was no burst of speed once the engine caught, no wind lashing hair in my eyes. We puttered for about ten minutes before he cut the motor again and used the pole to angle us in position behind a copse of cypress trees. Through a split in the trunks, I spotted a ball of artificial light hitched to a lamppost illuminating the blonde head of a woman sitting on the deck with her back facing us. Even without her signature pencil skirt, crisp blouse, and neck-breaker heels, I would have recognized her anywhere.

  “Maggie,” I breathed. “She looks so…”

  Alive.

  Cole tapped my knee then brought a finger to his lips. I nodded that I understood and settled in to watch. I’m not sure what held her attention as she stared up at the White Horse bunkhouse. It was peculiar with its staircases that led nowhere and windows in place of doors. The quirky building was nothing like the tidy house she’d shared with Justin, and it stood worlds apart from the sprawling plantation-style home where she had spent her childhood.

  Portia seemed to like the place, but I wasn’t sure Maggie would embrace the idea of so many roommates or such an isolated location, not that she had much say in the matter. I had taken all her choices away from her. What to wear, where to live, who to love…

  I started to protest when Cole shoved off and let us drift back the way we’d come, but he had already given me a gift that pulled me down as sure as a pair of cement shoes.

  I was grateful for an excuse not to talk on the ride back to the SUV. As it was, the trip was too short for me to blame my tears on windburn. I used the hem of my shirt to wipe my face when we coasted to a stop, but it didn’t help. The pain kept pouring out through my eyes from my heart, leaking down my chin to drip onto my knees. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop the sobs from escaping, but I wasn’t fooling anyone.

  I ached for what I had done to Maggie, and the fact I was grateful she still lived gutted me.

  Until I could reconcile those things, I had no right asking her forgiveness.

  Breaking all our own rules, Cole pulled me onto his lap with a sigh of resignation, as though this moment had been a long time coming, and he had grown tired of fighting against its arrival. Though it was wrong of me to accept what he offered, I wrapped my arms around his thick torso and buried my face in the crease between his pectorals. He held me while stroking one wide palm up and down my back, allowing me to shatter in his arms, where he could gather the broken pieces and fit me back together again.

  The only man I had ever allowed to hold me was my father, and there was no comparison between those rare experiences and this one. Cole pinned my arms down with his, the contact startling against my banding even with a layer of fabric between our skin. His palm smoothed over the ornate juncture where the rukav joined its two halves between my shoulder blades. The faintest rumble under my cheek had me pressing my ear flat against his chest to catch the vibrations.

  Cole was… purring.

  The intense physical contact ought to have spiraled me into a pan
ic attack, made me itch to shake him off, turned oxygen solid in my lungs, but that rhythmic sound was drugging. His scent filled my nose, and his heat melted the ice crackling over my heart.

  “I was with her when you called,” he said, though he owed me no explanation.

  Relief to which I had no right punched out of me on a hard breath that blew across his shirt, and he shivered beneath my cheek as though he’d felt it skate over his skin. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “I know.”

  But he had given me one because it mattered to me, because I needed closure, and because he was the kind of man who knew those things, who did those things, who deserved so much more than anything I had to offer. That didn’t stop me from wanting to give him all of me or from wanting to take all of him too.

  I closed my eyes when the stubble on his chin caught in my hair, relishing the intimacy of the contact, wondering how the press of his jaw might feel against other places.

  The next thing I remembered was waking in the SUV with my head on his shoulder. Legs tucked under me, I had curled across the console to wrap around his right arm. I had almost convinced myself I was dreaming until the SUV came to a stop, and he pressed a kiss to my temple. That brush of his lips, so much softer than I ever imagined them, incinerated the cobwebs, and my pulse set off at a gallop he must have heard.

  “We’re here,” he murmured. “You need to head inside and get some rest.”

  Knowing all that had happened tonight would be viewed through a harsher lens tomorrow made me reluctant to budge. Cole would regret softening toward me and begin the patch job on the crumbling spots in the wall surrounding his heart as soon as I said goodnight. But then I would bumble along, right on his heels, and discover each crack left jagged as though rooting out his weaknesses came second nature to me.

  Perhaps it did. After all, Conquest had had centuries to perfect the art.

  Quick as ripping off a Band-Aid, before either of us balked, I rose up and kissed the prickly underside of his jaw. “Thanks for sneaking me out.”

  I shoved open the door, uncoiled my legs, and hit the sidewalk before he could shake off his surprise. Unwilling to glance back and catch his molars grinding, I tossed a wave over my shoulder and hustled into the house. The impromptu party was over, and all the lights were off. I heaved a sigh of relief when it hit me I had escaped an interrogation. Creeping into the sewing room, I shut the door on my heels.

  Tomorrow would kick me in the teeth soon enough. Tonight I wanted to dream with a smile.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The good mood I had fallen asleep cradling lasted me through the morning. I’d noticed on my way to raid the orange juice that Aunt Nancy had filled one of those magnetic grocery lists with items, so I tore off the top sheet and decided I would contribute to the household by doing the shopping for her. Flavie called to update me on the status of my valerian-free yard while I was checking out, and the news that I could return home buoyed my already high spirits.

  I was humming a song by Florida Georgia Line as I pushed my buggy across the parking lot, but my steps faltered halfway to the Bronco when I spied the tall drink of water reclined against the driver-side door. “Hi there.”

  “Hi yourself.” Wu flung a tight ball of fabric square at my chest. “You look well-rested.”

  I grabbed the bundle on reflex before it hit the asphalt, shook out the heather-gray material, and failed to cage my laugh before it escaped. The long-sleeve tee featured a vintage photo of an iconic city skyline. A banner reading “New York the Empire State” cut the image in half, and the tag hanging off the sleeve proclaimed Made in New York City.

  “Aww.” As I smoothed the shirt against my chest, he noticed the leather bracelet that was fast becoming a wardrobe staple and scowled all the harder. “You brought me a souvenir. You didn’t have to, but thanks.”

  “I flew to New York.” His clipped tone highlighted his accent. “I bought a ticket and walked the observation deck at the Empire State Building. I saw the entire city at a glance, but the one thing I didn’t see was you.”

  “I’ve never been to New York. Too much of a homebody.” I rubbed my thumb over the grayscale image. “I hear it’s one hell of an experience. Did you enjoy your trip?”

  “Do not play games with me.” A flush warmed his face as his temper rose. “I contacted Santiago Benitez to verify your whereabouts.”

  Leave it to Santiago to take a joke ten steps too far. God only knows what other evidence he’d planted to make the trip appear authentic. For all I knew, he had forwarded Wu a fake itinerary complete with purchased tickets for tourist attractions I planned on visiting along with a number for a concierge bribed to demur when asked if a Luce Boudreau was a guest at his hotel.

  “I’m going to strangle him.” I opened the tailgate and started loading my bags. “It was a joke. He just got carried away.” I tried for a winning smile. “I’m glad you’re here, though. You saved me a phone call.”

  Immediately suspicious, he shoved off the vehicle with his shoulders. “What do you need?”

  “Ouch.” I clutched my chest. “You act like I have to need something to want to talk to you.”

  “I’ll ask again —” one of his perfect eyebrows arched “— what do you need?”

  “What were you doing down in Madison?” I checked the cart to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. “A little birdie told me you paid Jill Summers a visit.” I cast him a thoughtful glance. “The funny thing is, you asked about the Orvis case. Well, okay, so that’s not the punchline. After you made that long drive and nudged Summers into checking her records, which I had already requested, as I’m sure you know, she discovered – wait for it – that the bodies had never reached the coroner’s office.”

  His black mood lifted a bit, and a smile twitched in his cheek. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  I pulled on my cop face. “Where are the bodies?”

  “I have no idea, officer,” he said, playing along. “I would tell you if I knew.”

  “Wu, this is not the hill you want to die on.” I bumped his hip with my cart. “Trust me.”

  He wiped imagined dirt from his slacks. “More hills have died under me than the reverse.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Did you really just call yourself old as dirt?”

  His lips pursed. “I am old.”

  “Snappy comeback.” I returned the cart to a nearby corral. “How good are you at making things you don’t want humans to see disappear?”

  “Very good.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  I flashed him the other bit of information that had filtered to me overnight. “Do these photos look familiar to you?”

  “Where did you get those?” he demanded while studying my phone screen. “I erased the files.”

  “The digital files, maybe.” I grinned up at him. “Senility isn’t a good look on you. There’s this thing us youngsters call paper. The Chinese invented it in like 105 A.D. or something. You were probably a toddler at the time.” I pocketed my cell. “Have you ever heard of a printer?” His lips flatlined. “No? Then this will blow your mind —”

  Wu loomed over me, but I had been loomed over by the best and wasn’t intimidated. “Who has the prints?”

  “Lots of folks at this point.” I hooked my thumbs in the belt loops of my jeans. “What does it matter without the bodies?”

  “We don’t leave evidence behind,” Wu growled with all the fervor of an oft-repeated mantra. “Photos are evidence, paper or not.”

  Still annoyed he had been sneaking around behind my back, I saluted him and jumped in the Bronco. “I wish you the best of luck retrieving them.”

  “Oh, no,” he crooned, catching the door before it shut. “This is your mess too. You’re going to help clean it up.”

  “No thanks.” I wrenched the door from his grasp. “I’ve got a full plate.”

  “That wasn’t a request.” He tapped on the window. “We’ll meet at your house
after your shift.”

  “I’ll pencil you in,” I lied. “Later, gator.” I hesitated. “You’re not a gator, are you? I’ll be honest, Droseras freak me out, and that was before one almost ate me.”

  “It’s rude to ask a charun their species,” he informed me primly. “Most prefer to keep their true selves hidden.”

  That was certainly the case with my coterie, and, I had to admit, ignorance was my personal preference as well. “How can species remain secret with so many being bagged and tagged?”

  “Consider it doctor/patient confidentiality. Charun of the same species are often grouped together to receive their physicals or are kept in the same facilities to make catering to their biological needs easier, but most are grateful to find kin on this terrene. This is one instance where a shared secret is more often kept than individual ones.”