Voodoo or Die

by Stephanie Bond

  "Tell me about your life, Zane."

  He seemed surprised and drew back slightly, hesitant to respond. "Nothing too exciting to report. After high school, I drifted for a while, then went to college and got a degree in criminal justice. I stayed close to Jersey for the first couple of years, then moved around the country, then... landed here."

  "Then landed here," she repeated. "Don't you think it's bizarre that we both landed here at the same time?"

  He busied himself with closing the first-aid kit and wiping his hands on a handkerchief. "I've given that some thought over the last couple of days. But when it comes down to it, we were both drawn to Mojo because of what was going on with the missing persons identification project. So there really is a reasonable explanation for... this."

  Their gazes caught, and her heart quaked. She loved him, but she quelled the urge to reach out to him. She had breached his trust and complicated his job exponentially. She understood why they shouldn't be together—at least her mind understood. Her body, however, was not convinced.

  His Adam's apple bobbed, then he moved closer, his eyes angst-ridden. "On the other hand," he murmured, his mouth hovering over hers, "there's nothing reasonable about... this."

  She opened her mouth to receive him, flush in the knowledge that this time he not only wanted it but also knew full well who she was. She shifted on the bed to make room for him, and they kissed like the long-lost lovers they were, twining hands and legs. He speared his tongue against hers, moaning into her mouth, giving her his breath when hers ran out.

  Before, their lovemaking had been hurried, fevered. But this time, as if by mutual consent, they moved slowly, savoring every kiss and every inch of skin revealed when they peeled off each other's clothes, the way they used to when they were teenagers, stretching out each touch to prolong the pleasure as long as possible.

  The difference was the knowledge that they would be able to fully experience each other's bodies. He laved her breasts with his warm tongue, bringing the tips to hard peaks, sending pleasure pulsing to the far reaches of her body. She moaned and drove her hands into his hair as his mouth trailed fire down her stomach and across her thighs, her muscles clenching in anticipation of his tongue finding the most sensitive part of her. He teased her, kissing and lapping at her tender folds until finally latching on and sending her soaring.

  "Zane," she murmured, straining against the silky pressure of his tongue. The hum of a thousand bees started deep in her womb, then climbed higher and spiraled wider until her entire body vibrated for release. She begged and resisted at the same time, caught in a whirlpool of pleasure-pain that drove all other thoughts from her brain. Then with one last stab of his tongue, she went into free fall, the explosion of her orgasm so powerful that her back arched and she cried out, pulsating against his mouth until the spasms dissipated into delicious little tremors, She inhaled deeply, then heaved a sigh of satisfaction that went all the way to the tips of her fingers and to the ends of her toes.

  Zane kissed his way back to her mouth, his expression smug with male satisfaction. He had always taken great pleasure in her pleasure, saying it made his release that much more intense. She reached down to cup his erection, intent on returning the favor, but he stilled her hand.

  "All I want is to make love to you, to make up for all the times we wanted to and didn't."

  He clasped her hands in his and held them over her head. She opened her knees to give him full access to her body, rising to meet him. With one thrust, he plunged deep into her, moaning his pleasure to be sheathed in her body. She undulated against the exquisite feeling of fullness of having him inside her, marveling over the way their bodies seemed perfectly tuned to each other. They found a long, slow rhythm that maximized the mutual pleasure of each stroke. She squeezed his fingers between hers and surrendered to his deliberate, leisurely kisses, his tongue dipping, probing to mimic his body dipping into hers, sampling her sweetness.

  Another climax coiled inside her, this one deeper, tighter, more controlled. He coaxed it to the surface with measured thrusts, urging her to come with him, his jaw clenched in restraint. Her orgasm rolled to the surface and burst, sending fragments of ultra-concentrated pleasure spinning through her body as she contracted around him. "Zane... Zane..."

  His hips rocked forward in a massive thrust, then he groaned his release, burying himself into her, his face tense with abject satisfaction. "Lorey... oh, yes... Lorey."

  His sex pulsed inside her as their perspiration-slick bodies recovered. He caught her mouth in such a profound kiss that tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Because while Zane had been making love to her, he'd been thinking of another woman—the woman she used to be: fearless... fun-loving... free.

  And she didn't know if she could ever find that woman in herself again.

  Chapter 31

  Wake up, Gloria. You can't push the rewind button. Life marches on.

  "Gloria, wake up... wake up."

  She started awake, desperately clinging to the sound of her mother's voice, which had seemed so clear in her dream. Zane was standing over her, illuminated from the light streaming in from the hall. He was fully dressed in his dark uniform, just as he had been since he'd climbed out of her bed yesterday after they'd made love.

  "Do you still want to do this?" he asked in the tone of professional detachment she'd grown accustomed to.

  "Yes," she croaked, thinking tomorrow she'd be waking up in a safe house in New Orleans.

  "Forty-five minutes," he murmured, then left her room.

  She pulled herself upright, flinching at the pain that shot through her shoulder and hip from her fall yesterday. The skin on her neck was tender and taut, although it felt as if the swelling had gone down. She limped to the bathroom and turned on the shower. When she stripped out of her pajamas, she grimaced at the sight of the purple bruises on her upper hip and her shoulder blade.

  At least they matched her hair.

  She stepped under the spray of the shower and tried to isolate the cause of the stone of apprehension sitting in the bottom of her stomach. Was it the money drop at the cemetery? The thought of relocating... again? Or the awkward disconnect between her and Zane?

  When he'd left her bed yesterday, he'd reverted to all-business, spending the afternoon on a conference call with B.J. and his team and going through a stack of faxes an officer had brought to him when two of his men had arrived to pick up Zane's cruiser.

  "No use announcing to the blackmailer I'm with you," he'd said.

  The evening hours he'd split between checking the doors and windows to make sure they were secure, and cross-referencing a kitchen table full of phone records. When she'd offered to help, he'd given her the brush-off. The only communication he'd had with her had been establishing an escape route in the event someone broke in and he was incapacitated.

  And on that cheery note, she'd gone to bed. Alone.

  She turned off the water and toweled dry, her mind turning to the identity of the blackmailer. Who in town had had a close enough relationship with Steve Chasen to simply pick up where he'd left off?

  Dressing quickly for warmth, she dried her hair and took a few minutes to try to conceal some of the marks on her neck with the lotion and foundation samples the multi-tasking Brianna had given to her. She opted to skip the green contacts. With a wry frown at her reflection, she left the bedroom and walked toward the kitchen and the scent of coffee.

  "Good morning," she said, not sure what to expect.

  "Morning," he said, not looking up from a fax he was studying. The familiar bank envelope of cash lay next to his cup. "I made coffee."

  "Thank you." She poured herself half a cup, then filled the rest of the cup with milk and took a deep drink, watching him over the rim. "Did you get some sleep?"

  "Uh-hm."

  Meaning, of course, he hadn't. After yesterday's debacle at the police station, she suspected he had sat up on watch. "Did you have any luck with phone records?"

&
nbsp; "Not with yours," he said absently, still rifling through papers. "The call was made over the Internet and routed through too many servers to trace."

  "But Steve's?" she prompted.

  "A couple of promising leads. I passed them on to Marshal O'Connor."

  "You've been in contact with George?"

  "Yes."

  "Does that mean you got a fingerprint from the bathroom?"

  His jaw hardened. "No, we didn't."

  "Oh." She drank from her mug. "Is there a general game plan this morning?"

  He dragged his attention back to her and stood, gathering the papers. "The plan is I'll be in the car with you, out of sight. Two plainclothes officers will be nearby, one on foot, and one in an unmarked car. When the guy stops and takes the money, we should have him covered."

  "Sounds simple."

  "Let's hope so." He checked his watch, then downed the rest of his coffee.

  "Zane," she said quietly, "are we going to talk about what happened between us yesterday?"

  He swung his gaze in her direction. "No. At least not now. Are you ready?"

  She pressed her lips together, then dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink. "Let's go."

  He walked to the window, parted the curtain, and looked out into the predawn darkness. Apparently satisfied, he moved toward the garage.

  She put the money in her purse. In the garage, Zane swung into the backseat of her car, and she slid into the driver's seat. When she hit the button to raise the garage door, he lay down, folding his big body into the small space.

  "There is one problem," she said, starting the car. "I don't exactly know where the Central Cemetery is."

  "Drive through town, it's just past Steve Chasen's neighborhood, on the left. You have plenty of time, so drive slow."

  She backed down the driveway in the dark. "You still have my driver's license."

  "I figured you wouldn't be needing it," he said mildly. "Considering you're going to have a new name soon, right?"

  Her heart twisted. "I guess so."

  "That must be bizarre... one day to be one person, and the next day to be someone else."

  "It is," she agreed, pulling onto Charm Street. "It messes with your mind. You don't realize how much of your identity comes from the way you look, your name, your personal history. And when all of that changes..."

  "I nearly went crazy looking for you."

  She bit down on the inside of her cheek. "I'm so sorry, Zane. I nearly went crazy myself. I wrote you a letter so you'd know I was safe, and I gave it to my handler. He said he'd mail it to you, but I found out only this week he didn't."

  "He knows we used to know each other?"

  "I had to tell him." Although she'd taken her time.

  After a few minutes' silence, he asked, "What did you think when I walked into your office?"

  She smiled. "I couldn't believe it. I was stunned... then I was scared you'd recognize me. You probably thought I was neurotic because I was so jumpy."

  "I assumed it was because of the accident."

  "You got so angry when I mentioned the voodoo doll."

  "I'm trying to bring this town into the new century. You have to admit, it's pretty far-fetched to think a voodoo doll can cause things to happen."

  "I would have said the same thing a few weeks ago," she said thoughtfully. "I was Penny's counsel when she was questioned about stabbing the voodoo doll that looked like her ex-husband Deke. I thought it was nuts. But now..."

  "Don't tell me that now you're a believer?"

  "Now I'm... intrigued. I talked to Jules Lamborne about the second voodoo doll."

  "The one that's supposed to be you?"

  "Right. She told me that I wasn't supposed to be hurt, that I was only supposed to set things in motion for someone else to be punished."

  "Uh-huh. While the old gal was rambling, did she happen to mention why Melissa Phillips was being punished?"

  "No."

  "Exactly. It's all smoke and mirrors, spooky scenarios that fit the circumstances. And I won't have it influencing my police force."

  Feeling chastised, she changed the subject. "Has Melissa Philips's apartment yielded any information about her relationship with Steve?"

  "We found a box of diaries we're hoping will tell us something."

  She moistened her lips. "Zane, when did you start to think I was... Lorey?"

  He took his time answering. "At first, it didn't cross my mind you were Lorey... there were just some things about you that reminded me of her—I mean... you."

  But his slip didn't go unnoticed. Her... you. Two different people, and he had feelings for only one of them.

  Alarm bled through her veins, pervasive and profound. Had she so thoroughly changed herself that she had, in fact, betrayed herself? Rendered herself unrecognizable inside and out? Changed the trajectory of her life away from happiness and self-actualization? Splintered herself into so many personas it was impossible to put herself back together?

  "Where are we?" he asked, breaking into her disturbing thoughts.

  "I s-see the turn," she said, slowing to give her signal.

  He radioed his officers, checking their location. She pulled into the cemetery, the gravel road meandering among the tombstones and crypts barely wide enough for one car. She was immediately assailed by the eeriness of the place. A dusk-to-dawn light in the center of the graveyard left the outer edges in complete darkness. The narrow scope of her headlights made her feel as if she was in a tunnel. Heavy frost covered the ground and the ancient grave markers, giving the impression that this morning, the dead were even more dead—they were dead and frozen. A full-body shiver overtook her.

  "You all right?" he asked, as if he sensed her fear.

  "Fine."

  "Look for an old stone building."

  She spotted the silhouette of the structure and turned toward it. "Someone lives here?"

  "Caretaker used to, but the building is used for storage now."

  She maneuvered carefully, noticing some of the headstones were broken and toppled. Through the veil of frost the outline of graffiti was clear—and jarring. "Is this the cemetery that was vandalized the other night?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you think there's a connection?"

  "It's a theory," he said, his tone clipped. "Do you see the mailbox?"

  "I'm pulling up now." She buzzed down her window, wincing against the cold blast of air that entered the car as she lowered the lid to the battered mailbox and stuffed the envelope inside. She looked around as she pulled away, but all was deadly quiet. "Okay... now what?"

  "Now you leave and drive home. Tell me if you see anything suspicious, cars that look as if they might be waiting, that kind of thing."

  She glanced around as she drove back into town, but the only activity at this hour on a cold Sunday morning was a paperboy on a bike and a man sweeping the sidewalk in front of Benny's Beignet Shop, which appeared to have just opened.

  They were almost back to her house when Zane radioed his men. "Anything?"

  "Nothing yet, Chief. Wait... here's something... no, it's just a paperboy on his bike, probably cutting through."

  "That could be our guy," Zane responded. "Keep an eye on him."

  "He's veering toward the mailbox—we're going in."

  Zane sat up and leaned forward. "Pull over and let me drive."

  She did, and soon they were zooming back toward the cemetery.

  Zane's radio crackled. "Chief, the subject took the money. We're in pursuit on foot."

  "I'm on my way," Zane responded.

  They were there in a matter of minutes. Zane pulled into the mouth of the cemetery and slammed the car into park next to a plain sedan that had been parked haphazardly—the undercover car, she assumed.

  "Stay here and lock the doors," he ordered, then bounded out, his radio to his mouth, quickly disappearing into darkness.

  Her heart racing, she locked the doors and sank down in the seat until she could just see o
ver the dashboard. In a rare quiet moment, she reflected on the events of the past few days, conceding she'd lived more life in the past week than she had in years... maybe her entire life. Zane was right—she'd been attracted to Mojo because of the missing persons identification project that was underway. And within days of arriving, the things missing in her life had been exposed: truth... trust... courage... support... friendship... love.

  She couldn't spend the rest of her life like this, running from herself. If Riaz was determined to find her, he would eventually. And if he did, she'd simply tell the truth—that she had no idea where her mother was. If they wanted to hurt her or kill her to try to flush out her mother, there was little she could do about it.

  But she would not relocate again.

  And as much as she would like to think she and Zane could rekindle their relationship, she was realistic. Their lovemaking yesterday had been a fulfillment of unrealized guilt and fantasy that the man had carried with him for almost fifteen years, a chance to be with Lorey before she disappeared again. Both of them were guilty of confusing the present with the past.

  Hadn't she wanted to be Lorey again?

  She closed her eyes, bittersweet feelings flooding her chest: It hurt to realize that until now, she'd been swept up in the nostalgia of loving Zane. But he was different... angry at times... suspicious... as suspicious of people as she was, born of the same situation. Her disappearance had taken its emotional toll on both of them.

  Could she love Zane now for the man he was? Was he truly the man who could help her overcome her past, or would he simply keep her steeped in it? And would she be able to deal with his occupation, with the knowledge that every day he placed himself in danger, dealing with people like the criminal who had destroyed her family? And more important, could she keep from simply being absorbed into his life? On the heels of her decision to take back her life, she couldn't afford to love Zane if it meant giving up herself all over again.

  She bit into her lip. Now that she was staying, maybe they could be friends. And in time... who knew?