Mystic Hearts

by Cait Jarrod

  Mathews looked forward to the day he could proudly wear the symbol on his cheek, letting the world know he was one bad motherfucker.

  He aimed his gun at a picture thumbtacked to the wall of the person whose actions aided in defining the new him, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. He bent his arm at the elbow and blew across the top of the barrel as if smoke drifted out.

  Soon, he’d earn two teardrops.

  Not only would two less assholes clutter the world, but the peons, who dumbly called themselves the Impalers, who thought they could manufacture marijuana on Greenwood Manor without giving him his fair cut, were in for a surprise.

  A single phone call a moment earlier now put his plans into motion, cementing his initiation into the Black Scorpions and giving him the respect he deserved on the manor. Ever since Sanjar, the Black Scorpions’ leader, was murdered, word had spread. If anyone could find the whereabouts of his killer they’d be inducted into the gang.

  As lucrative as belonging to the gang would be, he needed something in return for him to give up such valuable information. His deal: the whereabouts of Jake Gibson in exchange for the ‘top dawg’ position at Greenwood Manor’s manufacturing circuit. Once the Black Scorpions arrived, they’d take over the operation and give him the position. No one argued with the ruthless gang

  Mathews lowered the gun to his lap and tossed the godforsaken hat he had to wear as a symbol that he worked with the Impalers onto the floor and ruffled his oily hair. Soon, he’d wear the brown leather jacket with the Scorpion insignia on the back, and his gang name stitched on the front. He’d have to think of a moniker, like Bruno or Rockon.

  He stared at Agent Gibson’s wedding picture he’d cut out from the local newspaper. Why hadn’t the agent left the area? Staying, Gibson was a sitting duck. Damn, how’d a nitwit take down a Monarch? If Mathews had done such a thing, he’d run like hell. No way would he parade around the city as if he owned it.

  Rage flowed through his veins. “Gibson and that Band of Fuckers turned Charlene against me.” He petted his gun as if a beloved pet. “That’s okay. Payback was coming.” For several months, he’d prepared by target practicing in the back fields every day.

  Jed Bradley hiring him to oversee the restoring of the six-hundred acre farm fit perfectly into his plans.

  All he had to do was falsify his work history, have his good friend vouch for him, and the old fart hired him at their first meeting. He hadn’t seen Bradley since.

  Mathews thought it odd, but whatever.

  He shoved his gun in the corner behind the stack of boxes. Charlene must have fallen asleep downstairs. All night, he only heard footsteps, the refrigerator opening and closing, no signs if that red-headed fuckwad stayed. He’d plant more bugs in the house soon. The two weren’t cutting it.

  A couple days ago when he sat in this very spot, he overheard Charlene’s one-sided phone call that she’d plan to stay at Greenwood Manor on Halloween. He had everything planned: the laced wine, a warm bed. Bile rose from his stomach and perched in his throat. “Big fuzz…That cocksucker!” Mathews banged his fist on the wall. His well-thought-out plan of getting Charlene to fall into his arms had gone up in flames because of that redheaded dipshit. He’d blow the fucker’s head off the first chance he got.

  “I hope I’m worthy of a yes one day,” a masculine voice drifted over the receiver.

  Had he been so far into his head, he hadn’t heard them?

  Her voice was so low, Mathews’ couldn’t hear. “Son of a bitch!”

  He turned up the volume on the metal box.

  “I want to take what we have between us further,” the fuckhead said.

  “No fucking way!” Mathews shouted. Rage rose from his stomach to his face.

  A door slammed, the walls in his hideaway shook.

  “Shit!” He turned off the receiver and pulled the chain to the overhead light. “Who the fuck was here?”

  ****

  Reeling on the fact Charlene wanted to go alone to Greenwood Manor, Larry parked his Suburban in the driveway of Jake and Pamela Gibson’s two-story, brick house. Realistically, he didn’t have the right to demand or expect her to listen to his advice. Still, he couldn’t stop his primal instincts from going further where she was concerned. He wanted her to count on him with every aspect of her life. The sensation landed him in unfamiliar territory, a feeling he didn’t know how to handle.

  Hs sucked in a deep breath to get a handle on his wayward reactions. The scent of her peach shampoo, lingering on his clothes, inundated his senses. His groin tightened.

  Frustrated for letting his guard down even a tiny bit, he hit his hand on the steering wheel. He wasn’t relationship material. The few times he counted on women they ripped his heart out. Never again.

  An old saying played through his mind, one that he’d repeated over and over to himself to give him hope. Time heals all wounds. His jaw tightened. If only the proverb had held true. Scars from emotional wounds inflicted on him years ago stayed fresh and refused to let go.

  Yet… He stared at his knuckles whitening on the wheel as his insides gripped with need. When he’d looked into Charlene’s eyes for the first time six months ago, magic cast a spell over him. That day, he’d lowered the wedge between him and the world a fraction. The reckless act scared the crap out of him.

  He hadn’t called her when his fingers itched to, didn’t stop by her house when his car wanted to drive by. He kept his distance, keeping his desire at bay.

  Last night, the first taste of her overpowered him, urging him to lower the barrier. As much as he yearned to kick the protective wall away, he knew keeping the wall erected to its full height, or even higher, was safest. The quandary was like a pebble in his shoe, shifting around and poking him. Not a good position for an agent whose clarity saved lives.

  Frustrated with self-reflecting, he climbed out of his Suburban and gazed across the sparse wooded land to Jake, pitching a stick into the Rappahannock River for his Labrador, Willis, as he’d done countless times while they’d discussed cases.

  “Hi, Larry!” Pamela stepped out the side door of the house with a small cooler in her hand. “I figured you guys might want some refreshments.”

  “It’s barely past noon.”

  She smiled. Her face glowed, the sun reflecting off her dark hair. Signs from the kidnapping had disappeared. “But it’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, you guys always have a beer when discussing a case on the ‘thinking rock’.” She made quote fingers to express her point.

  “Thinking rock?” His question slipped out clipped. Irritation with Charlene, himself, and fatigue from not getting much sleep last night sneaked into his tone.

  “That’s what it is,” Pamela snapped.

  Charlene had him in knots. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off the chemistry flying between them. Maybe, he should talk to the Director into sending him overseas, plenty of high profile cases needed attention…

  “Larry.” Pamela’s gentle voice snapped him out of his self-loathing.

  …Or, he’d just apologize to Pamela and seek out his friends. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be short,” he said. “Long night.”

  Her features softened. “No offense taken.”

  He received the drinks and kissed her cheek. “Jake’s a lucky guy.”

  She laughed. “Remind him, would you? Hearing a man complimenting his wife does a guy good.”

  Larry snorted. “And get one of his glares? No thanks.”

  “You have a point.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and nodded toward the water. “Steve’s lingering near the river, too. Tell the big lug he’d better say hi before he leaves.”

  “That, I’ll do.”

  Larry watched his best friend’s wife head inside before he headed toward their office without walls.

  The crisp, cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees and his hair. Fallen leaves covering the boarded walked way crunched under his feet, the perfect time of year, not
too hot and not too cold.

  The walkway ended and he made his way through the noisy ground covered in dead leaves and twigs to the large rock, near the water’s edge.

  “Hey, buddy.” Agent Steve Anderson stepped from behind a tree, a furrow marring his brow. “You okay?”

  Larry looked between his past and present colleagues, realized from the concern lines etched in their faces that he wore his turmoil on his, and quickly schooled his expression. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Steve studied him.

  Not wanting to give a reason to discuss his inner thoughts, he maintained the blank expression.

  “No reason.” Steve shrugged, letting him off the hook by not questioning him further.

  Clean-shaven, blond hair, and a powerful force in the field, Steve was known around the office as the all-American boy, a perfect field agent. “Heard you kicked ass overseas.”

  “The team did, yes. We’re lucky. A few times the guys ended up in a tight spot.”

  Larry patted him on the back. “Glad everyone’s intact.”

  “Me, too,” Jake said, tossing a stick into the water.

  Willis scurried after the stick, kicking dirt and leaves behind him, and jumped into the water.

  “Exhaustion must have stolen your covert skills,” Larry said to Steve. “Pamela saw you from the window.”

  Steve glanced toward the house. “Jake, you’ll have to plant a tree or two to conceal our rock cave.”

  Jake snickered. “Rock cave. Is that anything like a man cave?”

  “Yep.” Steve shuffled and leaned back against a tree.

  “Beats thinking rock.” Larry chuckled.

  “Thinking rock?” Jake and Steve asked in unison.

  “Pamela’s words, not mine,” Larry assured them.

  “You can’t hide from my wife.”

  “I’m not trying to. You know she’s like a sister to me.” Steve said, “I’ll talk to her after we’re done.” He faced Larry. “So, you have the hots for Charlene and came close to ruining the case.”

  Steve was direct, but his meaning was lost on Larry. “What are you talking about? What case?”

  “Get it right, Steve.”

  Larry appreciated his former comrade’s support.

  “By him playing footsy with Charlene,” Jake said, “he didn’t come close to wrecking the case, he crippled it.”

  Larry’s jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me. Your brother calls on Charlene to stay the night alone on Halloween, at an old house no less, after enduring a kidnapping, and somehow, I managed to cripple a case I know nothing about?”

  “Paul had no choice but to call Charlene,” Jake said. “I was tied up on a case.”

  “Same here,” Steve added.

  Jake petted Willis’s head and picked up the wet stick his dog dropped at his feet. He tossed it into the water. “She could have said no.”

  Steve darted his gaze toward the cooler in Larry’s hand. “Do you have a beer?”

  “Thanks to Pamela,” he said, passing the container.

  Steve set the cooler on the ground next to the rock, handed an open can to Jake and popped open another for Larry.

  “Crippled a case? No way in hell.” Irritated, Larry snatched the beer from Steve’s hand, downed a few gulps, and enjoyed the robust taste.

  “You didn’t cripple the case,” Jake said. “I’m messing with you, man.”

  Willis returned and stared at Jake with beady eyes, waiting for the stick to sail through the air again.

  Steve rested his back against a tree and sipped his beer. “Your dog never tires.”

  The river’s steady flow, gentle and inviting, sent a peace over Larry, hypnotizing him. He breathed in the woodsy scent, letting his worries slip away. “I wish I could say the same. I’m beat.”

  “Debrief us,” Jake said. “Then I’ll fill you in on the Director’s phone call.”

  Larry’s eyebrow arched. The peaceful moment vanished. Was more happening than a few odd lights? “As you already know, I went to Greenwood Manor to check on the mysterious glow per Paul’s request. Before I could investigate, I came across an Allen Mathews staring at Charlene through the kitchen window.”

  “Did you run his history?” Jake asked.

  “I did, and confirmed he worked on the manor. There’s no information before this year.”

  “Not a lot to go on. Hell, he could be a spook.” Jake drank some beer. “As long as you have a positive ID that it’s Mathews and not her ex, Andrew Smith. By now, he knows Charlene received a reward for helping with the recovery of the bonds. He’s a piece of work, capable of anything.”

  “Even so, by now he would have made a move,” Steve said.

  The rage that roiled through Larry just by thinking how Smith left Charlene and Henry in a dire mess had the ability to turn him into a loose cannon, something he’d best heed and control. “Any sign of Smith since he bailed on his family?”

  “Negative,” Jake said.

  “He’s too yellow to come back,” Steve growled. “Hell, any man deserting his family is a douche bag,”

  “Don’t count on it.” Uncertainty flashed over Jake’s expression, and the pulse in his neck ticked. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll stay away,” Steve said. “They’re better off without him.”

  Steve had a point, yet Andrew Smith was Henry’s father. The boy deserved to have his dad in his life. Larry grimaced… maybe not. If Larry’s dad hadn’t been part of his, he’d been a lot happier, his mother, too.

  The niggling sixth sense that had kept him out of harm’s way shouted loudly in his ear that nothing was as it seemed where Charlene was concerned. What am I overlooking? “Why bring up Smith?”

  A loud splash and they watched as Jake’s dog chased after a Mallard duck.

  “Has he ever caught one?” Steve asked, walking closer to the bank’s edge.

  “Once.” Jake tilted his head. His expression went dark briefly. “Pamela had a premonition.”

  A momentary shock silenced them.

  “Really?” Steve stepped toward them. “Since when does she have them?”

  “Willis! Get back here!” Jake yelled and whistled until the lab climbed the embankment and shook. “Can’t say She believes someone is after Charlene. I asked her not to act like a mother bear. If she did, Charlene would never relax.”

  “Which brings us back to, why did you drive Charlene home?” Steve’s gaze narrowed and sharpened.

  “Are you interrogating or debriefing me?” Annoyance filled Larry’s tone.

  “Whatever it takes?” Jake picked up the stick and tossed it. “Last time, boy.”

  Willis flew into the water two feet below the bank.

  He didn’t like the tone in their voices. “Both of you are assholes,” Larry said, butting up to the rock.

  “We know,” Steve said, “and you’re easy prey, man-by-the-book. But seriously, why’d Charlene leave her car at Greenwood Manor?”

  “Because of her shaky equilibrium. She couldn’t drive.”

  The dog jumped onto the bank, dropped the stick, and shook.

  “Whoa. Willis, not here,” Jake commanded.

  The dark-eyed lab looked at his owner, walked in a circle, and lay down.

  “Equilibrium?” Steve raised a questioning brow. “Is that code for drunk?”

  The laced wine more than likely caused her loss of balance, but with her hitting her head on the ground, he wasn’t certain. Either way, the wine was the root of her abnormal behavior. Still, he didn’t want to go into details concerning Charlene’s behavior. If she wanted it known that she drank a bottle of wine by herself, then it was for her to tell, not him. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Let me take a stab here. Charlene drank to deal with ghosts and you think by not spilling what happened, you’ll protect her virtue.” Steve squeezed the empty beer can and tossed it beside the cooler. “Wonder if she saw the Madison Hand we heard about recently?”
>
  “Come on,” Jake said with a that’s-ridiculous tone embedded in his voice. “Who believes in ghosts?”

  Larry lifted an eyebrow. Steve must have done the same.

  Jake snorted. “You guys can’t be serious. No facts, no proof. Hell, the witnesses who thought they observed the renowned hand, doesn’t even believe their lying eyes.”

  “I’m not saying I believe in them,” Larry refuted. “Incidents happen that I can’t justify.”

  “The manor made a ghost-believer out of you?”

  Steve’s snarky question irritated Larry. “That’s not what I said.”

  Steve held up a hand. “As much as I hate to admit it, not everything can be explained. I’m surprised Greenwood Manor shifted your way of thinking. The last time we talked about a phenomenon, it was you two against me.”

  Larry still didn’t know if he believed in spirits. “My way of thinking hasn’t changed. I’m just admitting that not everything has an explanation.”

  “Well, that’s progress.” Steve nodded toward Jake, “You?”

  “Nope. There’s a reason for everything.”

  “You’ll see the light one day.” Steve snickered. “Back to the case: I have a nagging suspicion one of you guys hasn’t coughed up the whole story with Greenwood Manor and the magic lights. I can locate either of you via satellite, but I don’t have the equipment to read your minds. Now spill.”

  “A call came across the FBI tip line.” Jake plopped down on the rock, his voice turned serious. “An illegal drug trade run by a small outfit, The Impalers, is thought to have a manufacturing plant at the manor.”

  This was the first Larry heard of an outfit. “Wait a minute. Why in the hell wasn’t I informed before I went out there to check on the verity of the lights?”

  “Did you see any?” Jake asked, igoring Larry’s question.

  Fireflies, Charlene had called them. “Yes.”

  Jake cleared his throat. “You needed a partner. Why didn’t you call?”

  “Excuse me?” Larry seethed. “Since when do I need a babysitter? And how the hell did you know where I was in the first place?”

  “Steve,” Jake said.

  Larry didn’t have to ask how Steve knew. The man had eyes everywhere.