by Sharon Sala
“Justin! Did you hear that—”
“Yes, we heard it,” he said, and then put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him as the other men approached.
Harper tipped his hat.
“Miss Laurel… I’m sorry it took us so long to get out here.” He motioned to the federal agents who were bringing up the rear. “We had a bit of a delay.”
It was all Gabe Clancy could do to remember why he’d come. The woman, who must be Laurel Scanlon, was obviously a stunner. He kept trying to remember all the particulars he’d read about her on the way out, but the only thing that stuck in his mind was that she was unwed.
“Miss Scanlon?”
She nodded.
“Clausing sent us. I’m Federal Agent Gabe Clancy. We’ve come to—”
“He’s dead,” Laurel said.
Clancy reeled as if she’d struck him.
“Who’s dead?”
“The man you came to get. He’s in the grove about a mile to the west, not far from the road. If you take a car and go down the highway, heading west for about a mile, then walk back east into the grove, it will be easier to remove his body.”
Clancy’s mouth was gaping. He knew it because he could feel the air on his tongue, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find the gumption to shut it.
“She’s never wrong,” Harper said, and motioned toward his deputies. “You heard her. I’m thinking we oughta call Manville back with his dogs. I’m not partial to walkin’ into those trees without a little protection.”
The other deputy got on the phone, leaving Clancy to do as he pleased. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked. “How can you know where this man is… or that he’s dead?”
“Didn’t you hear those screams?” she asked.
Justin leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Clancy watched as she looked up and then smiled. His heart sank. Whatever dream he’d been having ended.
“Yes, ma’am, we all heard them.”
“Well, I saw them,” Laurel said. “It was awful.” Then she shivered and turned to lay her cheek against Justin’s chest.
“What am I missing here?” Clancy asked.
Justin held Laurel just a little bit tighter.
“She sees things,” Justin said.
It was then that Clancy remembered. Laurel Scanlon claimed she was a psychic. He wanted to laugh, but considering all she’d been through, he resisted the urge.
“Miss, with all due respect, any one of us could have made that claim after hearing the screams.”
“You won’t find his right arm,” Laurel said.
Chills ran up the back of Clancy’s neck.
“The hell you say,” he muttered.
Justin gave the man a warning look, then turned around.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you inside.”
19
Marie was coming down the stairs, carrying her shoes, when Justin and Laurel entered the house. Her dress was rumpled from lying in bed, and her hair, normally done up in a tidy bun at the nape of her neck, was in soft, loose curls all around her face.
“Anyone gonna tell me what’s goin’ on out there, or do I have to wait and read it in the paper?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll fill you in,” Justin said, then gave Laurel a quick kiss and pushed her toward the stairs.
“Go to bed, chère. I’ll be there soon.”
But Laurel didn’t move. She kept looking at Justin, locking on to his presence as her anchor to staying sane.
“Is it really over? Are they sure it’s over?”
Justin frowned, then pulled her back into his arms.
“Yes, baby, it’s over. Manville and his boys will have to come back another night to hunt the big cat, but the danger to you is over. You should know that better than us. You saw what happened to DeLane, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
He touched a curl against her forehead, then lifted it back in place with his finger. “So, then, it is done.”
“You’re gonna be fine, honey,” Marie said. “Soon everything will be back to normal, which means the only male that will be giving you any more trouble will most likely be Elvis.”
Laurel laughed, but it didn’t sound very happy. She kissed Marie good-night as she passed her on the stairs and kept walking without saying a word.
Marie frowned, then fixed Justin with a look that meant business.
“I slept through part of the action, so start talking.”
“Manville and his boys have gone home, although Harper is calling him to come back with his dogs and help them find what’s left of Trigger DeLane.”
“What happened to him?” Marie asked.
“The panther got him.”
Marie’s eyes widened, but she refrained from comment.
“Harper and two of his deputies are going to the west end of the property to wait for Manville and his dogs. The four FBI agents that Scanlon’s boss sent here are trying to figure out who to follow… Harper or Laurel.”
Marie frowned. “All I want to know right now is… are we safe?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then I’m going to sleep in my own bed,” she said. “Lock up before you leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” he reminded her.
She stared at him for a moment, then smiled.
“I knew that. I was just testin’ you.”
Justin’s shoulders slumped. “This whole night has been hell on earth for us. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for Laurel. Not only did she know some of this in advance, most of the time she was helpless to stop it.”
“God doesn’t give out gifts like hers to people who aren’t strong enough to handle them,” Marie countered.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Justin said.
“’Course I’m right,” Marie muttered.
He grinned, but the expression slipped when he saw her grimace with pain.
“Still hurting?”
“Some.”
“Would you allow me to carry you to your bed?”
She smiled primly.
“I suppose I might.”
He picked her up as gently as he would a baby, then started down the hall to her room.
“I’m still sorry I hurt you.”
Marie patted him on the cheek as he set her down on her bed.
“What you did probably saved my life, and I thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, then kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep tight.”
“I plan to. You might try to do the same.”
Justin stifled another grin. He knew she was digging at him for staying with Laurel.
“I would never hurt her,” he said softly.
“Oh, I know that, boy. Now go on with you. I need to get my sleep. And don’t forget to lock all the doors.”
By the time he had checked all the exits, swept up the broken glass in the kitchen and taped a piece of cardboard over the place where the pane had been, almost an hour had passed. He thought of Laurel, guessing that she’d probably long since gone to sleep, and turned out the lights.
As he started up the stairs, he could hear Marie snoring. He smiled to himself and was thinking how good it felt to be in a house where love dwelt, when it dawned on him that he was no longer alone.
He paused on the stairs, looking down into the foyer, then up to the second-floor landing, thinking he would see Laurel, but she wasn’t there. All was quiet, and nothing moved. Still, the sensation was slightly unnerving. Finally he tossed out his best answer without having heard a question.
“Bear with me,” he said. “I’m doing the best I can.”
There was a movement of air on the side of his cheek; then the sensation of being watched disappeared.
He didn’t know how loving Laurel was going to play out in his life, but he knew that there were going to be some big changes involved. There were things afoot in this house that he’d only read about in books. But if it took learning how
to live with ghosts to keep his woman, he was ready to give it a try.
***
Laurel had just hung up the phone when Justin walked in. He moved to her side, caressing her face with the palm of his hand, then leaned down and kissed her.
“Chère, I’m sorry I took so long. I put a temporary patch on the broken pane in the door, but it will have to be fixed in the morning. I didn’t think you’d still be awake, but I’m glad that you are.”
“I was talking to Dad’s doctor. He has a concussion, a broken nose and some cracked ribs, and they’re keeping a close watch to make sure he doesn’t come down with pneumonia. Other than that, he said Dad’s in surprisingly good shape for what he’s been through.”
“Did you get to talk to him?”
“No. They said that wouldn’t be possible before morning.”
He nodded. “We’ll leave tomorrow as soon as we can get someone to come stay with Marie.”
“Tula will do it,” Laurel said, and then her chin quivered. “This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t come to Mimosa Grove.”
Justin sat down beside her, then took her in his arms.
“Honey… sweetheart… don’t even think like that. Tonight, my heart stopped when that shot shattered the window in the door. You mean more to me than words can say. Besides the fact that I would be the loneliest man in Louisiana if you had not come to Bayou Jean, Marie would still be grieving for Marcella’s passing and wondering what to do with the rest of her days. Most likely Rachelle would have drowned, and Martin Lewis would have gotten away with murder.”
Laurel leaned against him, letting his words wash over her in warm, gentle waves. He brushed the tangles of her hair away from the side of her face, then began taking off her robe.
“Evil doesn’t follow certain people. Evil just is. It’s only a very special few who know how to see beneath its pretty disguises.”
He took off her shoes, then straightened the covers and tucked her in bed.
Laurel lay back, watching how the light reflected on his hair and thinking to herself that she’d never seen hair so black or eyes any softer a brown. She felt that she’d loved him forever.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?”
“As soon as I take a shower.”
“I’ll wait up,” she said, and then blushed when he bent down and stole her senses with a slow, hungry kiss.
“Whether you’re awake or asleep, we’ll still be making love, remember?”
She sighed, then nodded wearily.
He winked as he straightened, turned off all the lights except a small lamp near the bed, and began to undress.
Laurel watched as his shirt came off, then his shoes, then his jeans, and thought to herself that he was as nearly perfect a man as she’d ever seen.
“Justin?”
He turned, unashamed of his nudity. “What, baby?”
“Do you know how truly beautiful you are?”
He looked a bit taken aback, then smiled. Slowly. With promise in every nuance of his expression.
“Are you throwing out pretty compliments in the hope of getting laid?”
She grinned. “And if I was…?”
“Then you need to know it worked,” he said, and started toward her.
“I thought you were going to shower,” Laurel said as he pulled the covers from her body and started taking off her gown.
“I didn’t say when,” he growled, and tossed the nightgown off the side of the bed onto the floor.
“Justin…”
“Shh,” he whispered, and then straddled her legs.
At first he was just touching her body, but the more intense their lovemaking became, the more clear it became to Laurel that it was her heart that this man touched most.
For Justin, it was love, enhanced by the fear of how close he’d come to losing her tonight, that made the act more special than it had ever been before.
Her smooth golden skin was satin to the touch. Beneath it, he felt the pulse of her heartbeat as it raced through her veins, and then he remembered the sound of shattering glass. He heard her moan, then sigh, and was reminded of the terror in her voice only hours ago. Her hair was like fire spreading on the pillow, and with every curl that tangled in his fingers, he felt consumed.
He moved slowly down her body, taking his own sweet time in tracing the shape of her breasts and peaking her nipples into hard little pouts. He dipped his tongue into the depression of her navel, pushing, swirling, drawing to a point the connection between him and the ache between her thighs.
And with every soft, desperate gasp that slipped from between her lips, with every urgent sweep of her hands across his body, she pulled him under, too.
“Justin… enough… enough. I want you with me… in me. Please, baby, come inside.”
Her plea shattered what was left of his control. He rose up, then slid in, piercing her sweet warmth, and then lost his mind. For every hard, body-slamming thrust, she met him halfway, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, sending them both to heaven.
***
Clausing was finishing off a bite of bagel, washing it down with the last swallow of coffee in his cup, when his phone began to ring. It was six-fifty in the morning. He wasn’t due into the office before eight. Whoever was calling him at this time of day better have a good reason.
“Clausing,” he said, making no effort to disguise the irritation in his voice.
“Sir. It’s Clancy. Robert Scanlon was rescued from a crypt in St. Lorraine, Louisiana, where Trigger DeLane had left him to die. He’s in a hospital in New Orleans. Some injuries, but none life-threatening, although if they’d been much later, he would have suffocated. Then, last night, DeLane tried to kill Scanlon’s daughter, Laurel. He took a shot and missed, then ran into the nearby woods, presumably to try again later. There were hunters in the woods, and we think he was betting on Miss Scanlon and her family assuming it was an accident… a wild shot from the hunters. He did not, however, take Miss Scanlon’s… uh… for lack of a better word, psychic abilities… into consideration. She claimed she knew who did it, and where he’d gone.”
“Hold on! Hold on!” Clausing yelled. “This sounds like you’re trying to pitch a plot to the Sci Fi Channel. For God’s sake, you’re a federal agent for the United States of America. We do not gather intel from psychics.”
“If they’re anything like Miss Scanlon, then maybe we should,” Clancy snapped.
“I don’t want to hear anything except the bottom line. Do we have DeLane’s son in custody or not?”
“What we have, sir… is what’s left of him.”
Clancy heard a short intake of breath on the other end of the line, and then Clausing sighed.
“Are you telling me that Gerald DeLane is dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“At whose hands?”
“Not a who but a what, sir.”
“Goddamn it, Clancy! Quit dragging out this farce of a report and tell me what happened.”
“The hunters who were in the forest behind Laurel Scanlon’s property were looking for a panther that had strayed from its regular habitat. When Trigger tried to kill Laurel Scanlon, the hunt was called off. They pulled their dogs and left. Trigger was hiding out in the same woods. The cat got him.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Clausing muttered. “The press is going to have a field day with this. They’re already all over the fact that McNamara was taken out in prison by a Vietnam vet. They’re making the inmate out to be some kind of folk hero for saving our taxpayers the cost of a trial and incarceration. Now you’re telling me that McNamara’s partner in crime has been eaten by a wild animal? I can’t even begin to imagine how they’re gonna put a spin on this.”
“He wasn’t eaten entirely. Only his right arm. Just like Miss Scanlon said we’d find him.”
Clausing picked up the phone book and threw it across the room.
“I don’t want to hear another damned word about
Laurel Scanlon or her psychic abilities. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Clausing was pacing now, his thoughts racing with the twists and turns the case had taken.
“Okay… here’s what we’re going to do. McNamara is dead. DeLane is dead. General DeLane and his wife have already been through enough hell. There’s no need ruining his fine military career by dragging his son’s dirty laundry through this mess. I’m going to run this by the President, but the way I look at it, justice has already been served. So do not, under any circumstances, talk about DeLane’s part in the treason. Tell your men to forget everything they knew before they went to Louisiana. All the media needs to know is the general’s son died in a tragic hunting accident.”
Clancy frowned, but he knew better than to argue.
“It’s your call, sir,” he said.
Clausing gripped the phone as if he were gripping Clancy by the throat to make his point.
“That’s right. It is my call. I will expect a full report on my desk upon your return.”
“Sir. Yes, sir. And I have a question.”
“What?”
“About the report… do you want the truth… or do you want your version of the truth?”
“I want the truth, damn it. The file will be sealed. End of story.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clausing disconnected, then threw the phone across the room, in the same direction that he’d thrown the phone book. He grabbed his briefcase and his car keys from the hall table and took off out the door. It was going to be a long day at the office, and the sooner he started, the sooner it would be over.
The moment he got in his car, he reached for his cell phone and punched in a number. Moments later, his caller answered.
“Mr. President, this is Clausing. We need to talk.”
***
Cherrie Peloquin had changed her mind twice, delaying her trip home by days. But she knew the moment the cab turned down her old street and pulled up to her parents’ home that she’d made the right decision. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was gone, and if she didn’t look too closely in the mirror at the shorn pink hair and weird clothes, she could still believe that she was the same fresh-faced college graduate she’d been when she first left home to make her mark in the world.
