Regin was a client, albeit an unknowing one, but still a client. Nothing more, nothing less.
He couldn’t let her become more. ****
Regin’s prayers were answered when she woke the next day refreshed and relaxed after a deep dream-free sleep. It must have been nerves and silly paranoia she’d felt last night before going to bed. No one knew she was here other than Tatum and the two men on the island with her. Shawn Townsend was in prison without the benefit of parole. If something happened to change his status, someone would immediately contact her. No matter how much they pretended otherwise, no one had forgotten the threats he cursed on his way out of the courtroom the day he was sentenced, least of all her. If not for the occasional letter she received from the crazed man, she would have thought he’d forgotten about her.
The first note from Townsend had arrived shortly after his sentencing. The letter contained nothing more than a picture of a doll with a velvet ribbon circling its neck. Regin had immediately picked up the phone to call Damon, but forced herself to stop before the call could be completed.
She wouldn’t allow this man to control her actions and thoughts from inside his prison cell. He’d already taken too much control over her nights. There was no way in hell she would allow him to control her waking hours, too. She threw that note and each of the following away, never telling anyone of the constant fear building inside her.
She had hoped and prayed the letters wouldn’t find her after arriving in each new city. Despite her efforts, in every town and every city, no matter how small or large, they came. Each letter had the same message in various forms. They threatened her and anyone she might get close to. She’d learned to live with the fear, but after so many years and so many moves, the tension was wearing her down.
After her shower, she walked the short hallway to the kitchen, forcing a lightness to her step. She could smell coffee and the scent of bacon. Damon must have woken up early and been hungry. He knew there was no way Regin would cook. Her idea of breakfast was a bowl of cold cereal and a glass of orange juice.
She sped up her pace into the kitchen and stopped short upon seeing a second party standing calmly at the stove, flipping what looked to be pancakes.
“Morning, Duchess.” Damon called out from his seat at the table. “Meet Caprice.”
The dark skinned woman turned around at the introduction. She was a beautiful woman of undeterminable age. There were few wrinkles around her dark eyes and mouth, but they looked to have come from laughter more than hardship. Her black hair was pulled back in long tight braids. She was wearing a dress that billowed out along her body before neatly sweeping the floor. Her teeth sparkled white when she smiled and motioned Regin to the table. When she spoke, it was with the distinct Cajun accent so common here.
“Cher, you sit at the table while I get you a plate. We need to put some meat on ‘dos bones.” She bustled around the kitchen as if she’d been serving breakfast there for years. “A man don’t want a skinny chicken in his bed, no?”
Regin shot a glance toward Damon, who quickly turned his attention to the food on his plate.
“Ah, never you mind now, child. Caprice gonna fix you up right, Cherie. You don’t have nothin’ to worry ‘bout now.”
Caprice turned to set the plates on the table, and Regin was caught in her coffee colored eyes. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu enveloped her. She knew this Cajun woman from somewhere. There was something all too familiar about her steady gaze and musical voice. Chills ran over her body and Regin decided to leave well enough alone for now.
Picking up the coffee cup placed in front of her, she took a sip and was surprised to find it exactly to her liking. She peeked over at Damon who shrugged his shoulder as if to say, “Don’t ask me.”
The older woman made herself comfortable as she sat down at the table next to Regin and took her free hand into her dark one. “Now, all we have to do is figure out which man is trying to kill you, yes? Before it’s too late. Don’t want the same thing to happen as last time.”
With her heart pounding and the roar sweeping in her ears, she asked, “Why would someone want to kill me? What last time are you speaking of?”
Then it hit her. This woman with the soft voice and hands must know about the attack and trial. It had been splashed all over the newspapers for months. Great. Just what she needed, another loony on her hands thinking she could predict the future and wanting to save her.
For a price of course.
“Ah, Cher, there you go thinking again.” She patted Regin’s hand, which was still held within her surprisingly, strong grasp. “I’m not talking about that, and I don’t want to make money off you. I’ve enough to live on and buy the things I need. No,” she shook her head, looked right into Regin’s eyes, and held her hand up. “Wait your turn, young man,” she told Damon as she continued on.
“Evil’s what I’m about. The evil killed you once, tried again a few years back. It only grows stronger with time. You’ve got to destroy it before it destroys you.” Taking a deep breath and ignoring her hostess’s shocked gasp the woman continued. “He doesn’t want you to find each other, but even more, he doesn’t want you to trust again. He’ll do, say, and manipulate whatever and whoever to stop you. You already know the truth of this. He’s haunted you with more than nightmares these past years. If he wins this time, it will be over for good. No more second chances. Don’t let him win, Cherie. You must stop him before it’s too late.”
The woman whispered almost to herself. “Before it’s too late for all of us.”
Damon was already on his feet, reaching a hand out to haul the old woman out of the cabin.
Regin stopped him. “Wait.” Regin placed a restraining hand on his muscled forearm. “It won’t hurt to hear her out, Damon.”
He glanced at her hand and then up to her face. “Duchess, you want me to sit here and listen to some flake talk about the moon over Pluto, rabbit cults, frog curses, old toe nail clippings mixed with chicken blood while dancing naked in the moonlight listening to Don Williams music?” He shook his dark head in denial. “No way, I’m not sitting here listening to you get bamboozled.” He turned on his heel to walk out the back door.
The stranger’s voice stopped him in mid- stride.
“Don’t you walk out on me, Damon Augustus Taylor Kiriakis. Your mamma told you ‘bout things not to be explained,” she raised one shapely arm toward him. “Most of all she taught you to respect them even when they tend to scare you. Besides, I don’t think you’d look so good dancing in the moonlight. Naked or not.” She finished with a soft chuckle before her eyes darkened. “And for your information, there’s nothing wrong with Don Williams’ music.”
He was back at the table in a flash. His dark eyes hot with anger and the skin pulled tautly over his cheekbones, indicating his anger. “What do you know of my mother?”
“Child, many things I know. But a greater number of things I don’t, except maybe your dancing.” She waved a hand again and sat back at the table as if this were an everyday occurrence to her.
Damon stayed, but his pride allowed him only to move from the table and lean against the far wall and pin his coldest gaze on Caprice. “Fine, I’m here. Please continue, Madame.” He bowed contemptuously from the waist waving a hand toward her. “The floor is all yours. Dancing is optional.”
Caprice smiled and said, “I truly pray to the Blessed Mother to be there when you finally remember you have a beating, pumping, working heart within your chest. That woman’s going to knock, not just your socks off, boy, but your pants and shirt, too. Just you wait and see.” She laughed as if she pictured some strange woman wrestling Damon out of his socks, shoes, and three-piece designer suit.
When her laughter died away, her gaze locked with his. “She is going to despise you for everything you’re so darn proud of, for everything you think is so all-consuming important. The one thing she’s going to ask of you is the one thing you won’t know how to give. And it will co
st her.”
Caprice abruptly stopped speaking, remembering her audience. “Never you mind, Cherie, just remember Caprice tried to warn you.”
With those vague warnings and a distinct dirty look, the dark Cajon woman turned her attention once more to where Regin sat. Regin suddenly realized her eyes were wide and her mouth gapped open.
“Don’t worry, we gonna find out what the evil is doing this time before it’s too late.” She patted Regin’s hand where it lay by her now cold and forgotten cup of coffee. “It’s why I came here after all. I knew as soon as the sun rose that I would be here making you and that other one breakfast. You’ll need my help before the fight is over.”
This was the last conversation Regin would have imagined when she woke up that morning. Hell, she figured the worst part of her day would be facing Galen. Now she had a witch or something sitting at her kitchen table spouting off dire predictions to Damon, while calmly informing her evil was going to kill her...again. Yeah, she’d definitely had much better mornings than this. The worst part was she believed what this strange woman was telling her. Something in the old woman’s touch and the way she spoke, always looking straight into her eyes, seeing something deeper than the surface.
“May I ask what brought you here, Ms. Caprice?” Regin gently prodded while getting up from the table to refresh her cold coffee. She held the pot toward Damon. He shook his head, not taking his gaze away from the beautiful woman with the coffee-colored skin. He obviously didn’t trust her. And, if her spidey senses were correct, he sure as hell didn’t want Regin to listen and maybe form some type of bond with the crazy Cajun woman.
****
“It’s utter nonsense.” Damon wasn’t about to admit to anyone much less himself that the witch’s words had struck a chord. Never finding the right woman was the secret fear he held within himself; never allowing the light of day to touch it. Even amidst the disappointment of Tatum’s rejection, there had been a sense of relief. She had been what his family told him he needed and should want from a wife. She was beautiful, charming, intelligent, and successful. Everything he’d been told to want in a wife. He allowed their relationship to progress, not bothering to see beyond what Tatum had wanted him to see. A woman who wanted more emotionally and physically than he would or could provide.
He had finally admitted to himself months later that Tatum had found her perfect mate with Elliot Renoir. And in the darkness of night with no one around, he found himself jealous of the relationship they shared. The bond linking the two of them in such a personal way was one no one else could touch. He’d wondered what it would be like to have such a bond with one person. Knowing that, day after day, the same person would be there for you first thing in the morning and in the stillness of night.
He couldn’t imagine turning to one person for comfort, friendship, and love. He had a great relationship with Regin. She was the only person close to knowing everything about him. Still, there were things he didn’t feel comfortable sharing even with her.
No way was Caprice going to try and swindle him with false predictions and dire prophecies. He could protect himself; it was Regin he had to watch out for. She was too soft hearted. She would end up offering the woman more than money. More than likely, she’d offer the old woman a place to live, food to eat, and then stick a welcome mat across her forehead.
With those thoughts in mind, he resumed his leaning position in the doorway. His eyes, ever watchful, waited for the Cajun woman to make a mistake and ask for money or some other type of compensation. The minute she made her move, he’d have her butt out the door so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her.
Caprice must have sensed his thoughts, because once more he found himself the uncomfortable center of her attention. “I’ll leave when I’m done, Cherie, and not a minute before.”
He smiled at her. “I never said a thing.”
“You didn’t have to,” the Cajun retorted. “Isn’t it time you were heading back, too?”
He casually glanced to his watch, noting the time before speaking again. “I’ve got a few spare minutes.”
****
Damon appeared not at all happy with their early morning visitor, but she couldn’t seem to find the will to ask Caprice to leave. The words the woman spoke struck a familiar cord within her. She had stared evil in the eye and come out the winner. What if that hadn’t been the last time? Surely Caprice, with the knowledge of ages in her eyes, could answer the questions racing through her mind.
“Regin, ask what you will and answer I shall, if I can.”
She almost spit out the sip of coffee she had just taken. “Are you reading my mind?” she asked hesitantly. “Not that I think it’s possible,” she clarified.
The other woman laughed and patted her chilled hand once more. “No need to read your mind. Everything you think and feel is shown plain as day across your face.”
Regin didn’t believe her for a minute. In the past seven years, she’d learned to bury what she felt and show no reaction to events going on around her. This defense mechanism was one she’d become quiet adept at controlling. There was no way Caprice was reading anything on her face.
“You worry too much about things not important and not enough of those things which are.”
“Are you always this mystic early in the morning?” Regin questioned.
Caprice shook her head, making the long braids surrounding her face dance. Her white teeth gleamed brightly against her dark skin as she laughed. “You’ve never been a morning person, no?”
Even when the Cajun woman phrased a sentence to sound like a question, it came out as a statement of fact. “Why do I have the feeling you know the answer?” What was this woman doing to her?
“Maybe we all know the answers before we ask the questions, hmm?” she answered vaguely. “Maybe it’s only a way to confirm what we know?”
Regin shook her head. “Do you ever give direct answers to questions?” Why did she feel like she was stepping through a large minefield with every word that popped out of her mouth? Caprice had thrown her for a loop the moment she stepped into the kitchen.
Could it have been a coincidence she’d woken this morning and thought of Shawn Townsend? He was the only real evil she’d ever encountered in her life, and he had been more than enough. The malevolence Caprice spoke of sounded so much larger than just one man. It sounded like a presence beyond what she was aware of. Something more forceful, all consuming.
What was happening to her?
What did the crazy, beautiful woman sitting in her kitchen, staring at her as if she could read her every thought, have to do with any of it?
“You should trust your dreams, they often know more than you do,” the mysterious woman said unsmilingly. “See beyond the mask to the truth that lies within.”
Regin knew she wore the same dumfounded expression now as she did when someone tried to explain calculus to her. She just didn’t get it. “Dreams?” she questioned softly, trying to remember if she’d had any lately which could provide clues to the riddles she was drowning in.
Caprice nodded her head. “Dreams are the pathway our souls travel for lost thoughts.”
“This is getting way too deep for me so early in the morning.” It was best she decided to avoid wherever this discussion was headed. She really couldn’t take any more in-depth study of her subconscious, much less the source of evil.
“Don’t wait too long before you act. When Fate arrives, everything will begin,” she warned, her eyes growing darker.
“Fate can just keep knocking, I’m not answering,” Regin decided.
“Oh, child, when Fate arrives, there won’t be any knocking. She’s going to blow you out of the water.”
“Great,” she mumbled. “Why can’t I have a nice sweet Fate like everyone else?”
Again, the other woman nodded her head as if expecting the answer she’d received. “We’ll leave it for now. But remember, I’ll be ready when you call for me. Just find the lock an
d the key will come.”
“Lock? What lock?” Regin demanded.
“Think over what we’ve talked about. For every door, there is always a lock. For every lock, there is the key. There’s no door that can remain locked once you find the right key. Do you understand what I am saying, Cherie?”
Regin could feel the woman’s stare right into her soul, as if trying to gauge the effect she was having. Regin could do nothing but stare back. No words came from her mouth. She could not think to form them. What Caprice was saying shocked and scared her to her core. Not because it sounded too far-fetched, but because it sounded all too true and all too real.
Chapter Eight
Galen was not too surprised to watch Damon circle around Regin’s cottage and make his way toward the main house. He knew it was important that Regin’s friend have a few facts to start off with. Lifting his mug toward Damon, he said, “I’ve been expecting you. Coffee’s fresh. Help yourself.”
It took the other man a few minutes to grab a cup of coffee and make his way back to his host.
“So,” Galen started as he motioned to a recliner adjacent to his own. He winced at the pain in his ribs. “What else have you come to warn me off of?”
Instead of answering Damon, took a slow sip of his coffee. “I didn’t come to fight with you, Matthews.”
A black brow slanted up. “No?”
“No, I came to talk about Regin and a few things you might need to know about her.”
Galen shifted his position slightly, showing more interest than he wanted to admit. He was dying to find out what made Regin Neff tick. The answers were sitting right across from him. “Whatever you tell me can only help protect her.” Which was mostly honest, he congratulated himself. His interest had nothing to do with the fact he wanted to get her naked and screaming his name, or the strange response she provoked every time he thought of her, or even the strange intuitive way he seemed to know such private things about her.
Familiar Strangers Page 8
