by Jenna Ryan
“You’re doing well, Lieutenant.” The gauze bandage she was inspecting. doubled up when he looked at it.
She saw him frowning and nudged him back down. “If you’re trying to will one of the bandages away, Ryder, it won’t work. You took two bullets. The first one passed right through. I had to dig the second out.”
His gaze shot to hers, but her expression told him nothing.
“It’s only been a few hours since we got here,” she said. “I gave you some bourbon I found in a cupboard. If you want more, I’ll get it. Otherwise, you should probably… Yes, well, there you go. Sleep it off, Ryder. Just don’t go under for too long.”
He didn’t want to go under at all. Better to see her face than the shadowy features of a human predator swimming in his head. A predator who wore a cloak of invisibility and was anonymous to everyone.
Except Mia.
* * *
She watched him through the night and for much of the following day. She slept only when exhaustion made it impossible for her to stay awake.
She discovered three Humphrey Bogart DVDs on a low shelf and let them play all the way through. She prowled and poked in cupboards and drawers. She ate some of the food Desdemona had sent along and listened for telltale creaks on the stairway outside.
The thunder and lightning came and went. Fog rolled in and out, and in again. But most disturbing of all, on three separate occasions when her eyes passed over a cloudy wall mirror, she swore she glimpsed Billy the doll’s face.
Now that, Mia reflected, was creepy, B-movie special effects at their surrealistic best. Or worst. She supposed it depended on how she viewed the glimpses.
A weak beam of light arced through the room while she was checking on Ryder. She heard a distant creak, felt her heart thump and went to the window to look out. She couldn’t see the water, but this was a shack after all, and old wood tended to creak.
“What time is it?”
Ryder’s unexpected question sent her heart straight up into her throat. She spun, caught the window ledge behind her and clenched her jaw to contain a scream. Apparently, old cots creaked too.
Determined, she relaxed her grip. “Feeling better?”
“Marginally.” He swung his legs to the floor before capturing her eyes. “You did a good job, Mia.” Standing, he tested his balance. Then, still holding her gaze, he started slowly toward her. “I’ve had bullets removed in hospitals and been in a lot more pain for a lot longer afterward.”
“Call it a selfish act of desperation, and don’t come any closer,” she warned. “I’m still not entirely sure I’m talking to you.”
He ignored her and continued his advance. Which was an unfair tactic, in Mia’s opinion. The man couldn’t have looked more gorgeous, all tousled and unshaved, with his red shirt open and loose, his eyes the color of old gold, his feet bare and that far-too-tempting mouth neither smiling nor frowning.
“Madeleine Lessard was my great-aunt,” he said evenly. “She owned this place. She was Desdemona’s childhood friend. She also owned the antique shop before her death.” He motioned sideways with his head. “I saw the photo albums in front of the television when I woke up.”
“I found them in the cupboard with the bourbon.” Mia kept a wary eye on him. “So your great-aunt, Madeleine Lessard, was the first of six victims. First to die, first to get a silhouette calling card.”
“Yes.”
“And Madeleine’s sister, Helene Dubose? Not another great-aunt, I’m thinking. Your grandmother maybe?”
He nodded. “Helene wasn’t gifted with ‘the sight,’ but over time, and for reasons I never had a chance to hear, she became increasingly convinced that Madeleine’s death had something to do with a man she called ‘Leshad.’ That wasn’t his name, it’s just what she called him. Whoever the guy is, he either killed them both or had them killed, and it eats away at me more and more every day that I didn’t listen as closely as I should have to the person who raised me and loved me, and who I loved more than anyone in the world.”
His eyes glittered with anger, regret, sorrow and a dozen other emotions Mia couldn’t decipher. Pushing off from the sill, she regarded him steadily. “So what you’re saying is, Crucible and his agents walked in and snatched an investigation, one that was personal and meant a great deal to you, out of your hands. Out of the hands of the entire New Orleans’s police force in fact. Madeleine was your great-aunt, it was your case, and he slammed the investigative door in your face.”
“Pretty much.”
“Obviously, you refused to accept that.”
“Obviously. But I got nowhere investigating on my own, and I knew Crucible wasn’t doing any better. How could he? The murderer left a card and a voodoo doll on Madeleine’s body. Where do you take that?”
“Dog with a bone,” Mia murmured, and saw his lips curve into a humorless smile.
“You could say. Then my grandmother died, and it became a fever in my blood. No way was the bastard who ended her life going to crawl back under a rock until whatever or whoever drives him to kill struck again. I was going to find the guy this time and make him pay.”
“And to find him, you used me. I saw enough of his face the night he killed Helene that he was bound to want me dead. You knew he’d follow me wherever I went to make sure I couldn’t identify him.”
Although she half-expected Ryder to deny it or use anger as a defense, he did neither. He simply continued his inexorable advance until he reached the narrow window where she stood. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he stared into her eyes.
“I did use you, Mia. I knew my grandmother’s killer would come after you. I made sure of it by making it possible for him to follow us.”
She’d been about to ease him back, but his last remark shocked her into letting the hand she’d planted on his chest remain where it was while her mind ran the words again.
“You made it possible for him how, exactly?”
“Despar.”
Mia scrambled through her memory. “Sergeant Despar was in charge of the team of officers who guarded me in New Orleans. You…” Her eyes narrowed to slits under her bangs. “What did you do, Ryder?”
“What you’re thinking, I imagine.”
He said it calmly, but with an underlying edge of contempt. Whether it was directed at himself, Despar or both of them, she couldn’t tell. And didn’t care, as her blood began to boil.
“You,” she said clearly, “are almost as big a bastard as the man who killed your grandmother.” The hand on his chest shoved him away. “Sergeant Despar is a crooked cop, isn’t he? And you knew it. What did you do, give him a detailed itinerary of our trip?”
Ryder wisely maintained the distance she’d placed between them. “I let him plant a tracking device on my truck.”
“You let him…” Breaking off, Mia raised both hands, fingers spread. She walked away, then back and fought to keep her voice level. “I don’t think there’s a jury in the country that would convict me if I shot you where you stand.”
“Look, I didn’t—”
“You set me up.” She felt cracks beginning to form in the veneer of her composure. “You let a killer follow us to a diner in the middle of nowhere. Then, while you and the deputy sheriff congratulated yourselves on capturing a pair of armed robbers, you let that killer grab me and haul me into the swamp.”
Afraid she’d start to shake if she didn’t move, Mia paced a wide circle. “He said he was going to feed me to the alligators, but he changed his mind.” She shot him a lethal look. “Dead sure was better, so he pulled a gun on me.”
“I know what he did, Mia.”
“How did you know? Were you watching? Calculating? Anticipating? Or did you just get lucky because you were distracted, checking the tracking device to see that it was working properly?”
She wouldn’t shout, she promised herself. She would not raise her voice or slap him or poison him with the cyanide she’d seen on the shelf in his great-aunt’s shed.
“You could shoot me,” Ryder suggested.
Forcing her thoughts into line, Mia blanked the features he’d obviously read. “If I wanted you dead, really wanted it, I wouldn’t have dug the poacher’s bullet out of your side. I’m not a big fan of blood, and I’ve seen more than my share of it in the past few…” A low creak reached them from below. “… days,” she finished softly.
Her eyes whipped to the window. But only until Ryder pushed her beneath the level of the sill. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she.
A second creak rode upward on the fog, then a third.
“Got a visitor,” Ryder murmured. “Where’s my gun?”
“On the chair next to the cot.”
“Count the creaks, Mia, so we know how close he’s getting, and stay down.”
“Lights,” she said, reaching for the switch to her right.
Ryder turned off the TV. Immediately, the shadows that had been playing on the walls vanished. Only darkness remained as Mia dragged a flashlight from his pack.
“Here.” Returning, he handed her his backup gun. “Pax for the moment, okay? You want to kill me later, I won’t stop you, but I don’t think either of us wants to let this guy settle our differences for us.”
Nodding, she continued to count. Their visitor was climbing faster now. She didn’t see a light, so he must be doing it blind. Although her breath wanted to hitch, she controlled it and carried on with her count.
Ryder pulled her behind the door, shielded her with his body.
“If you move too fast, you’ll start to bleed,” she cautioned.
“If I move too slow, we’ll die. Give me a number.”
“Fourteen. He has to know we’ll be expecting him.”
“One way in,” Ryder reminded.
The pulse at the base of Mia’s throat beat so hard she almost fumbled the numbers. But she picked them up again at twenty.
Resting her forehead on Ryder’s shoulder, she whispered, “You were out for a long time. I didn’t just go through the cupboards and watch old movies—twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty—I noticed something when we were climbing up here. When I checked it out, I realized—”
On the heels of the thirty-third creak, a loud clatter erupted. They heard a shout, followed by a thud, followed by a shocked cry and a splash that could have been anything—rock, plant or creature—hitting the water blow.
“There was a trap built into the staircase.” Eyes closed, she finished her earlier statement. “Your great-aunt was a very smart lady.”
“What did you do?” He stood with his Glock pointed at the ceiling as he glanced out the window. When she joined him, he turned and, still holding his gun, took her by the arms. “Mia, what the hell did you do?”
“I unlocked five of the treads and removed them from the staircase.” The relief washing through her was so great, she actually felt lightheaded. “He wasn’t using a flashlight, so he didn’t see they were gone.”
Ryder stared. “The killer fell. From the thirty-whatever step into the swamp.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.” Laughing softly, he set his forehead on hers. “Talk about deterring unwelcome visitors.”
“It was Madeleine’s idea. I only went with what she originally set up.”
He kissed her temple, shook his head again. “That was the best takedown I’ve seen in years.” His eyes sparkled. “Let’s just hope it was the killer on those stairs and not one of the neighbors.”
* * *
He cracked his head when he hit the water. On a bulging root, he thought. Except he couldn’t think, not clearly, and that pissed him off, because—well, because, damn it—swamp, fog, alligators.
Less than five feet from where he landed, he spied a small boat. Not his, but who cared? He crawled into it, swore long and hard, and finally flopped back with his arms spread eagled over the bench.
“Untie the line,” a voice in his head whispered. “Hide until your mind clears. That cop up there, he’s got a big gun and a bigger purpose. You’re gonna need all your wits and guile to make the problem those two have become go away.”
Funny that his inner voice would develop a Creole accent, but then he was so freaking woozy he’d probably be conjuring Elvis’s ghost in a minute.
“That’s right, you just lay back and drift on the water,” the voice urged. “Boat will take you where it takes you. Lots of time later to do what’s necessary. Gotta be strong and whole, else you might get muddled up and kill the wrong person. So easy to get muddled up when the mind starts playing nasty tricks.”
Yes, very easy. He’d kill them later, he decided. He closed his eyes to slow the spinning blackness in his brain. But mostly he closed them so he wouldn’t see the face of the ugly wooden doll that seemed to be suspended directly above the boat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You didn’t mention neighbors.” Mia shoved extra jeans and tees into one of the backpacks. “I’m fine with the idea of sending a murderer into a snake-and-alligator-infested swamp, but the boy next door, not so much.”
Opening his shirt, Ryder accepted the twinges of pain as a good thing. He examined the bandage Mia had wound around his torso. No sign of blood so far. “Next door’s over a mile away,” he told her. “It wasn’t a neighbor.” He buttoned and tucked. “We can’t leave food behind. Pack any excess clothing and shoes in your suitcase, and I’ll come back for them when you’re home and safe.”
A doubtful, “Hmm,” was all he got from her.
He accepted that as well and counted himself fortunate that she hadn’t pushed the bullet in deeper instead of pulling it out.
“Ready.” She snapped the lock on her case, tucked it into the closet and hoisted a bulging pack onto her shoulder. “Did you get the treads back on?”
“Yeah.” His lips quirked. “I went down to the dock afterward. Boat’s there, killer’s not.”
“That you could see.”
“Don’t worry, he’s gone.” Ryder picked up the food, hissing in a breath when a jar bumped his wound. “He took our boat instead of his.”
“He took…? Okay, that’s it.” She dropped her pack. “I’m staying here.”
“Mia, he didn’t rig it to blow.”
“And you know that because?”
“I went over it, stem to stern. Not an explosive device in sight. Besides, his boat’s no more seaworthy than the one we used.”
“You’re just full of good news today, aren’t you?” She scanned the room for missed items. “Fine. Next question. Where are we going?”
He picked up her pack. “Back,” he said simply. “To New Orleans.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because my great-aunt and grandmother are dead, and you’re not. I want to keep it that way.” Amusement almost kindled at her doubtful expression. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe. Is this sudden turnabout payback for that?” She pointed to his injured side.
“Nope.” He settled the wide strap on her shoulder. “It’s me trying to unscrew what I screwed up.”
“That’s—Hmm.”
“Yeah, you said that before. As long as we’re making a list, there’s also this.” Catching her chin, he lifted her mouth to his and kissed her until a warning bell went off in his head. He reluctantly pulled away. “I want this guy, Mia, but I want you safe more. Grogan really is the best in the business.”
Smiling for the first time since—Ryder couldn’t remember when—Mia stepped up, took his face in her hands and set her mouth on his.
If he’d reacted before, he damn near melted down now. She was still smiling when she drew back and tapped a finger to his lips.
“Best is a highly subjective word, Lieutenant, with numerous applications. In my opinion, there are some areas where Agent ‘Rogue’ Grogan would probably fall painfully short.”
Right. Grogan. Ryder had to ram his thoughts in order and reset his priorities. Getting Mia to New Orleans in one living,
breathing piece topped the list.
Beginning with a boat that wasn’t theirs and the fervent hope that when he started the motor, it wouldn’t blow both of them the rest of the way to hell.
* * *
“Ricky brought you back here from all the way deep in the swamp and didn’t go chasing after the bad bastard who killed his grandmother and great-aunt?” Desdemona regarded Mia with a blend of astonishment and delight. “Well, ain’t that a kick in the head?”
“Like the song says,” Mia agreed. “But I’m still not sure how it would have gone if he hadn’t gotten shot.”
“Because him communing with the dark side of himself gave you an opportunity to explore and discover.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your friend was his great-aunt? Or that she was the first victim in this nightmare?”
“It wasn’t my place to reveal such things.” Desdemona led the way through her cluttered shop. “Ricky had a plan. Whether I agreed with it or not, I knew what he was trying to do.” She regarded Mia over her shoulder. “He loved Madeleine, but Helene was the most important and special woman in his life until you came along.”
“I understand that, Desdemona. My grandmother—” She broke off, backtracked. “Until I came along?”
“Boy has feelings for you.”
“He told you that?”
“Didn’t need to tell me. I got eyes. I can see.”
So could Mia, and right then, what she saw was complete confusion in her mind…And no Billy in his chair.
She stopped short. “Desdemona?”
“Boy’s got feelings. That’s all I’m gonna say. You want more, you ask the horse’s mouth.”
Mia made a visual sweep. “The rocking chair’s empty.” She stared at it. “Why is the rocking chair empty? Where’s Billy?”
Desdemona flapped a dismissing hand. “Oh that Billy, he left on some adventure or other a few days back.”
Only Mia’s eyes rose. “Billy’s a doll. How could he leave?”
“How could I have one son who’s slick as spit and two others who don’t got a single slick thought between them? Life’s got its funny ways.”
