by Jenna Ryan
Rosemary listened and commiserated with the old man for over two hours. Unfortunately, no Skeeter in sight meant there was no way for her to examine his issues objectively. And if she’d thought her head hurt yesterday, it was ready to fall off her shoulders now.
She escaped, finally, and took the clanking elevator to her room. The wraparound second-floor balcony overlooked the garden. While thunder rumbled and lightning flashed above the trees, she paced and mulled and opened her mind to anything and everything below. Which might or might not have been wise.
Within seconds, she discovered that a female vapor wanted to trade places with her in order to sleep with Tanner. So did one of the male vapors.
Uh, okay.
Somebody wanted a cigarette. Another wanted to go to Disney World and meet Mickey.
Wishes, dreams, hopes and disappointments slid past like silk threads in the breeze.
This humidity was hell on hair. Did frog legs really taste like chicken? Was anyone sure Papa Lucien couldn’t read minds? Because…
Hmm, not something she’d really wanted to know.
Like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, Rosemary stemmed the flow. Or rather she stopped intercepting snippets of it.
She would have turned her mind to Tanner, except she didn’t know where to go with that or, more correctly, how to deal with her feelings for him. They were as tangled and twisted as the garden below, maybe more so. The man was a walking conundrum. He was also opinionated, high-handed, blunt to the point of rudeness, and as Desdemona had so aptly put it, too damn sexy for his pants.
Pressing on a nerve in her neck, Rosemary’s eyes strayed to a stand of moss-covered trees near the water’s edge. Two men stood facing each other. She recognized Tanner instantly, but had to study the second one. She was considering using her mind when he turned and she realized he was bald. Tall, bald and, dammit, wearing head-to-toe black.
Her fingers strangled the wrought-iron rail. She hissed in a breath as everything inside her went white-hot. Then the heat drained away and left her cold, as if winter had swept in and stolen all the warmth from the bayou and her body.
Tanner was talking to Crucible. Meeting with him. In the dark. In secret. Outside the hotel where no one would see them.
No one except her.
To hell with being polite. Rosemary threw her mind toward them—and slammed into a pair of brick walls.
“Bastards.”
Shoving back, she sent them a blistering glare of resentment and hurt. Then she went into her room, grabbed her purse, her pack and her jacket, and slipped across the hall to Tanner’s door.
She found the keys for the Hummer on the floor next to a pair of boots.
“Pig,” she said, and kicked them under the bed before the sight of his personal belongings made her stop and reconsider what she’d seen.
He’d lied to her, the jerk. Indirectly, but he’d led her to believe he didn’t trust Crucible. Had he done that because he knew she didn’t? Because he knew Ben had specifically not sent her to Crucible the night he’d been shot?
With a sound like a snarl, she shoved aside the softer emotions that were trying to creep in.
It didn’t work. During her clanking descent to the first floor she realized that, yes, Ben had sent her to Tanner. But he hadn’t come right out and said she couldn’t trust Crucible. Not in so many words
Think, she ordered herself. Keep going, but think before you do something that could get you killed.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was in on this?” she whispered to Tanner in absentia.
Hoisting her pack, she started across the shadow-filled lobby. Was it possible Crucible had simply found them? Used some nebulous swamp connection to track them down?
“Well, hell.” Slowing, she grunted out an exasperated breath. “Why did I have to go there?”
Most of the way across the floor now, she replayed Ben’s final words.
Get to Tanner…
Absorbed, she stopped paying attention to her surroundings. The lapse cost her any chance she might have had to evade the hands that clamped on to her arms and jerked her roughly backward.
She fought instinctively, kicking and thrashing, using her elbows, but her captor’s hands were iron shackles. Before she could do real damage, the man—had to be a male—slapped a sweet-smelling cloth over her mouth and nose.
Rosemary heard the words, “Voodoo witch,” through a thick, spinning cloud. Then the floor tilted, the light in her head dimmed, and everything around her faded to black.
* * *
“You can glower at me all you want to, Tanner, it won’t change what has to be done.”
Crucible walked back and forth in a deliberate arc, leaving Tanner to smolder and follow him with only his eyes.
“You should have brought her in when I contacted you back in Deadman’s Swamp,” he continued. “But you were angry that it was possible for me to contact you at all. You thought we didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“Hoped,” Tanner said, still tracking him. “Never completely believed.”
“She doesn’t trust me.” Crucible regarded him through hooded eyes. “Why is that, I wonder? Is that your doing or Ben’s? She made a point of slipping away from me and mine, ergo my gut’s telling me Ben warned her off. Do you find that as intriguing a mystery as I do?”
Tanner kept a relaxed but ready grip on his rifle. “It’s no mystery, Crucible. If not you, then one of yours can’t be trusted. Or so Ben must have believed. You want to talk intriguing? That intrigues me.”
He saw it in the next flash of lightning. Far from being surprised by his remark, Crucible was turning it over in his analytical mind. He offered nothing back, however, merely blanked his expression and said, “Where is she, Tanner? Up at the Marie with Lucien DuCayne?”
Tanner held his gaze. “You’re not taking her.”
“No?” For the first time, amusement flickered in Crucible’s eyes. “I see. You think I came here alone, without proper backup. That would be extremely foolish of me, don’t you think?”
“Yes. I also think it’s exactly what you did. Because you have doubts of your own. Maybe not specific doubts, but enough of them that you were willing to take a calculated risk.”
The ever so slight thinning of Crucible’s lips caused Tanner’s to twitch. He adjusted his grip on the rifle. “We’ll call that a hit. You need to leave the bayou, Crucible, and let me finish what I started, what I have to do.”
A dark brow winged up. “Is this about Traynor?”
Tanner didn’t know if he would have answered that question or not. Either way, the chance was lost to him when he heard a soft thwack and saw Crucible go down.
Cursing, he dropped, too.
More bullets flew past, a silent barrage of them. One of them nicked his left forearm. Another passed right through.
“Nice try, old friend,” he said, and with a glance in Crucible’s direction, made himself part of the swamp.
* * *
Rosemary was drowning in sticky, black molasses. Not swimming, not floating, but trapped inside it, with no idea how she was managing to breathe.
Very slowly, the stickiness dissolved until only the black remained. And shafts of screaming pain fierce enough to slice her skull in two.
“Are you awake?”
The drawl that slithered in sounded like her GPS. Words digitally recreated in a smooth masculine tone. Not that she really cared when all she could think about was a merciful rescue by the nearest guillotine.
“I’m not a patient person, Rosemary. I said, are you awake?”
She set her teeth. “I’m working on it.” Her eyes told her nothing, and there was no chance of using her mind right now. “Are you the Reaper?”
“You don’t know? How interesting. Not quite as perceptive as your great-grandmother, are you? Or is the chloroform still fogging your brain?”
“Maybe.” She struggled to focus. “Where are we? Not in the hotel.”
<
br /> “I believe they gutted fish in this nasty little shack. Or perhaps it was alligators.” Something glinted when lightning flashed through a small, high window. “Can you read me now, Rosemary? Do you know what I want?”
She tried several times. “No.”
“Ah, well, I do have a rather strong mind myself.”
And a distinctly smug quality to his digitally altered voice.
A shudder that was as much revulsion as undiluted terror made her heart beat hard and fast. “You’re Leshad.”
“I am. Was that a deduction?”
Had that glint been a gun? Although she wasn’t bound, Rosemary sensed he’d kill her if she so much as breathed wrong. So she didn’t. “Yes. I’m not adept at pushing through mental barriers.”
She heard the delicate guile in his simple response. “Yet.”
“My great-grandmother taught Madeleine Lessard how to use her gift, her second sight. Something about their mental abilities frightened you, didn’t it?”
“Annoyed me. Always keep your facts straight, Rosemary.”
“Your ‘annoyance’ spread. If they had the sight, maybe their sisters did, as well. Is that right?”
“To some extent. Power descends through bloodlines. Female bloodlines.”
“You’re afraid of women.”
“They annoy me.”
Lightning flashed and revealed another glint. “I can’t see you, Leshad, not in any way. Psychic ability can also bypass generations. Twila’s daughter, my grandmother, didn’t inherit her mother’s gift. My own mother did, but having it drove her insane.”
“Did it indeed?”
“Is that what these calling card murders are all about? You have anyone killed that you think might be able to violate you psychically?”
“Not anyone, Rosemary, certain ones. And don’t forget, many people who have nothing in their heads except useless thoughts and straw have also received cards.” The amusement returned. “A man has to eat, after all.”
“A man…” The truth of his statement hit home, and she stared unbelieving into the blackness ahead. “Holy shit.” Panic coiled in her stomach. “You have innocent people killed for profit.”
“That’s the business end of things, Rosemary. But there’s a personal side to some of the murders. You and your great-grandmother, among others, fall into the personal category. Sean Tanner’s expendable, of course, as is that bothersome old woman who runs Mad Mama’s shop. The wheelchair-bound hotel dweller? Only if I see him as a threat. His idiot son, however, will most definitely die.”
“And Crucible?”
“Ah, yes, now there’s a question.”
“But not an answer.”
“Do you answer every question you’re asked? Aren’t you just the tiniest bit curious about your own fate, Rosemary?”
She held tight to a veneer of calm that was crumbling quickly. “I assume I’ll be joining my great-grandmother, my great-great-aunt, Madeleine and her sister.”
“You certainly will. But first I have a task for you.”
“You want me to do you a favor before you kill me?”
“Before I have you killed, Rosemary. Facts, straight, always.”
Astonishment at his gall breached her fear. “Why would I do anything for you knowing you’re going to kill me—have me killed—anyway? You want a favor, Leshad, you need to offer a reward. A really good one.”
“Oh, I plan to. First, though, you need to understand that, for all my faults, I’m a man of my word. Do you believe that?”
“I’m not—maybe.”
“Believe it, Rosemary, and listen to me. Carefully.” Far from sounding amused now, the smooth tone went granite hard. “Human beings can die quickly and with minimal pain. Conversely, their deaths can be drawn out ad infinitum. Even with your talent, you can’t begin to envision the agony I’ve seen inflicted on individuals who refuse, for whatever reason, to cooperate. Am I making myself clear?”
“If I don’t do what you want, you’ll torture me.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. That would be ungentlemanly of me. I’d have to be pushed extremely hard to resort to that sort of crude behavior. No, you’ll die swiftly, one way or the other.” The verbal smile, oily and reptilian, crawled back in. “But Tanner won’t.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tanner reentered the Marie via a delivery hatch. It opened into the original laundry room that still housed two wringer washing machines and an icebox, circa 1920. He found a rumpled sheet and tore off a long strip to wind around his bleeding arm. As bandages went, it would do.
Music from a lonely saxophone reached him through an air vent. He heard muted thunder, saw flashes of lightning and let the darkness settle around him.
He needed to locate Rosemary before the Reaper got hold of her, or worse, took her out. Time, he knew, was paramount.
He couldn’t hear Lucien, or anyone, moving about. Even the elevator stood in silence.
It felt—unnatural.
He waited another moment, then slipped into the access corridor. The saxophone was louder here, but still muffled by distance. She’d be upstairs by now, he thought. Not happy, but not in the Reaper’s sights. He hoped.
Nothing and no one stirred as he made his way toward a stairwell he’d probably have to shoot open. Lucien was funny about stairs. He didn’t want Skeeter using them. Meant he couldn’t slink in and out undetected. Tonight, the hotel had power. So it was a near certainty the doors would be sealed.
He tried the closest one. As expected, it was locked. Cursing the delay out loud, he pulled the Glock from his jeans and a silencer from one of his wristbands. He was securing it when he heard a soft click to his left. Hinges creaked and a large hand snaked out to grab the ankle of his boot.
Looking down, he spotted an open wall panel. And someone bellying out of the hidden chamber behind it.
Irritation rose. “Let go of me, Skeeter. What are you doing here?”
“Don’t know.”
The dull mumble said it all. Tanner crouched. “Mushrooms or weed?” he asked.
“Don’t know.”
“So, nothing new there. Back off, Skeeter. I’m in a hurry.”
Skeeter regarded him, head bobbing. “Voodoo witch.”
Already on his feet and taking aim at the lock, Tanner paused. “What about that?”
“Voice told me she came to get Pa. Gonna lure him to Hell. He said she was sent from there.”
Going to his haunches again, Tanner took him by the shoulders. A glimmer of lightning revealed lax features, bleeding scratches and stoned eyes. “Did you do something to Rosemary?”
The stoned eyes stared into his. “Took her.”
Shit! “Where?” Tanner shook the dazed man. “Come on, Skeeter. Where did you take her?”
“Don’t know.”
“Fuck that.” Tanner shook him again until his head snapped back. “Where?”
A hand, also scratched, flapped. “Rollie’s shack. Voice came out of the dark. I did what it told me to, Tanner, for Pa. But then there was lightning, and I saw a gun, and so now I’m thinking I did a bad thing. Got away, but whoever was talking’s gonna come for me with his gun, I know it.”
“He won’t stop coming either, Skeeter. The only way to save yourself is for me to get him before he gets you.”
Skeeter’s head continued to bob. “You like her, and I like you. Sort of like you. Don’t know him. But I couldn’t let Pa go to Hell.”
Tanner released him. “Anything happens to Rosemary, you’ll be the one going to Hell. Get up.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re coming with me to Rollie’s shack.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“You don’t get up, I’ll kill you.”
“I can’t feel my feet.”
“Then you can crawl.” When Skeeter didn’t move, Tanner shoved the Glock into his throat. “Now.”
“Yeah. Sure. Now.” Before he stood, however, he grabbed Tanner’s wrist. “I fre
aked, Tanner. If Pa went away, maybe he wouldn’t come back, then what would I do?”
Tanner slammed a lid on the pity that stirred inside. “Papa Lucien’s not going anywhere, just we are. Take me to Rollie’s shack.”
“Voice said he wouldn’t kill her.”
Tanner hauled him to his feet, pressed him to the wall. “Voices lie, Skeeter.” He showed the other man his teeth. “But I don’t.”
* * *
The last thing Rosemary saw before the blackness rushed in again was another quicksilver glint. The last thing she heard was a satisfied and still-disguised voice. “You did well, Reaper. I put her back under. Wait twenty minutes, then come and get her ready for the trip. I’m leaving now.”
Time passed, it must have. But the only thing Rosemary knew was that the molasses felt even stickier this time around and the throbbing in her head made coherent thought virtually impossible.
“Good girl, Rosemary. You’re nice and woozy. Head’s full of cotton wadding, isn’t it? You won’t be giving me any trouble for quite some time.”
When she tried to open them, Rosemary’s eyes rolled back. Her mind slid into another realm.
Nothing of the swamp lived here, she realized dizzily. Dust from a sandstorm made her sneeze, and there were bombs exploding everywhere she looked.
“War’s hell, kiddo.” The man who spoke sounded vaguely familiar. She couldn’t put a face to his voice, but still, familiar.
She saw Ben, then Tanner, who’d been hot even as a SEAL. Headband, helmet, assault rifle, kill-or-be-killed gleam in his dark eyes. Mmm, yeah, so hot.
A third man stood just out of range. He saw something move, whipped up his rifle and fired.
Snipers fell from the trees like leaves. All of them had Billy the doll’s laughing face. Okay, that was creepy.
“Some joke,” the man with the familiar voice muttered. “Bastard doll.”
Rosemary had no idea where she was, but she knew she was being manipulated, lifted and lowered, rolled and cinched with bands and buckles.
