The Jenna Ryan Shadows Box Set Volume 1: Black RoseBlood OrchidScarlet Bells

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The Jenna Ryan Shadows Box Set Volume 1: Black RoseBlood OrchidScarlet Bells Page 44

by Jenna Ryan


  Very weird.

  She heard a grunt and took a random swing at the face of the man who made it.

  “Bitch,” he growled, knocking her arm away.

  No cigar, but worth a shot when you were standing on the threshold of death.

  Except she wasn’t, not yet. Leshad wanted a favor.

  “Screw you, Leshad,” she mumbled. “I don’t do favors for homicidal assholes.”

  “I’m not Leshad, honey, and if he wants a favor, you’ll do it, or Tanner’ll be dog meat.”

  “Will anyway.”

  “Damn straight, he will. Difference is, you say no, he’ll be alive when the dogs start gnawing on his bones. Up to you, though. Either way, it’s no skin off mine. There.” Something constricted around her ribs. “That should do it.” A finger poked into her sternum. “I’d breathe mighty carefully if I were you. Hiccup, and you could blow.”

  Miniature daggers attacked her brain from every angle. She couldn’t think, couldn’t pull anything together in her mind. “Water,” she murmured.

  “No can do,” her captor told her. “I want you good and groggy for the first leg of our trip.”

  That again. Their trip. Where? Why? Some place she could do the favor Leshad wanted?

  “Go to Hell,” she slurred and tried to strike the man above her again.

  “Knock it off.” He batted her arm away. “You’re starting to bug me.”

  Must have a low tolerance level if a few off-target slaps made him angry.

  Out of the boiling black, a face swam into her head. Billy’s mouth opened in a laugh. One of his eyes appeared to wink.

  Rosemary curved her lips into a wispy smile. “Hey, Billy. How’s it going? How’s Desdemona?”

  Did his little thumbs go up? If they did, her mind was a scrambled mess.

  “You need to shut it,” the man hauling her to a sitting position ordered. “I’ve had enough of frigging dolls for one lifetime.”

  “Aw. He doesn’t like you, Billy.” Rosemary rested her head on the wall, cracked her eyes open to inky darkness. “Maybe you should shoot him.”

  “Screw the damn doll.” The man hauled her forward. “Now get up. We’re leaving.”

  Nope, the Reaper didn’t like Billy, didn’t even like a reference to him. And it was the Reaper pushing her around. She couldn’t see his face with her mind or her eyes, but it was him. She saw the name etched in black against a backdrop of steel wool.

  So, so bizarre.

  The sweet smell of chloroform assailed her again. Briefly, but it kept her brain too foggy to think. Did that mean he feared her, or did he simply want to keep her in a compliant state?

  He tied her hands in front of her and dragged her to her feet. The arm he snugged around her waist flexed. “You do as I say, Rosemary, or we’ll both blow.”

  Okay, now about that. When she breathed, something obstructed her oxygen intake. She glimpsed thick bands, like seatbelts. Bands, a modified flak jacket, and…

  “Shit!”

  Her head shot up, slammed into the Reaper’s chin. He swore and clapped the cloth back over her face.

  “You are really pissing me off, Rosemary. I want you to mellow out and give me your best impression of a rag doll.”

  She made her body go limp and at the same time released the breath she’d been holding. Play the game, she reminded herself. Air in, air out. Think, think, think.

  He shoved her through a door and into the night. Slivers of thought eked out between cracks in his mind.

  Billy did rattle him, and the rattling made him angry. Leshad wasn’t someone he wanted to cross or tangle with. He’d get that moron Skeeter later. Shouldn’t have let him escape. But swamp rats knew their home turf better than outsiders. Advantage: swamp rats. Speaking of… Desdemona’s face came and went. Oh, yeah, he’d deal with her, too.

  Well, no, he wouldn’t, Rosemary resolved, still fighting to clear out the mental clouds. If she had to, she’d blow herself and the Reaper up first. And about that…

  The idea of blowing made horrible sense, considering. The bands, the buckles, the flak, the weight. She was a walking bomb!

  Detonated how, she wondered?

  When they reached a slippery incline, she stumbled. Not deliberately, but she noticed the arm around her waist cinched tighter.

  “Boom,” she murmured, and felt a giddy spurt of humor in spite of herself. “Too bad, Leshad.”

  “Shut it,” the Reaper said, “and pick up your feet. You’re not that out of it, and my shoulder—the one where your bayou bitch friend shot me—still hurts like hell.”

  He was worried, Rosemary perceived. Scared on some fundamental level, but, oddly enough, not just of Leshad.

  Her own thoughts swung in wild, looping arcs. They refused to settle, kept circling back to the man behind her, and of course, to Tanner.

  Where was he? Had the Reaper wounded him? Killed him?

  No, she’d feel that, like a gaping hole where an aura should have been.

  “I said pick up your feet,” the Reaper snapped.

  “Tanner,” she murmured.

  He hauled her upright. “What about him?”

  “Not sure,” she lied. “Might be dead.”

  “Real-ly.” She could tell by the way he drew the word out that the idea pleased him. “Now that would be a stroke of excellent luck.” He shook her lightly as they walked. “Any way for you to be sure?”

  “Aura’s fading.” She kept her response slow and slurry. “Holes in it.”

  “Better and better. We’re old friends, Tanner and me. He sees me as a traitor. I see myself as a good man of business.”

  “Scrooge said that to Jacob Marley’s ghost.”

  “Your mind’s really hooped, isn’t it? Facts is facts, though, Rosemary. Leshad wants, Leshad pays, Leshad gets. The more he gets, the better he pays. You’re a major coup.”

  “No, I’m really not.”

  He squeezed her midsection. “Try Tanner’s aura again.”

  “You don’t trust Tanner.”

  “He’s a tricky bastard.”

  Her sigh emerged as a laugh. “You said that in my dream.”

  “You had a dream about me?”

  “Nightmare. Tanner was waiting for you, ahead in the dark. You couldn’t see him.”

  She heard a snort, but raw nerves danced underneath it. “Tanner can’t shoot for shit in the dark. That’s one of my strengths.” He paused. “Ahead of me, you say? Ahead’s a bad play. But then Tanner’s always been about strategizing on the fly. Never makes any actual plans.”

  “Not like you, huh?”

  He didn’t answer, but gave her another squeeze. “Could be you’re starting to sound a little too wide awake there, Rosemary.”

  Was she? “Feels like dreaming,” she told him, and let a bleary smile slide in. “Hey, Tanner.”

  The Reaper swore, raised his gun. “If you are out there, Tanner, and you move, you’re a dead man. You’re dead anyway, but I can make it happen sooner rather than later.”

  “Kill Tanner,” Rosemary said, “and I won’t be doing any favors for Leshad.”

  “The hell with that, lady. Push comes to shove, Leshad’ll torture you, and keep right on doing it until you submit.” The Reaper lowered his mouth to her ear. “The guy’s a sadist.” His voice went up a notch. “I’ve got the lady, Tanner, and my finger on a button that’ll blow her off the map. Come out and let me see you.”

  “I am out, old friend.”

  The sound of Tanner’s voice less than two feet behind them had the Reaper jerking around. Despite her best efforts to squirm free, he kept Rosemary in front of him. “I should have known,” he growled. “Damn it, I should have known.”

  “Yeah, well, strategizing isn’t one of your strengths either.” Tanner’s dark eyes glittered in the flicker of lightning behind him. “Is it, Hobby?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Hobby?” Rosemary echoed the name as the arm around her waist jerked her backward. “I t
hought…” But the voice had been familiar, hadn’t it? So Traynor didn’t really make sense. She’d never heard him speak. She’d heard Hobby twice. On the other end of a static-filled cell phone, but she’d heard him.

  Barry Hobart’s eyes locked on Tanner’s shadowed face. “How did you figure it out?” he asked. “And when?”

  Tanner shrugged. “I had a suspicion or two back when I worked for Crucible. Someone who knew Traynor had to have turned Leshad on to his valuable skill set. It wasn’t Ben, and it wasn’t me, so that only left you.”

  “Other people than me knew what Traynor could do. Come on, bud, what really gave me away?”

  “Your 600-buck-a-bottle wine cellar was a start. And your ever-expanding collection of vintage trucks. Navy pay and pension are decent, Hob, but no one ever got rich on them.”

  “Maybe I invested well.”

  “Maybe. But you also play blackjack. And poker. Texas Hold ‘em. Very high stakes, very often, I’ve heard.”

  “Well, hell, Tanner, I’m of an age. Who says a rich uncle didn’t die and leave me a fortune?”

  “You don’t have any uncles—I checked. I looked into a lot of things. It wasn’t until I started to run out that I stopped.”

  “Boy’s an idealist deep down,” Hobby said in Rosemary’s ear. “Cut and run was his credo. Ben’s, too. Only Traynor was cynical enough to fight the good fight to the death.”

  “Traynor’s suicidal. Ben and I never were.” Nothing about Tanner’s expression changed or told Rosemary what he was feeling. “You’ve got a cannon pointed at your chest and a peashooter in your hand, you cut and run. Then you bide your time and come at the bastard shooter from behind.”

  Hobby gave a gravelly chuckle. “We all have our preferred methods of attack. I never quite understood how or why yours worked, but it did. Somehow it always did. Stealth,” he added, yanking Rosemary up tight against him. “Tanner here could outmaneuver a cat on the hunt for a hummingbird. You’d have done well working for Leshad, old friend, if you could’ve found a way to eighty-six that conscience of yours.”

  Tanner had been advancing since Hobby spun to face him. Every few seconds, Rosemary was dragged backward another foot.

  The Reaper gave no indication that he noticed, and she offered no resistance.

  “Leshad’s going to kill both of us,” she said to Tanner. “But first he wants me to do him a favor.”

  “Yeah?” Lightning glimmered overhead. “In that case, the explosive vest seems a bit overdone, don’t you think? Sorry, Hob, rhetorical question. Can you read him, Rosemary?”

  A door slammed in Hobby’s head. “Not now. His mind’s closed. And mine’s still hazy.” At a subtle nod from Tanner, she added a guileless, “I’ll keep trying, though.”

  “Finger on the button here, people,” Hobby reminded them.

  “Favor,” Tanner said back. He moved forward another foot, forcing his old friend to retreat. “Come on, Hobby. We both know you’re bluffing. Traynor might have a death wish, but you don’t. Can’t take wine and vintage trucks to Hell, and even if you could, you’d have to surrender them at the fiery gate.”

  Rosemary heard the snarling tension in Hobby’s tone. “You’re making this real tempting, Tanner.”

  “I know.” Tanner spoke softly and with the barest hint of a smile. “That’s the point.”

  “Stop weighing me down,” the older man snapped at Rosemary. “And get your mental feelers out of my head. I don’t buy that kind of shit.” He made a guttural sound in his throat. “I don’t buy cheap tricks either.” Gesturing abruptly upward with his gun hand, he demanded, “Is that the best you’ve got, Tanner? An ugly wooden doll? It’s not even a good projection.” But he shot into the trees anyway. “Total bullshit. A doll with sawdust in its head. Am I supposed to believe that it can hurt me?” A second bullet embedded itself in the trunk of a cypress. “Sorry to tell you, I’ve still got a brain in mine.”

  “So do I, Hobby.”

  “Did I mention the three-quarter pressure I’m currently applying to the button that’ll scatter pieces of this pretty lady all over the swamp? No more crap, Tanner. You like the bitch, or she’d have been gator bait way back when.”

  “You’re sweating, old man.” Tanner continued his inexorable advance. “There’s too much running around in that closed-down mind of yours. Voodoo dolls, Leshad, me, Rosemary, retribution, loss, life, death. You wouldn’t press that button, even if you had the balls to do it. Where’s the profit in that? And now I’m going to add something else to the messed up mix in your head. Ethan Grimes.”

  “What the hell does he have to do with me?” Hobby demanded.

  “You keep checking the shadows for Billy, Hob, and I’ll explain. I knew the real Ethan Grimes was a dead immigrant when I called you. Took me less than thirty minutes of searching to get there. You claimed it took you three days. A kid on a Fisher-Price computer could have done it faster.”

  Hobby emitted a harsh laugh. “I thought I smelled a setup.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Tanner returned easily. “Or you wouldn’t have swallowed the lure. And asking you to delve into Skeeter’s medical status was just my way of telling you where Rosemary and I would be. Did you even bother to look?”

  “Why the hell would I? You gave me what I wanted. Call it a setup if you want to, Tanner, but who’s got Rosemary wrapped up in an exploding vest? Who’s hauling her backward with his thumb on the detonation button?”

  “We’ve already done this dance, pal. You’ve got the girl and the upper hand. All I’ve got is a doll.” Tanner’s dark eyes gleamed in the next flash of lightning. “And Skeeter.”

  Rosemary felt Hobby’s jolt of shock as if it were her own. Suddenly, she was falling backward with him, certain for a horrified moment that all three of them would be vaporized.

  But when Hobby hit the ground and she landed on him, nothing happened. For about two seconds. Then Tanner was hauling her to her feet while Hobby rolled left and came up firing.

  “Go!” Tanner shoved her sideways. The only reason she didn’t go down again was because she collided with someone. A big hand wrapped itself around her throat and pulled her roughly into the bushes.

  “Ouch, Jesus! What is this? Who are you?” The hand tossed her into a soggy bed of weeds and swamp flora. “If you’re Leshad…” Her vision cleared, just enough for her to make out a bulky silhouette. “You’re not Leshad.” She frowned. “I don’t think.” She drew back, puzzled. “Skeeter?”

  Lightning glimmered and showed Skeeter crawling rapidly toward her on his knees. She knew he’d spotted the vest, but he kept her down regardless, eyes closed and breathing through his teeth.

  “Don’t wanna die. Wanna live. I did what you said, Tanner. I made him fall and got her out.” He risked a squinting look at the bulky vest. “Please, God, let this be a really bad trip. ‘Cause if she goes up, I won’t land in heaven. And I’m not ready to live in Hell.”

  Seriously confused, Rosemary wriggled away and pushed to her knees. She and Skeeter had made so much noise falling into the muck that she’d lost track of what was happening with Tanner and Hobby.

  “Steel wool,” she said, and for the first time brought the Reaper’s face to mind. Coarse, gray hair, very much like steel wool, topped a weathered face that could have been fashioned from tanned leather. His eyes were deep-set, his mouth a thin line, his body strong and still very resilient.

  Easing herself above the weed line, Rosemary searched the area where the two men should have been. It hardly surprised her that they were gone.

  She sensed rather than saw Skeeter rear up. Next thing she knew, she was facedown in a pool of slime.

  “Don’t explode,” he begged her. “This is for Pa, okay? And me, too. Tanner said you need to figure out if you’re a bomb or a dud.”

  “Tanner needs to listen more closely.” Rosemary twisted her head so her face wasn’t in the mud. “I can’t get impressions from things, only from people.” But she paused, knit he
r brow. “Oh, wow. I just got something. He—the Reaper—wishes he’d pressed the button.”

  Skeeter froze. “You mean you can explode?”

  “Like Fourth of July fireworks. Unless he’s sending me an erroneous message out of spite. I’m thinking not. Get off me, Skeeter, and be careful doing it.”

  “I need something,” Skeeter said, but he complied. Gingerly and trembling badly, he scuttled away to squat in the exposed roots of a sycamore tree. “Anything’ll do. Weed, moonshine, mushrooms, morphine.”

  Rosemary regarded the buckled bands that held the vest in place. “Where do you get morphine in a swamp?”

  “Steal it, mostly, from a guy whose steals it from a guy in Baton Rouge. Ain’t a crime to steal from a crook, right?”

  She tested one of the buckles, winced, then opened it all the way. When nothing happened, she let out a relieved breath. “Depends on your point of view, I guess. From mine, at this moment, if you help me get out of here in one piece, I’ll say no, it isn’t a crime and pretend I didn’t hear any of what you said.”

  “You won’t tell Pa or Tanner?”

  “No, I won’t tell them.” Setting her teeth, she released another breath. And exhaled with gusto because she still could. Three to go, and without the Reaper here to set her off, maybe not as much to worry about as she thought.

  On the other hand, Tanner wasn’t here either, and that scared the hell out of her because he’d told her Hobby had taught him everything he knew.

  In a perfect world, that would even the odds considerably. Unfortunately, that “evening of the odds” depended largely on perspective. Maybe Hobby really had taught Tanner everything Tanner knew, but a more disturbing question remained. Had Hobby taught Tanner everything Hobby knew?

  * * *

  The time between lightning flashes diminished, with each one illuminating the swamp, turning trees and hanging moss into grotesque monsters. The Reaper spun every which way to try to see the entire area. Tanner had an annoying habit of materializing out of thin air, like that stupid, damn doll.

  He crouched, panting and watchful. When he heard water slosh behind him and spotted the ripples on shore, his mouth moved into a lopsided grin. He brought his gun up.

 

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