by Jenna Ryan
“Not quite as stealthy as you think, are you, old friend?”
The ripples vanished briefly, but reappeared.
“You wanna get out of there, Hobby.”
Although Tanner’s warning came from his left, the Reaper wasn’t fooled. Any halfway-savvy former SEAL could learn to throw his voice.
“Walk into a trap, you mean. I can still set her off, Tanner. I’ve got the remote. I press the button, and she’s sliced toast.”
“Pressing that button’s a last resort, Hob. While you’re alive and armed, you won’t be blowing Leshad’s prize to Hell. You really should think about getting out of there.”
The Reaper glanced up with the next flicker of lightning. He thought for a moment—but no. Nothing lurked in the trees. No little face peered at him through the moss and caused his palms to sweat.
Only Leshad, who never let himself be seen or heard in any identifiable way, could make him sweat, and only because he could be any-damn-body the Reaper knew. Or didn’t know.
His muscles bunched into tense knots. Damn, there it was! Floating behind a curtain of Spanish moss. Figured it could vanish the moment he spotted it. Tricky, damn doll.
The Reaper regrouped, calmed his racing heart. Dolls weren’t tricky. People were. And Tanner was the trickiest bastard he knew.
The ripples grew larger. Suspicion crept in. Would Tanner use such obvious tactics? Maybe. One thing was sure: the doll was on Tanner’s side. That made it two against one. Not the worst odds if they’d been talking human adversaries, but that fucking doll skewed the curve and the Reaper’s ability to think. To reason. To strategize.
A giant mass with a jaw like a steel trap surged out of the river. One minute, the Reaper was crouched in slime, the next he was being dragged into the water, screaming.
Twisting around, he squeezed the trigger. Gator bait, he thought, as blood began to bubble and burn in his lungs. Wasn’t that just the biggest damn irony of all?
He fired again and miraculously got a leg free. Might make it, he reflected. Keep attacking, free the other leg, and he’d be away. Injured, but alive.
He pivoted, started to fire. Then he spied the doll again, less than two feet in front of him. Dead still in the steamy night air, eyes wide, mouth open and laughing.
“Screw you, asshole,” the Reaper croaked.
Taking aim at the painted wooden face, he fired his gun until it was empty.
* * *
Tanner went in low and grabbed Hobby before the gator could snap him in two.
Hobby flailed and thrashed and screamed like a she-demon. “Get me out of here, Tanner. Is this any way to treat an old friend?”
He hitched himself up as Tanner seized the only opening the gator gave him. Finally, he yanked the reptile’s would-be dinner free and far enough onto the shore that the gator lost interest.
Spent, Tanner went to one knee and regarded the mess of a man beside him.
Hobby’s red-rimmed eyes burned with fury. “You’re a bastard, d’you know that? Screwed me up just when my life was rolling along like a well-oiled machine.”
Tanner swiped at a trickle of blood from his own mouth. “Machines get rusty fast, Hob, especially in the swamp. Tell me one thing. Were you ever straight?”
“Straight enough when I taught you greenies how to survive. But life took a few bum turns, and I said screw it.” His gaze slid past Tanner to the trees. A wet laugh gurgled up. “Still with the frigging doll? Well, hell, maybe I’ve got a trick or two left myself.”
“Don’t think so, Hob.” Tanner held up the remote he’d slipped from the older man’s pocket. “Rosemary doesn’t deserve to die, not at your hands or Leshad’s. Not tonight.” He glanced behind him into the water. No sign of the gator. And thankfully no sign of Billy in the sheet lightning. “What about the combat stress reaction you claimed to be suffering from? Anything real in that?”
Hobby coughed. “Hell, no. The whole thing was a fake, a way to keep everyone who mattered off-guard.”
“Figured that.”
“Yeah? Did you figure this, too?” A hand, shaky but determined, whipped out a backup weapon. “I might die here, Tanner. Hope not, but I might. Whatever happens to me, though, you’re going down. And have no fear, Leshad’ll find a way to make the bitch do what he wants.”
Tanner didn’t react, merely regarded his old friend evenly. “Who is he, Hobby? If I’m gonna die, you might as well give me a name, something to take to my grave.”
A crooked grin appeared along with twin dribbles of blood. “Only name I know is Leshad. Face is a mystery, too. Looks like we’ll both go to our graves not knowing.” The grin faded to a grimace. “See you and your floating doll in Hell, Tanner.”
“Yeah.” Tanner held his gaze. “See you there.” And setting his teeth, squeezed the trigger of his gun into his old friend’s left side.
* * *
Rosemary waited for Tanner to open his mind and let her find him. He was still kneeling next to Hobby—a.k.a. the Reaper—when she did. She didn’t need a verbal explanation. She got the picture and the story from a jumble of images she could sift through later for details.
Going to her knees, she regarded Hobby, then Tanner. Finally, she laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry this happened,” she said softly. “To you now, and to him at whatever point greed overwhelmed him. I suppose there must have been a good person inside at one time.”
“I don’t.” Tanner continued to stare at the dead man’s face. “Marginally decent, maybe, many years ago. But he was leaning when he trained us. He might not have realized it, but from some of the things he used to say, I think he was.”
Rosemary raised her head. “Please don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, Tanner, because I know it does. All lives matter. So do all deaths. I wish his hadn’t gone the way it did. On the other hand, he killed Ben. I’d feel a lot more pity for him if he hadn’t done that. Under orders, but still. He ended Ben’s life.”
Keeping his eyes on Hobby, Tanner said, “You saw me with Crucible, didn’t you?”
“From the second-floor verandah. How did you know?”
“Skeeter said you had your backpack with you when he waylaid you in the lobby. And he’s pretty sure the keys to the Hummer, as well. Do you need the story?”
“A condensed version’s fine for now. Who contacted who?”
“Crucible did the contacting. He wanted someone in the swamp because he figured that’s where you’d go. Where Ben would send you. I think he secretly hoped that Ben would send you to me and save us both the trouble of finding you.”
“So, hope realized. I gather, in spite of your efforts to drop off the map way back when, Crucible never lost track of you.”
He moved a shoulder. “There was only ever a fifty percent chance of success on my part to start with. No big deal, I figured, as long as he left me alone.”
“Which he did until I came on the scene. Did you do what he wanted you to?”
“Nope.”
“Thought not. So after breaking Crucible’s order—to stay put, I imagine—we took off into the swamp with the Reaper and Crucible after us and poor Ethan Grimes, née Emmett Gardrock, still trying to be of help. Ben must have paid him a lot of money to watch over me.”
“Ben would’ve paid any amount of money to keep you safe.” Sliding a hand under her hair, Tanner gave her neck a gentle squeeze. Then his lips twitched in profile and he hauled her into his arms, kissed the side of her head. “You could’ve died tonight, angel. I’m not sure what I would have done if you had.”
She breathed in the scent of his skin and hair. “Chances weren’t really great of that happening, though, were they? Leshad was here, Tanner.” She drew back to regard him. “He was right here, in the swamp. His voice was digitally altered, his face hidden and his mind closed, but he talked to me. He told me he wanted something from me. Something not small. Some…” She waved a hand next to her head. “Some psychic favor he believed I could and would have done
for him.”
Tanner slid a thumb across her cheekbone. “There was always that possibility.”
She refused to let her voice tremble. “I think he might also be afraid of me to some extent. I’m convinced he feared Madeleine, Twila and their sisters. He mentioned female bloodlines and the ‘sight’ descending through them. I’m a female, Tanner, connected by blood to Twila and Tallulah. And he’s a shadow. An insane, homicidal shadow.”
“Crucible knows that, Rosemary, and so do I. Unschooled or not, you have the ‘sight.’ Unfortunately, Leshad has a legion of hired killers exactly like the Reaper. Problem is, we’ll never know where, when or how often a member of that legion might appear.”
“You said I can’t run forever, and I agree.” Rosemary swallowed the nerves that threatened to climb into her throat and strangle her. “I’m thinking now that only leaves one option.” She looked down at the Reaper. “Like your friend, I have to die.”
Smiling slightly, Tanner tipped her head up and kissed her lips. “Close, angel, but you’re not quite there. You don’t have to die, just move on to a new plane of existence. One where nobody will ever find you.” He kissed her again. “Where nobody will ever find us.”
EPILOGUE
New Orleans sat under a huge black cloud, a tropical storm warning of mammoth proportions. Thousands of homes and businesses had been without power for the better part of the evening.
At 12:01 a.m., and with his left arm in a sling, Crucible walked back and forth in his makeshift Louisiana office. Killian and his PA, Miranda, were on a plane to Washington to meet with two of the four directors. The other two were, as usual, unaccounted for: Cutter, obviously, because he was forever on the move, and Shepherd, the peacemaker, whose unflappable manner irritated Crucible almost as much as Cutter’s affable sarcasm.
The knock on his door came as no surprise. Neither did the sight of Tom Cutter’s grinning face. Hazel eyes twinkled under a mop of curly hair as he poked his head inside. “Not interrupting anything important, I trust.”
Crucible made a motion for him to enter. “What’s that in your buttonhole?” he asked.
Cutter’s grin expanded as he held his lapel out to view the scarlet flower. “I’m told it’s called foxglove. There was a big bouquet of them downstairs. Newly arrived from the bayou. A woman named Desdemona sent them as a sort of token.” The twinkle deepened. “Or so the rumor goes. Her card read, ‘When one life is spared, another is lost. Scarlet bells ring loud and long for Hell’s recent addition. Billy and I send our warmest regards.’”
“Billy and I,” Crucible repeated.
Cutter settled in, propping his feet on the desk and folding his hands across his stomach. “Yes, I understand from Rosemary Sayer’s statement by proxy that ‘Billy’ is a wooden doll, created by Madeleine Lessard. Apparently, said doll often resides with Madeleine’s long-time friend, Desdemona, who is the proprietress of her antiques shop in the bayou. Have we interrogated Desdemona?”
“I talked to her at length three days ago. She’s recovering from wounds incurred when Leshad’s Reaper invaded the shop. She refuses to leave the bayou and is only willing to make one concession in terms of her lifestyle. She’s open to having Madeleine’s cousin, Lucien DuCayne, and his son, Skeeter, come and live with her. She’s confident that Billy can watch out for all of them, so there’s no need for us to trouble ourselves in that regard.”
“How very thoughtful of her.” Cutter’s humorous expression sobered. “Where are Rosemary and Tanner, Crucible? We agreed you’d bring them in for processing.”
“We agreed. They didn’t. I don’t think the idea of us reinventing their identities—in particular, Rosemary’s identity—sat well with them. Tanner got her out of the swamp before any of us could stop him. The only communication I’ve received so far is Rosemary’s statement. It’s intriguing, to say the least.”
“I read it. Twice.” Cutter’s easy smile returned. “I’m fascinated by the references to Madeleine Lessard’s ghostly visitations.” Ingenuous brows went up. “Hallucinations, do you think?”
Crucible wished he did. “No. I’m afraid it’s probable that Rosemary possesses the same psychic ability as her late great-grandmother, Twila Black. It seems Twila helped Madeleine Lessard hone her second sight. It therefore stands to reason that Twila was and Rosemary is a rather powerful—”
“Witch?” Cutter supplied when he hesitated. “Seer? Beldam? Displaced voodoo queen?”
“Woman,” Crucible finished calmly. The overhead lights flickered but held. “Whatever we choose to call Twila, she’s dead and beyond the reach of anyone like Leshad. Unfortunately, Rosemary isn’t. Leshad knows that, and we know he won’t be happy about it. For whatever reason, and going by her statement, he wants Rosemary alive in order to extract a ‘favor’ from her.”
Cutter adjusted his fedora to shield his eyes. “I assume we have no clue as to what that favor might be, aside from the strong probability that it’s rooted in her psychic ability as it relates to Twila Black and/or Madeleine Lessard. Curious.”
Crucible’s composure began to fray as the light fluttered again. “What’s curious?”
“Oh, many things, but the part where Rosemary talks about Leshad piques my interest rather keenly. It’s her contention, from what she recollects of their conversation, that the calling card murders are, in many cases, committed for money. So we could say that Leshad is a weapons dealer of sorts. Human weapons. Dirty deeds, Crucible, done for a price by Leshad’s personal team of killers. He trains them, then dispatches them wherever and whenever. Except on those occasions when the dispatching is done on his own behalf.”
“I’m afraid that does pretty much sum it up.” A crease formed between his eyes as Crucible glanced up at a shadowy corner of the ceiling. The power was going to go, he reflected. Twice now, the lights had winked right out. Cocking his head at a shadow within the shadows, he said, “I suppose we should be grateful that Tanner was able to eliminate the Reaper, as well as confirm that Traynor is in fact one of Leshad’s people. It’s a good thing to know, if not a good situation overall.”
Did a face hover in that dark ceiling shadow, he wondered? A painted wooden face? And below it, a small hand holding a stalk of scarlet foxgloves?
No, not possible. Shaking his head, Crucible decided he needed sleep more desperately than he’d realized.
“Killing for profit is a logical business strategy for someone of Leshad’s ilk.” Cutter’s feet hit the floor, sparking a smile that spread slowly upward to his eyes. “After all, Crucible, a man has to eat. I’m happy the Reaper’s bullet didn’t end your life, old friend. You live to battle on.”
Crucible nodded. In the shadows above, both the painted face and the small hand faded away, until only the stalk of flowers Madeleine Lessard had called scarlet bells remained.
A West Coast native, Jenna Ryan grew up reading romances and writing mysteries. Over the years, she has worked in several different industries, including modeling, interior design and travel; however, writing has always been her passion—even if she didn’t go about it in the usual way.
She earned a degree in creative writing from the University of Victoria in British Columbia and currently lives in a semirural setting fifteen minutes from the city.
She loves the mountains and the ocean, wicked thunderstorms and a good ghost story on a rainy night. She’s been twisting murder plots and blending them with strong romances since the 1980s and has several awards to show for it. She hopes that means she is doing it right. Visit her on her website, www.jennaryanauthor.com; drop by her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/jennaryan.5201, or her author Facebook page, www.facebook.com/readjennaryan; or Tweet her, @JennaRyanAuthor.
Also by Jenna Ryan
Cast In Wax
Suspended Animation
Cloak and Dagger
Carnival
Southern Cross
Masquerade (Winner of 1991 RT Book Reviews Certificate of Excellence)
Ill
usions
Puppets
Bittersweet Legacy (Winner of 1993 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award)
The Visitor
Midnight Masque
When Night Falls (Winner of 1994 RT Book Reviews Certificate of Excellence)
Belladonna
Sweet Revenge
Woman in Black
Arms of the Law
Stroke of Midnight
Eden’s Shadow
Christmas Ransom
Dream Weaver
Cold Case Cowboy
Mistletoe and Murder
Dangerously Attractive
A Voice in the Dark
Kissing the Key Witness
A Perfect Stranger
Shadow Protector
Darkwood Manor
Dakota Marshal (Winner of 2011 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Harlequin Intrigue)
Raven’s Cove (Nominated for 2012 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Harlequin Intrigue)
Stranger on Raven’s Ridge (March 2013 RT Book Reviews Top Pick)
Raven’s Hollow
Night of the Raven
eISBN: 978-1-4603-4269-5
THE JENNA RYAN SHADOWS BOX SET VOLUME 1
Copyright © 2014 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
BLACK ROSE
Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline Goff
BLOOD ORCHID
Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline Goff
SCARLET BELLS
Copyright © 2014 by Jacqueline Goff
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