“But you were hours away at the time, so they couldn’t pin it on you,” Marguerite said.
“Luckily, because the concert that night was another impromptu deal. A friend called from Mississippi and I up and went, just for the hell of it. Maybe the bird whispered in my ear, and I did what I was told for once.” He rolled his shoulders. “After she was killed, I tried taking up with a woman a time or two, but I couldn’t stomach it. What if they got addicted, too? What if I got angry again and hurt them without meaning to? Every time I even thought about having sex, I felt the rage building inside me… so I gave up.” He paused. “Until you came along.”
She didn’t say anything. What was she supposed to say? That she wouldn’t come at him with a cleaver?
“So now you know.” He fiddled with the tuning pegs unnecessarily. The guitar was perfectly in tune, but his aura was a mess.
“Um, yeah.” She sat up. “Well, the sex has been great so far.”
“I guess that’s what the bird was after.” Notes trickled from his fingers. “Show her it can be okay before you freak her out with the past.”
“I’m not freaked out. I’m not afraid of your mind—I guess because I can usually see what’s going on.”
He eyed her sideways. He was going to have to confront her… but first, he wanted her one more time. “Does that mean you want to make love again?”
“Already?” She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “If we go slowly.”
“I’m out of condoms, but there are some in my truck.” He put down the guitar and Lawless leapt up, eager to go along. “Come on, boy. We’ll be right back.”
Constantine went down the stairs and out by way of the kitchen. He let Lawless out through the gate and went into the garage to get the condoms. He stowed several in his pocket and went to get the dog. He took a deep breath of the damp night air, wishing it could clear his mind. Everything seemed off-kilter, and instead of helping him think straight, screwing Marguerite had fractured him all the more.
His spirit guide was uneasy, too, although not about Marguerite; it seemed unable to express what was wrong, an unusual state of affairs. The patio was empty now, but there were people around, so he hung back, serenaded by trilling insects, cloaked by the friendly darkness. Shortly before Marguerite woke, Lep had called about Zeb’s arrival and abrupt departure out the kitchen door. According to Zelda, he was headed home to avoid his dad’s wrath, but one of Lep’s people reported he’d never shown up there. Why had he lied to Zelda? Where had he gone?
A man’s laughter cracked the night. Constantine froze against the wall. His gut squirmed and heaved. Fear uncoiled inside him.
What in hell? He’d confronted perverts and killers and dealt with them fine, but his whole being cowered at the sound of that voice. He crept to the corner of the patio wall and stopped.
The high-pitched squeal of a frightened dog split the night. People’s voices: “What happened?” “Nobody was near him!” Lawless shot around the end of the patio wall and cringed at Constantine’s feet, whimpering. Quiet, he told the dog. Stay. He visualized himself as a bush and inched forward.
People walked to and fro in the parking lot, couples, a boisterous family, a lone woman… The laugh broke out again, like a lash on broken skin. Constantine struggled to focus. Might be the guy in a shirt and jeans striding toward the corner of the building…
“You go, girl!” said the voice. “It’s bonbons for you!”
Memory slammed into Constantine. He fell to his knees beside the wall, black terror tossing him like a sandstorm, depriving him of breath, choking him to death. He cried out for his guide. Insects sang. Car doors opened and shut, and random voices, normal voices, drifted through the humid air. A couple crossed the parking lot, murmuring to one another. More doors, then a car driving away.
Constantine finally got his breath, gasping until he heaved and retched into the dirt. An owl fluttered onto the wall above, and Constantine crumpled at the base, a helpless child again.
An Enemy’s voice, an Enemy’s laugh… But this Enemy, the one who had started him on his twisted, hateful path, was supposed to be dead. He’d been killed in a drug deal gone bad, long, long ago.
No, evidently not.
Chills shook him, fear for everyone he cared about, but the persistent flapping of the owl, coupled with Lawless’s frantic licking, got him going again. He staggered through the gate to the patio and unlocked the door with shaking hands. Lawless slipped through, and Constantine followed, pulling the door shut behind them.
What in hell was he going to do about Marguerite?
Marguerite waited impatiently for Constantine to return. The uneasiness hadn’t dissipated during their conversation, but arousal had overlaid it at the end. He wanted her again—she was certain of that. Good, because she wanted him, too.
Shortly after he left, Marguerite heard a frightened squeal that might have been Lawless, but when she opened the door to check, the only sounds were vehicles and voices in the parking lot and on the street. She went back indoors and indulged in a few of the chocolates Al Bonnard had passed out that morning. She was licking the gooey filling off her fingers when her cell phone rang.
“Are you still with Constantine?” It was Lavonia. She sounded ghastly.
“Yes, I am, and why are you calling me again? You sound even worse than before.”
“I’m sick to my stomach, so Al’s taking me home. I’ll be fine, but I’m scared for you, Marguerite. I don’t think you should go home, though. You’re too vulnerable there. There’ve been reporters hovering there on and off all day, by what I hear.”
“That’s why Constantine insists I need a bodyguard.”
“In Bayou Gavotte, sure, but not elsewhere. He can’t force you to stay. Say you’re going to New Orleans to stay with a friend.”
This again? “I told you before, I have work next week.”
But Lavonia yammered on: school didn’t start till Tuesday, Marguerite’s first class was on Wednesday, and she’d sleep so much better knowing Marguerite was safe. Her voice raised in pitch to almost a shout. “Tell him you have an appointment. Make an excuse and go!”
Marguerite stifled her growing annoyance; sometimes it was easier giving Lavonia what she wanted. “Actually, I don’t need an excuse. There’s an exhibit in the French Quarter that I’d hoped to see, and I need to do some shopping there, too. I should drive into town tonight so I can get an early start tomorrow.”
Relief suffused Lavonia’s voice. “Thank you! I feel better already. See you in a couple of days.” Finally, she hung up.
Marguerite turned. Constantine stood in the doorway, his aura gray as death. Lawless hovered beside him, his tail completely still.
“What’s wrong?” Marguerite said.
“Nothing.” Constantine’s voice was flat and cold. “You’re leaving.”
Slowly, Marguerite lowered her cell phone. His aura was so tight it made her shiver. What had happened? “Do you want me to go?”
“You just told your friend you’re going to New Orleans.” He motioned to the dog, and it lay on the floor by the door, watching them.
“Because she wouldn’t let up until I did. Lavonia’s been having awful dreams about everybody being dead, and what with the dreams I had, she’s all freaked out and wants me to get away from Bayou Gavotte for a few days.”
“Who being dead?”
“Me and Zeb. Janie, too.” Why were his eyes so empty, his aura shunning her, shutting her out? This wasn’t the same man in whose arms she had slept only a short time ago. It wasn’t even the uneasy man who’d left to get condoms. “I need to go home and get some clean clothes.”
“And then go to New Orleans.”
“I might just do that, if you don’t want me here,” she said, the annoyance she’d felt at Lavonia morphing into anger now. “I thought you were going to get condoms, though.”
“I’ll screw you once more if you want.” His aura was scaring the shit out of her.
“Once
more. You’re saying… you’ll do me a huge favor and screw me once more and that’s all? If I want? Because your aura is telling me you don’t.”
“I changed my mind.”
How dare he? Through her mounting rage, she tried to read him. Fear. “You think I’ll get addicted to you, like Jonetta?”
“Score one for Marguerite,” he said, but a trickle of relief in his aura told her it wasn’t that simple.
“I won’t get addicted,” she scoffed. “I thought there was a chance I might fall in love with you.” His aura shot sparks. “Don’t freak out. I’ve changed my mind, too. Apart from the stunning sex, you’re just too fucking weird.” She didn’t usually come out with the f-word. She must be more upset than she realized.
“I’m not weird, I’m crazy,” he said. “I talk to birds, real or imaginary. They get all up in my business and tell me what to do.”
“I can handle crazy,” she said. “It’s not being believed that I have a hard time with. I thought you understood about my so-called gift.” Why was she surprised? Nobody ever did. “I thought you didn’t mind it. I thought you’d gotten over your stupid suspicions about me, but I see by your aura that you haven’t. I’m a trustworthy person, and I hate not being trusted.”
“I’m not big on trust, babe, and you seem to lie pretty easily—not only about me up on the mound but to your friend just now.”
“Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie, since I merely implied that I would go to New Orleans.”
“Uh-huh. You also lied about not knowing Zeb.”
She got a grip on herself. “No, I just didn’t admit to knowing him, and it was to protect him.”
“Plausible, but it doesn’t inspire me with confidence in you.”
She huffed. “You don’t inspire confidence either.” At the moment, he was inspiring the urge to kill. She grabbed her backpack and felt in the back for another couple of bonbons. Ahh. Chocolate.
Much better.
He sat on the couch. “I don’t want to inspire confidence. You do. You also lied to me about what happened with Zeb and Lutsky this morning. Did you think Reuben wouldn’t tell me everything? Not that he needed to, as it turns out.” He opened the laptop and the screen came to life. “I guess you haven’t seen this.”
So much for the feel-good rush of chocolate. A chill settled into her gut as she perched herself at the edge of the couch.
It was another story by Nathan Bone. He’d interviewed Roy Lutsky, who said Marguerite was a gifted psychic who’d promised to help him with his research by getting close to Constantine Dufray and analyzing his character by psychic means. In particular, she was to seduce him, have sex with him as often as possible, and give detailed reports of her experiences.
“What the hell?” Marguerite leapt up, clenching her fists. “Oh, how dare he! That is the last time I will ever, ever promise to help Roy with anything!”
“So you admit it?” Constantine’s voice was casual, even amused.
“There’s nothing to admit.” She glared at him. “You believe this bullshit, don’t you? For your information, all I promised Roy, at least a year ago, was to tell him what your aura was like, both from a distance at concerts and close up if I ever had a chance to meet you. He knows about the auras because my father told him. He worked summers for my dad when he was in college.”
“Uh-huh.” Constantine stretched his powerful legs and sat back. “Whatever you say, babe. Now, there’s also the unpleasant little fact that you purposely destroyed evidence this morning. Fortunately, Reuben’s not as empty-headed as he pretends to be. He pocketed a few pages under cover of the noise of the shredder.”
She felt her face fall. She hadn’t thought of it like that. “I—” Damn. “I didn’t think of it as destroying evidence. I was just so appalled that…”
“Sorry, babe.” He picked up her backpack and held it up, as if that was supposed to mean something. “That won’t cut it, since we know you’d seen it before.” He reached inside the backpack and pulled out a manila envelope.
She grabbed the envelope. “You searched my backpack while I was asleep?”
“I do what I have to.” His expression was smug, his aura stronger now, dark and determined. Beneath it, she thought she glimpsed pain, but she didn’t give a damn. He deserved it.
She grabbed the backpack, too, and set it beside her. “You’re such a jerk. Pauline left this envelope on my bed the night she died. She’d printed out some papers on language and cognition for me.” Marguerite reached in and pulled out the stapled articles.
Between them were several pages of the same awful porn. They appeared to have been crumpled up and later flattened out. “You found these in here?”
“You’re not fooling anyone, babe.”
“Stop calling me ‘babe.’ I didn’t put them here,” she gritted out. “I didn’t even look in the envelope until now. I got home that night, shoved it in my backpack for future reading, and got a call in the wee hours about Pauline’s body.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Which means either Pauline must have put them there before she went out and died or the murderer did.”
His aura flickered with interest, but he merely said, “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Or you put them there,” she flashed.
He laughed, his aura showing such genuine surprise that she had to believe him. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re an asshole.” She stuffed the articles and porn back in the envelope, put it in the backpack, and zipped it up. Oh, God in heaven, this hurt. He didn’t want to believe her. He didn’t want to trust her. He never had.
“I am trustworthy. I have a gift, and it’s special, whether you or anyone else believes it or not.”
He shrugged.
The rage simmering inside her surged up, hot, volcanic, and unstoppable. She grabbed the sandwich tray with shaking hands, shrieked at the top of her lungs, and threw it across his pristine room. Crusts scattered, plates shattered, and tea sloshed all over one of his guitars.
Lawless scrambled up, whimpering, and skittered out the door. Misery washed over Marguerite. “Believe what you want. It’s your loss, not mine. Come on, Lawless.” She hefted her backpack over her shoulder and left.
Go with her, he told the dog, and Lawless went.
Constantine texted Lep downstairs to have her followed. He needed her out of the way, as far away as possible, as soon as possible. She had to believe he didn’t give a damn, because if the Enemy thought he cared about her, there was no telling what he might do. It was dumb luck that he’d had something with which to drive her away. For her own safety, she had to hate him. She had to want to stay away.
She was telling the truth, the bird said forlornly, and Constantine found himself agreeing. Not that believing her did much good, because she would never take him back after this. He hadn’t expected her to react quite so violently—she didn’t seem the tantrum type—but perhaps it was all for the best that he now knew.
Keeping to the shadows, he went downstairs in Marguerite’s wake. His people had kept the back area free of reporters, but judging by the rage in her every movement, she would have mowed down anyone who dared to get in her way. She didn’t turn once, just marched out the back without a word and went straight to her car. She drove off, and silently, Reuben got into his Cadillac and followed her.
Zeb surged out of a coma-like sleep with a gasp. His heart banging, he held himself still and listened. Silence all around, but something must have made him shoot awake like that. Maybe the cops had found the van, in which case he was toast. With a sensation close to relief, he raised himself and peeked out the window.
The white van next to him now had a metal sign on it covering the university logo, but in the dim light he couldn’t make out what it said. What was going on? He’d thought nothing was planned for tonight, at least not until the small hours. Had he slept that long? It felt like he’d had five minutes max. He crept to the front seat
at the other side of the van and waited, wishing he hadn’t disabled the vehicle, but at least the disconnected battery meant no telltale light would come on when he got out. The instant the white van’s engine rumbled into life, he slipped out, pushed the door gently shut, and sneaked around the back, considering his options. The white van was backing up toward him, its rack for abandoned bikes gleaming in the first few drops of rain.
He didn’t want to deal with this, whatever it was, but if he called the cops, if he went to Constantine, would anyone believe him?
The van stopped, the gears clunked out of reverse, and the vehicle moved forward. Zeb ducked behind the row of parked vehicles and sprinted parallel to the white van in the direction of the gate. The van came to a halt at the gate, Zeb crouched behind a bush, and the skies let loose. The driver got out to open the gate, cursing. As he got back inside the vehicle, Zeb made a mad dash through the rain, crouched low, shoving the terror of being caught back down his craw. He would do what he had to, whatever that proved to be. The driver drove through, got out, still cursing, closed the gate again, and hurried back inside the van.
Zeb took hold of the bike rack and swung onto it as the van moved slowly forward. He held his breath, praying hard, but the van kept moving and turned into the road.
The rain settled to a steady downpour. The metal of the rack bit into Zeb’s hands as he clung on. Up until yesterday, he’d thought he could handle things himself. He’d only had to counteract sick practical jokes. What if Marguerite was right and Pauline had been murdered… But, if so, how? And why?
He’d waited too long, trying to understand, to adjust, to be the thoughtful, considerate, forgiving kind of person his mom had wanted him to be. The van rolled steadily toward downtown, then slammed to a halt at a red light. Zeb’s head smacked the spare tire, the rack ripped his hands, and he fell onto the road. Heart lurching, he dragged himself up. He clenched his fists, gearing for battle, but the light changed and the van moved away.
He sprinted after it, keeping to the side of the road. He was a long-distance runner, never a great sprinter, but rage and desperation thrust him forward, past one street and around the corner of the next.
[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine Page 23
