Bayou Nights
Page 16
Zeus hissed.
“Let’s get back to the boat.” She backed away from Zeus.
The alligator growled but didn’t follow.
Drake backed with her.
“He’s impressive, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Impressive?” Not the word he would have chosen. They put several more feet between themselves and Zeus.
The beast watched them, apparently content with the bit of snake he’d devoured and not interested in pursuing a woman with a four bore rifle pointed at its head.
“Do you want me to hold that?” The gun was too heavy for anyone to aim for long.
She nodded. “He’s just protecting his home. Don’t kill him.”
“Not unless he comes after us.” He took the gun, thrust Christine behind him, and together they retreated farther from the prehistoric monster whose life somehow mattered to Christine.
The grasses closed around them and Zeus was lost from sight. The deep croak of bullfrogs and the crickets’ songs replaced his growls. They’d done it. They’d found an island in the middle of a swamp, then found a coin, and now they were going to escape with their lives. Drake allowed himself a small smile then he heard it—the hammer of a gun and Christine’s sudden, shocked intake of breath.
“Lower that gun, Yankee.”
Drake allowed the gun’s muzzle to rest on the ground before he turned.
Thibault had the muzzle of a .22 pressed under Christine’s jaw. His free hand circled her upper arm.
“What did you find out there?” he asked.
“Nothing. We found nothing.” Christine’s voice was clipped, its usual honey replaced by vinegar.
Thibault drew the muzzle along the line of her jaw. “It ain’t nice to lie.”
“Does it look like we’re hauling a treasure chest back to your boat?”
“That’s too bad. All the way out here for nothin’.”
Nothing but a cursed coin. “Let her go.”
“Why would I want to do that, Yankee?” Thibault pulled Christine toward the boat. “I reckon this lady and I are goin’ to be friends. Real close friends.”
“Who sent you?”
For a brief second Thibault looked confused. “Sent me? Ain’t nobody sent me.”
Drake believed him. The man was an opportunist who’d grabbed the chance to possess Christine. He’d probably take her to some God-forsaken cabin in the swamp and rape her until he grew tired of her.
“Just take us back to the city.” Christine twisted in Thibault’s grasp. “I’ll double your fee.”
The bastard pulled a lock of Christine’s hair free of its chignon, smelled it, then grinned. “There’s some things in this world that are worth more than money.”
For an instant the swamp’s green was bathed in a red haze and the crickets and frogs and creepy-crawly things’ songs were drowned out by the roar in Drake’s ears. Drake wanted nothing more than to rush Thibault, knock him down, then drag him to the water’s edge and hold him under until his lungs filled with fetid water. Christine would not approve of that plan. She didn’t kill things. Hell, he’d bet the damned coin in his pocket that she’d tossed the snake into the alligator’s mouth by accident.
Drake drew a slow, heavy breath. The flora returned to its usual shade. The fauna resumed its singing. She had a plan. She always had a plan.
If Christine had a plan, she’d better implement it soon. If she didn’t, the least she could do was stomp on the bastard’s instep. He dragged her closer to the water. Didn’t she realize Drake couldn’t help her once Thibault got her on his boat? Couldn’t she resist a little more?
“Mr. Thibault, people knew we were coming. They’ll look for us.”
Thibault laughed, a creaky sort of guffaw. “People go missing in the swamp all the time.”
Christine glanced at the boat, then the water. Her eyes widened and she shifted her gaze to Drake. Her meaning was clear. Wait. Thibault pulled her again. Hardly any land remained and when she stopped resisting, Thibault stepped into the water. Not a shallow step either. Water rose mid-thigh. His hold on Christine’s arm slid to her wrist but his gun remained pointed at her head
“If you think for one minute I’m going to ruin my skirts by getting in that water you’re plumb crazy.” The honey had returned to her voice with a vengeance. Then she offered Thibault a shaky smile.
The man looked as confused as Drake felt. What was she up to?
“Walk toward the boat.” Thibault took a step toward the pirogue and sank to his upper thighs.
Drake raised the muzzle of the rifle out of the grass.
“That gun might stop a gator in its tracks but the aim ain’t the best. You’re just as likely to hit her as me.” Thibault’s eyes were narrowed and mean.
Christine shifted her gaze from the water to Drake. “Don’t.”
Thibault took another step and Christine stumbled. Drake had a clear shot. He aimed and Thibault screamed.
The scream echoed off the canopy, sending birds careening into the air and ice down Drake’s spine.
Christine yanked her wrist free of Thibault’s hold and scrambled higher up the bank.
Thibault disappeared beneath the water.
A second later, he broke the surface with another scream. This one so agonized that the bullfrogs fell silent.
Then whatever had him pulled again and he disappeared.
“What happened?” Drake stared at Christine.
“Zeus.”
“How?” What a way to die.
“I figured he’d circle the island to make sure we left.”
She’d known?
Christine hobbled toward the pirogue. “You have the coin?”
Drake nodded.
“We should go.”
Drake looked at the flat bottom boat. An alligator could capsize the small vessel with a swipe of its tail but it was still safer than the bit of land where they stood. “I don’t know how to get back.”
“I do.”
He helped her aboard and picked up the pole.
She stared at the length of wood in his hands. “Whatever you do, don’t drop it.”
With that vote of confidence he propelled them into the swamp.
…
Christine’s hands clenched in her lap and her teeth kept grinding no matter how many times she relaxed her jaw. She ought to feel guilty. The horror of Thibault’s final scream still echoed in her ears but she couldn’t find any sympathy in her heart. He’d intended to leave Drake alone on a snake-infested island ruled by an alligator named Zeus. Drake wouldn’t have lasted a day. Just thinking about it set molar against molar. Thank God he wasn’t hurt.
“How’s your arm?” Poling a pirogue through a swamp probably wasn’t the best medicine for a gunshot wound.
“I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine. He sounded furious. “Thibault…what he meant to do…how are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said. Drake was furious because Thibault had threatened her? She hid her smile behind a lock of hair.
“Bastard.”
Her smile grew wider. “May I see the coin?”
Holding tight to the pole, he dug in his pocket with his free hand. “Here.”
She took the piece of eight and held it in her palm. All that trouble for one bit of silver. A man was dead. She tested her feelings…still no regret. She ought to feel pity or sympathy or something. She didn’t. What kind of a person was she?
“What now?” Drake asked.
She stared at the coin. “No idea. Go right here.”
Drake angled the boat in the correct direction. “Who do you think is behind all this?”
Christine slipped the coin into her pocket with the first one. “It could be Youx.”
“Or Hector.”
“Desdemona has a role.”
He nodded. “What about the dead woman? What was her name? Laurie?”
“Delphine LaLaurie,” she supplied.
“What if they’re all after the water?”
Drake had a point. But which one held her father?
His back stiffened. Was his wound bothering him? “Tonight could be a…challenge.”
“Yes,” she agreed. Tonight might end them both.
“We need help. Is there anyone in New Orleans you trust?”
Her cavalier faith that a stranger would do what he was paid to do had nearly gotten Drake killed. Who? Who could she trust? She had friends, women with whom she drank tea and gossiped. They’d be useless in a situation like this one. There was Detective Kenton. She trusted him insofar as what she needed didn’t affect Molly. Granny Amzie? The woman had her own agenda. Who else?
No one.
This was her life. There was not a soul she’d trust except…except for the man with her now. “I don’t trust anyone.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Ever?”
“Never.” It was the safe answer, the wise answer, so why did it fill her with emptiness?
His reply was drowned out by the love song of a nearby bullfrog.
“What?” she snapped. “I couldn’t hear you.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I said, you can trust me.”
Her gaze caught on the ragged edge of emotion visible in his eyes.
Drake meant what he said. She did trust him. She trusted him to protect her from men with guns or murderous mobs but dare she trust him with more? Had her heart made a decision without consulting her brain? “Thank you, Drake.” Her voice was as clipped as a Yankee’s. “Go right, here.”
The boat moved through the water, through humid air, through swarms of midges and a whole colony of mosquitoes.
Drake slapped the back of his neck. “Why do you stay here?”
“Pardon?”
“Why do you stay in New Orleans?”
“It’s my home.”
“Trula says your hats are good enough to be the toast of Paris, so why stay?”
“Trula said that?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
So what if she was? “What if I failed?” The words were spoken so softly there was no way he could hear them.
“What if you succeed?”
To leave New Orleans for Paris or New York? It was a pretty dream but she’d been forged on the bayous and in the drawing rooms on St. Charles. Her past defined her. Without it, who would she be? She didn’t have an answer. Silence stretched between them.
“Are you sure we’re headed the right way? I don’t remember those.” Drake pointed to a group of cypress stumps rising from the water like stalagmites.
Christine didn’t remember them either. Damn. Getting lost in the swamp was not part of the plan. She thrust her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the coins. Now would be a perfect time for one—or both—of the bits of silver to offer a little pulse of energy, a direction or two.
Nothing.
She looked up at the canopy of green, gauged where the sun might be, then tried to find a tree she recognized. “We’re headed the right direction, we’re just taking a different route home.” Please, God, let that be the truth.
Drake pulled the pole into the boat and laid it carefully on the bottom. “Be that as it may, I need a break.” He sat next to her. “Do we have any water?”
She handed him a canteen.
He tilted his head back and drank. Sweat glistened on his throat, on his cheeks, on his brow. The linen of his shirt stuck to his back and his chest, showing off every muscle.
Christine looked away.
He put the canteen back in her hands. “Drink.”
She took a small sip of tepid water.
Drake stretched his legs and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, your father’s still missing, we have potentially four enemies—all of them deadly, and we’re lost in a swamp.”
“That about sums it up.”
“I don’t see how things could get any worse.”
Why would he say that? Things could always get worse. As if to prove her point, the coins in her pocket pulsed.
There? The coins wanted them to go there?
“What?” Drake demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re not lost. See that cypress up ahead?” She pointed to a tree that towered above its neighbors. “When we pass it, turn left.”
“How do you know?”
She swatted a mosquito. “The coins. I know where we need to go next.” She’d almost rather spend the night lost in the swamp.
Chapter Twelve
Christine refused—flatly refused—to go back to the hotel. Only her shop would do.
“We can’t go anywhere without cleaning up first.” She wrinkled her nose. “We smell like the swamp.” Where anywhere was, she didn’t say.
A carriage brought them back to Royal Street and now Drake twiddled his thumbs and listened to the sound of running water behind the bathroom door. The thought of Christine standing naked beneath a spray of warm water was a thought best ignored.
He stood. Glanced up at the ridiculously high ceiling. The place must cost a fortune to heat. Wait. Did they need heat in this sauna? There was an ornate fireplace, so presumably the temperatures dipped to bearable from time to time. Not today.
The stench of the swamp clung to his skin, coated the inside of his nostrils, and swam in his lungs. Any moment now, Christine would emerge dewy and sweet smelling.
Drake stepped out on the balcony. Perhaps there she’d be less aware of the odor. Perhaps there she wouldn’t crinkle her nose when she smelled him.
The sound of running water stopped.
Perfect. Now he pictured Beauty in a towel, while he, the beast, lurked just outside her chambers.
She emerged in a garment that covered her from chin to toes. Some sort of robe that Drake wanted to rip from her body. Instead he gripped the railing and shifted his gaze to the street below.
Watching a wagon loaded with kegs of beer trundle down cobblestones, the feelings swirling in his chest were easier to ignore. It wasn’t as if he could act on those feelings. Besides, they were monumentally confusing.
“You’re welcome to clean up now.” Her voice brought his gaze back to her.
He clutched the rail tighter. To let go would mean taking her in his arms…taking her.
A smart woman would hurry to her room and lock the door before his base instincts took over. Christine took a small step toward him.
Did she want him to ravage her?
Perhaps she did. A small smile played across her lips and her eyes sparkled like whiskey in a crystal decanter.
“You should get dressed.” His voice sounded raw, loud, and uncouth. What she should do was take off the damn robe and let him feast on the sight of her.
Her hand rose to the lace ribbon tied at her throat.
His body tightened—except for his hands. His hands let loose of the railing. Christine had at best a few seconds to gain the safety of her bedroom.
She didn’t move, almost daring him.
In the time it took to blink, he crossed the room. His hands closed around her upper arms and his wrists brushed against the soft weight of her breasts.
She sighed. A small welcoming sound. Did she know what she invited?
His lips found hers. His tongue, parched for the taste of her, entered her mouth. She was rain in the desert, a mountain stream so cold and pure the water tasted sweet, a gentle spring shower. He pulled her closer to him, encircling her in his arms.
Her hands cupped the sides of his face and she answered his kiss. Her tongue rasping against his. Her lips soft, her skin softer.
“Drake,” she murmured.
Was is it his name, a wish, or a promise?
His hands traveled to the rounded contours of her bottom. God help him, she was perfect. Her tongue dueled with his, her body pressed against him with not so much as a whisper of space between them, her nails scraped the stubble on his cheeks.
He pulled away, looked into her wide amber eyes. They were filled with longing and need.
He needed more than her body, he needed her. He needed the brave woman who flung snakes at alligators and shot above crowds who meant her harm. He needed the kind of woman who offered to buy her clerk a wedding dress. He needed the southern woman who flirted and flitted and wore ridiculous hats. The realization left him breathless. He couldn’t need her. Couldn’t.
She traced his lips with the tip of her finger. All the unwelcome need flowing through his veins demanded that he respond. A raw sound escaped him.
A delicate flush rose to her cheeks. “I…I’ve never…I want…”
His heart thudded in his chest.
“I want you.” The pink on her cheeks deepened to rose.
He allowed more air to fill the space between them. The distance wasn’t enough. Opposite sides of the room wouldn’t be enough. “We can’t.”
“You don’t want me?”
“It’s not that.”
Now she pulled away, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “You prefer your women experienced?”
“Christine.” His voice was filled with the weight of a thousand things he couldn’t say.
Her hand returned to the ribbon at her throat. She tugged at it, opening an inch of robe, revealing an inch of skin.
A second ribbon. Another inch of skin.
His mouth went dry.
A third ribbon parted and he caught sight of the luscious curve of a creamy breast.
Holy hell. The woman had lost her mind. Now she was going to cost him his.
“We can’t.” The words tasted of ash.
Her fingers hovered near the fourth ribbon, the one that would reveal her breasts.
He caught her hand and repeated, “We can’t.” His body disagreed.
“We can.” She rose up on her toes and her lips brushed the line of his jaw.
His mother dead because of his father’s job, his sister dead because of Zeke’s. He wouldn’t risk Christine. “We can’t.”
She nipped his jaw. “You’re sure?”
He gathered his resolve and thrust her away. “I’m sure.”