a Touch of Ice (32 page)

“I’ll give Agent Evans a report on what happened to her and let him take it from there. He’s not one to understand the calling, so I’ll just drop my report on his desk while I’m between flights. Mala Sen,” I said, bending for a hug. “The dead woman’s name is Mala Sen.”

“Uh-huh. But tha’s not what’s important, child. All the time you’ve spent here a’talkin to me, always with the accent of your father. Not once slippin’ into the rhythm of the Bayou. Now tha’s important. Closer to bein’ a Brit than you’d like, I’m thinkin’.”

“No. Definitely not. It’s because Cajun words flow with mysticism. The calling is eerie enough what with the dead crowding my head, demanding attention. In my father’s world there’s no room for magic, no room for anything but crisp, clean logic. It’s safe. Predictable.”

I scooped my mug off the table and headed for the bedroom before Grandmamma could say another word. I wasn’t running away from her. I wasn’t. I had to finish packing. Not that a backpack takes a long time to fill, but I needed to make some notes on Mala’s abduction and murder. Neat, orderly notes I could pass on to Agent Evans without a lot of fuss. And absolutely before I got caught by the lure of his perfect body, lopsided sexy smile, and warm brown eyes that made my hormones spin out of control.

In spite of what Grandmamma thought, a lot of the Cajun had seeped into my bones and I needed to pull the British half of my ancestry firmly into place. Over a month in the Bayou had softened my stiff upper lip—to say nothing of the mess the dead had made of my otherwise orderly mind. It had nothing to do with my father. Not a single, blasted thing.

By the time I finished packing, Grandmamma was in her rocker on the porch, knitting needles flying. A ray of sunlight caught the skeins of golden lamé yarn in her basket. “I need to be off.” I reached down and ran my fingers over the yarn. “This is really quite lovely. For something special?”

A grin played along her lips and sparkled in her eyes. “For your wedding, child. For your wedding.”

Table of Contents

a Touch of Ice

Midpoint