[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (31 page)

“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?”