Dark Lily: Shadows, Book 4 (14 page)

A masked woman glided across the floor to lean against the exit door. A wall shadow covered the upper half of her body. Gaby thought a suspicious mind might construe that as a rather convenient circumstance.

“It’s had its moments.” She inspected her lipstick. “I’m sure there’ll be more.”

“Emmet Delacroix enjoys keeping his guests off balance. He’s quite proficient at it. You think one thing, then bam, you get something else. Something totally unexpected.”

“Something dangerous?” Gaby speculated.

“Perhaps, if you happen to be in the way of what he hopes to achieve. Of course, that same quality can be applied to a number of other individuals as well.”

Gaby’s brows went up. “Like CJ Best, for example?”

“Exactly like him.” The woman’s tone turned briefly venomous. “Snakes are born to shed their skin. Only the most reptilian of humans do the same. CJ Best mastered the technique years ago.”

“I’ve heard that about him.” Gaby tracked her movements as the woman pushed off to prowl the room. “Do you know Leshad’s real name?”

The masked head swung around. Gaby sensed surprise, but no malevolence. “How on earth would I know that?”

“You know CJ Best and Emmett Delacroix. And I know you know Madeleine Lessard.”

Clinging to the variegated patches of darkness, the woman made a wide arc around the counter where Gaby stood. “That’s a deduction, a perceptive one, because you’re pulling nothing from my mind. But then Madeleine was a clever woman, and you are, after all, her granddaughter.”

“Is that what I am?” Anger began to simmer. It didn’t offset the rising pain. “Why did you come here, Phoebe? It can’t be safe for you on this riverboat. Leshad might see it as a way to get both of us in one shot.”

“Leshad doesn’t want me.” Her birth mother raised a forestalling hand. “No, I’ll qualify that, and say he doesn’t want me alive. I don’t have what he thinks he needs inside me. I’m just a whore whose elimination will briefly assuage his rapidly growing panic.”

“Now you’re talking curse. Specifically, the curse Madeleine put on him.”

“I hid you from Leshad because my mother, your grandmother, told me the day would come when the evil that had blinded her would return to terrorize us and many others. She said there was little anyone could do to prevent what would be. That’s the scourge of second sight. It tends to be extremely gloomy.”

Gaby turned in place as Phoebe walked around her. “Madeleine didn’t see everything though, did she? She couldn’t have, or those of us who’ve been subsequently touched by Leshad’s madness might as well have put bullets in our heads from the start.”

“I think—I’m not sure, but I believe—Madeleine foresaw her own death very clearly. As for the rest…” Phoebe spread slim fingers. “Let’s say Leshad’s plans have been thwarted by people he’s tried and failed to kill, and/or to apprehend. He’s powerful. He’s not omnipotent. Where’s Mitchell, by the way?”

“Waiting for me outside.” Unsure what she should be feeling, Gaby asked, “Why are you blocking your thoughts?”

“Because you’re my baby.” Phoebe’s voice almost broke. She reached out, snared Gaby’s wrist and drew her closer. “Whatever happens, Gabrielle, understand I’m doing this for you.”

Gaby freed herself, but not before she felt a tiny prick on her neck.

By glowing lamplight, she glimpsed beautiful, shadowed features. Then Phoebe’s lips touched her cheek. “Be safe,” she whispered. “The immobility will only last for a few minutes.”

The powder room door swished open and closed. Gaby wanted to follow, but as strong as it was, her mind couldn’t make her limbs obey. She slithered to the floor, her body tingling, her brain oddly numb.

She was struggling to overcome the effects of whatever paralytic drug Phoebe had used when an explosion deep in the hull rocked the riverboat.

Chapter Sixteen

The force of the blast threw Mitchell and everyone in the vicinity sideways. Two women landed on him. One of them shrieked that her arm was broken. The other simply shrieked.

The boat developed an immediate list to port. Through the melee, a man shouted, “Did an engine blow?”

Something had blown, and no way had it been accidental.

He got the women to their feet and told them to head for the nearest exit. A second man plowed into him as the boat gave a sudden lurch. More frantic than the women, he grabbed Mitchell’s shirt and told him to do something.

“I can’t swim,” the man bellowed above the furor of screams and thumps and cries for help. “Will the boat go back upright?”

“The Titanic didn’t.” Mitchell pried his groping hands free. “Find a life jacket and—shit!”

Another explosion, this one marginally smaller, sent shockwaves upward from the hull. The frightened man took Mitchell and three other guests down with him when he fell. Two of those guests were too drunk to understand what was happening. The third fired a visual dagger at the main entryway. “Delacroix probably let his bastard brother-in-law man the helm. Ten to one we’ve run aground.”

They hadn’t, but Mitchell didn’t argue. He merely rolled out of the dog pile, shed his mask and cape and set his sights on the washroom door.

Overhead and in the sconces, the already low lights winked off and on, like a Morse code message gone mad. There had to be twenty people between him and that door, and all of them were off balance either because of their spikey heels or from the effects of the alcohol.

In the continuous flickering of light, he saw two men emerge from the washroom with a struggling female. When her head snapped around, he glimpsed Gaby’s mask. The also-masked henchmen dragged their prisoner into the casino, fighting the tilt of the floor all the way.

Arms flailed, bodies collided, glassware and poker chips skittered across the casino carpet. Pleas for help riddled the air. The lights blinked more off than on now. But somehow, Mitchell kept Gaby in sight.

He thought he might be gaining ground on the trio until a large man tripped and fell in front of him. It was either stop or somersault over the guy.

“What the hell is that?” The downed man reared back, almost knocking Mitchell off his feet. He stabbed a shaking finger. “I mean, what the hell is that? It’s moving. I swear to God, its arm is moving.”

Shoving the man’s hand away, Mitchell regarded Billy’s fierce little face. His right arm was up and extended. And his index finger was pointing back the way Mitchell had come.

Mitchell hesitated, actually took a moment he didn’t have to rethink his pursuit.

He’d seen Gaby’s mask, thought he’d heard her call his name, though that could have been a product of his own fear. So why the hell was he standing here?

“No way!” The fallen man scrambled clumsily to his feet. “No way,” he yelled again. “No way. No way!”

Did Billy’s painted eyes grow more intense? Mitchell couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. Only Gaby mattered, and damn it, Billy was pointing toward the washroom.

“Fuck!”

He held for two more seconds. Then he turned and ran back the way he’d come. If anything happened to Gaby because of that doll and his own skewed perception, he’d burn the little wooden bastard, and to hell with its voodoo-queen creator.

People were calling out to their partners even as they struggled to stay on their feet. Mitchell used pony walls and columns to keep himself upright as he forged a path back through the ballroom.

Yanking the washroom door open, he fought his way inside. “Gaby?”

She didn’t answer.

He called out with his mind, and still nothing reached him.

Had he hallucinated seeing Billy in the casino? Unlikely, unless the man who’d fallen in front of him had been part of it.

So where was she?

“Gaby?” The boat lurched. The motion almost cost him his balance. Mitchell slanted a look toward the casino. “You’ll be kindling if she’s not here, doll. Gaby?”

He heard a whisper of sound under the cacophony behind him.

“I’m over here. Other side… I think.”
The whisper vanished.

He knew the words had flowed directly into his head. The babble outside and the groans from the hull were too loud to allow for any other option.

“Talk to me, Gaby.” Swinging around, he worked his way to the opposite side of the room. “Lights are mostly gone, but I can hear you.”

“Fuzzy,” she said, and finally, he spotted her.

She was on her knees, using the counter to haul herself to her feet. He spied the outline of a mask on the floor next to her. It was nothing like hers, so the woman he’d seen being removed must have switched her mask for Gaby’s.

The name slammed into him like a balled fist. Phoebe. Here, with Gaby, while he’d been watching for bad guys in the corridor.

“Christ, I should have checked this place all the way through before you went in,” he muttered.

But Gaby shook him off. “She was hiding. Waiting. Had a plan of her own, I’d say. Had something in mind anyway. She used a paralytic drug on me.”

“And let herself be taken.” When the boat teetered farther onto its side, Mitchell attempted to peer into her eyes. “Can you move?”

She breathed in and slowly out. “I think so. I feel—not sure what. Pins and needles. Like everything’s asleep.” She took another deep breath and fixed him with a level stare. “Leshad’s men bought the deception, didn’t they?”

“Same general build and height, similar voice, and she was wearing your mask. Yeah, they bought it. But it won’t hold forever. And unless this boat’s closer to shore than I think, we’re going down.”

“Why is news never— Uh, Mitchell?”

He only had to see her face to know what was over his shoulder. With no time to turn, he simply shoved her down and rolled them both under the vanity.

A split second later, a stream of bullets shattered the smoke-glass mirror above it.

The gunshots broke through the haze in Gaby’s brain.

“Stay right here,” Mitchell said and took off before she could object.

The boat pitched, a stuttering two-step that ended with a screech of wood, metal and straining rivets. Gaby levered onto her elbows.
Major nightmare
, she thought. Apparently, half of Delacroix’s guests had come aboard with a plan. Assuming the sinking of the Delta Belle had been among them, one rather significant plan was currently being realized. Two, if she included Phoebe’s act of suicidal lunacy. And then there was the shooter, who obviously hadn’t been fooled by the ploy.

Pushing to her knees, Gaby dragged the sliver of jersey silk over her head, kicked off her stilettos and tuned in.

A thousand screams raced toward her. She felt pain, saw blood, sensed terror. This method wouldn’t work. She’d have to search for Mitchell the old-fashioned way.

She heard heavy breathing in the ballroom. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, but it relieved her to see that many of the guests had escaped, or at least reached the outer deck.

Was the boat still turning? It trembled and shuddered and parts of it shrieked, but she didn’t think the angle of incline was changing all that much.

Maybe they’d run aground after the explosions.

“Gaby!” Mitchell reappeared and grabbed her hand. He had what must have been the shooter’s gun in his waistband and a cut on the corner of his mouth. “I caught the guy. Hired muscle’s my guess, not overly skilled. He’s taking a dip. I didn’t see Phoebe.”

Uncertainty clawed. “I can’t feel her, Mitchell. She won’t let me.”

The boat jerked. Mitchell gave her a firm push. “Time to disembark.” When she protested, he caught her chin and stared her down. “Phoebe’s dying. Remember that. This is her final gift to you. If Leshad’s men realize their mistake and circle back, that gift will have been wasted.”

Frustration mingled with a feeling of helplessness Gaby seldom experienced. “We can’t just leave her.”

“Gaby, that shot in the washroom was meant for me. The guy who fired it recognized us. How long do you think it will take for someone else to do the same? We’re leaving. Now.”

She wanted to argue, but Mitchell gave her no time to think it through. He shoved her ahead of him until she stopped fighting and began to run on her own.

Fragments of thoughts assailed her.
Where’s my husband? I lost my diamond bracelet. I can’t find a life jacket. I’m going to sue Emmett Delacroix and that idiot Jubal Canard. There’s more than one evil bastard on this boat…
The last snippet caught her off-guard. It felt slimy. Disturbed.

Slowing, Gaby twitched a shoulder.

“Something?” Mitchell asked from behind.

She halted, tried to determine the source. One of Crucible’s directors? “Maybe,” she said. “The pictures I’m getting are really muddled.” Lightning glimmered over the bayou. In the broad flicker of it, she spied a movement. “Mitchell!”

He swung around, yanking her down and at the same time drawing his gun. His shot caught the person behind him above the collarbone. Armed with something much larger than a police gun, their pursuer toppled over the deck rail.

Mitchell gave her no time to be shocked. Standing, he grasped her arms. “Ready?”

Gaby glanced into the black water. “As I’m ever going to be. Mitchell, Phoebe—”

“Yeah, I know.” After scooping her up, he swung her out over the rail. “Deep breath, honey. Don’t let anyone grab hold and pull you under. Head for that V-shaped gap in the cypress trees.”

“V-shaped gap. Got it.”

He let go. Unceremoniously and with no further instructions. She thought he might at least have asked if she could swim.

Fortunately, she could, and the catsuit was like a second skin, so there was no drag from the fabric.

Muddy water churned around the stricken Delta Belle. Hands and feet flailed, but she saw plenty of life jackets. Panic gave way to exhaustion the closer each guest got to shore.

Rain continued to fall, but no wind drove it sideways, and the thunder bolts seemed content to hover in and around the swamp.

Despite being a good swimmer, Gaby’s limbs were tightening up by the time she hauled herself onto the shore. She had to wait for a streak of lightning to locate the V-shaped break in the trees. Ten yards downriver, she noted, wringing out her hair. Not a bad aim all in all. If you didn’t count the fact that she had no shoes or weapons.

The terrain was slick and bumpy. And the possibility that she’d been followed weighed heavy on her mind. Wary, she opened herself to conscious thought. Hearing nothing except distant murmurs, she opened a little more. No evil sprang out of the dark. Didn’t mean she was safe, but no immediate threat was a good start.

It took her a few minutes to locate a path. When she did, she turned her face to the clouds, let the warm rain wash away mud, makeup and a small portion of her fear.

It whizzed out of the fathomless blackness ahead. A single clear thought, targeted directly at her.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Gaby.”