Dark Lily: Shadows, Book 4 (19 page)

Gaby glanced at the now empty porch swing. “Celia said he was ruthless in business. And right before her ‘tea’ kicked in, I’m sure I heard Emily call your grandfather a bastard.”

“Which might or might not have been a remark based on personal experience. He screwed a lot of people, me included.” Mitchell’s eyes glinted. “Or so he thought.”

“Now there’s an intriguing remark.”

“Like grandfather, like grandson. I know how to wiggle out of tight spots. I’ve been doing it my whole life. I was in the process of doing it the night Phoebe strolled into my blues club.”

Gaby could have read him. He was open to it. But it didn’t feel polite, not for something this important. So she went with the alternative. Seduction. It tended to work quite well for her.

Pressing a finger to his chin, she set her tongue on her upper lip and let her lashes partly conceal her eyes. “I know there’s a reason you want me to teeter on this precipice. I’m just not sure how long I’ll be able to maintain my balance. I do understand you’re obligated to go back to New Orleans.”

“Yeah?” His dark eyes stared straight into hers. “What I understand is that this island is still in need of a police chief.”

“I thought you left the police force when your grandfather died.”

“I took an extended leave of absence. Once a cop, Gaby.”

“Apparently. But truth for truth. You’re not going to stay here and be our chief of police.”

He grinned at her. “I really love how you put words in my mouth while you’re handing me my hat.”

“I’m not handing you anything.” She sighed. “Look, I know you worked hard to get Crucible to agree to my ‘death’, and I appreciate the effort, but you don’t seriously expect the deception to sustain forever, do you?”

“Solution?” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he held her gaze. “You stay put, for the most part, and let Bokur work its voodoo magic on any and all comers.”

Suspicion snuck in. “Does Billy have anything to do with this voodoo magic idea?”

“Speaking as an outsider, honey, the briefest visit from Billy would rattle the biggest skeptic on the planet. And Leshad’s no kind of skeptic.”

“Uh-huh.” Tapping a finger to his mouth, Gaby pushed back. “It seems to me you’re suggesting that you and Billy got together and, just in case Ryder’s interference and Tom Cutter’s support didn’t hold sufficient weight, plotted a way to keep both Leshad and Crucible at bay.”

He kissed the tip of her finger. “Let’s say we had a highly esoteric, non-verbal meeting of the minds. And, yes, I know. Doll, mind, something of a contradiction in terms.”

“Not to me, but that isn’t the point.”

“No, it isn’t. What it boils down to is that neither Leshad nor Crucible will want to step on many toes where you’re concerned. Opposition-wise, there’s Phoebe, Madeleine and Celia, not to mention all the other souls, both human and ghost, that inhabit this island. You’re well-liked by everyone on Bokur. You’ll be safe here.”

“Making it a done deal from your point of view.” She drilled a finger into his chest. “Except maybe I don’t want to stay on Bokur while you go—”

“You haven’t been listening, Gaby. I’m not leaving.” Taking her face in his hands, he made her look at him. “Any business I need to conduct can be done from Bokur.” His lips quirked. “Minus the occasional incognito sojourn to New Orleans. Being the chief of police on this small island isn’t likely to consume much of my time. Not post-Leshad anyway.”

“I see you’ve given this some thought.” Gaby wiggled against him, felt him go instantly hard. “I do believe I love you, Mitchell. You shot a blank at me tonight instead of a real bullet, even with your mind all messed up from Emily’s tea and sporting a pair of identical guns.”

“Yeah, like Billy would have let me screw up anything that vital. He was in my head, pointing at you while I took aim. I didn’t see a lily in his hand, so I figured I had it right.”

“Sounds like you and Billy are getting to be real good friends.”

“He trusts me to look out for you. He trusts me because he knows I love you.”

As Mitchell lowered his mouth to hers, Gaby’s gaze shifted to where Madeleine and Billy hovered in silence, watching them. For a moment, the two of them became one. Then they vanished, slowly, until all that remained was the sound of voodoo drums and the scent of lilies drifting on the mist through the dark planation garden.

Epilogue

With her dog, Voudou, at her side, Miranda strolled through New Orleans’ bustling French Quarter. She wished for a bottle of Cabernet, a bowl of spicy gumbo and a man she’d never met to take her away from her crazy life for an hour or two. What she got was a tug on her hair and an iced latte that appeared when Killian draped an arm over her shoulders.

“At the risk of ruining your first night off in forever, Crucible wants to see us. Pronto.” He gave her a bracing shake. “Ditto, Tom Cutter.”

Not the most promising scenario in Miranda’s opinion. “Who’s steaming more?” she asked.

“Six of one from my perspective. Crucible glared at me and didn’t say a word. On the flipside, Cutter was quite garrulous. He wondered how it would feel for a man to be hung from the fiftieth floor of a building by his ponytail. Then he smiled and told me to let him know if I ever found out. I’ve been dispatched to retrieve you.”

Miranda pressed on her suddenly throbbing left temple. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“Quite possibly. A body washed ashore in the vicinity of Snake Scream Swamp, which is part of the water system leading to Bokur Island. Male. Early fifties. Champion swimmer. Cause of death? Drowning.”

The zydeco music Miranda had been enjoying gave way to the beginnings of a migraine. She set a calming hand on Voudou’s flank when he spotted a tabby cat draped over a wrought-iron balcony rail. “Don’t make me guess, Killian. All I know is that the dead male isn’t the late CJ Best, which thankfully is one nightmare that’s over and dealt with.”

“Jubal Canard,” Killian said without preamble. “Erstwhile brother-in-law to Emmett Delacroix.”

And Delacroix was strongly rumored to be in Leshad’s back pocket. Miranda watched a street juggler wield eight flaming batons. “What was Canard doing in the bayou?”

Killian tugged on his silver earring. “Sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, I’m afraid. Going after Gaby Jordan maybe? We know now she lives on Bokur Island. Could be Canard figured that out a bit before we did.”

“More likely Leshad figured it out.” Miranda used her index fingers to point in opposite directions. “So who answers which summons?”

“You’re Crucible’s assistant. I’m the liaison. Not much choice really, is there? I’ll tuck my ponytail under a ball cap and deal with Cutter.” He paused to follow her suddenly transfixed gaze. “Miranda? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Please tell me you see her.”

He frowned. “I see a lot of hers. Be specific.”

If she had to be specific, he didn’t see her. Voudou did though, because he promptly sat and stared.

“Don’t be alarmed, child.”

The filmy apparition had black holes for eyes, gray skin and wore a filthy sack of a dress. She also floated two feet off the busy sidewalk. No one seemed to notice her, yet not a single person walked through her.

“Having a serious breakdown here,” Miranda said under her breath. “Are you sure you can’t see her, Killian?”

“Okay, are we talking about the overstuffed woman in the swirly purple robe thing?”

“No, we’re talking about the skeletal woman in the burlap-sack thing.”

“I’m here for you, Miranda, no one else,” the apparition said. “I can’t delve into your mind, but I know more is there than you realize. Remember, child, all that transpires in life is relative. There’s a smudge on your aura. You’ve had a passing brush with evil. The final stroke may go much deeper over time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Look to your roots, child. Don’t let the smudge contaminate your soul.”

Miranda jerked. Killian steadied her. “I don’t think you’re drunk,” he said, still frowning. “What the hell just happened to you?”

“I have no idea.” She slashed a hand in front of her. “None at all.” At her side, Voudou stood, gave a short bark and wagged his tail. “Perfect. Obviously, he’s fine with whatever it was we just saw. If we saw anything. If we didn’t, I’m losing my mind. Either that or I’m in serious need of sleep. And, knowing Crucible, I won’t be getting any in the near future.”

“Highly likely. Do you, ah, need a ride? Anything?”

“What? No, I’m good. Really. I just had a moment. Exhaustion’ll do that.”

Killian didn’t appear convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

At least she was until she saw the little wooden doll. He was sitting in a café chair, smiling blithely. And pointing at her.

* * * * *

The night moved on. Life moved on. Jubal Canard was dead. Leshad’s sources indicated that Gabrielle Jordan was not. It was a sign, in his opinion, an incontrovertible one. As long as she remained on Bokur Island, Madeleine Lessard’s granddaughter was beyond his reach.

He’d dealt with his fury over that, and now he sat, composed and collected, surveying the baubles on his desk. Tokens had been removed from every calling-card murder scene, whether that murder had been committed by him, on his behalf, or for business purposes.

He’d smashed the two makeup compacts he’d received but kept the hair clips, the pendants, the earrings, a rather nice set of onyx cufflinks and several pairs of sunglasses. One of the gunmen he’d sent out had returned with a nose ring, but that was vulgar, ergo the man who’d brought it to him was now wearing it.

Leshad picked up the most recent memento. It was an earring shaped like a feather, and it made him think of hooded vultures. For some reason, that particular species amused him. Sadly, any amusement he felt these days was short-lived.

Tapping a finger on his desk, he turned his attention to a computer screen set to receive images but not to send them. He watched smoke from a cigarette spiral ghost white against a background of gritty black.

“Things haven’t gone quite as I’d hoped,” he said in his distorted voice. “Why is Jubal Canard dead, Emily?”

She looked straight into the camera. “He’s dead because he ran us into a tree.”

“And what do you suppose possessed a man with so much skill on the water to run his motor boat into a tree?”

Something rippled in her eyes. “He saw…” She exhaled through her nose. “Let’s call it an apparition.”

Leshad controlled his pulse rate, and his fear. “Let’s call it a ghost and move on.”

“It wasn’t a ghost.”

“No? So you saw it too then, is that right?”

“I saw features, I think, just for a moment. Painted. Malevolent. I also glimpsed a wilted black flower. Jubal screamed and covered his face. He started convulsing on the deck. He insisted there were voodoo drums beating close by, but I didn’t hear them. Before I could take the wheel, we crashed. I got away. Jubal didn’t.”

Leshad’s finger circled a red key in the corner of his computer. “Can you give me one good reason why I should allow you to finish that cigarette?”

Emily squeezed the filter a bit tighter. However, she shrugged and said, “I can give you two, but I only need one, unconnected for the most part to the nightmare of Bokur Island.” Blowing smoke into the shadowy air, she tipped her lips into a smile and sent him a crafty look. “Look closer into Crucible’s camp, Leshad. You’ll find a female who’s more than she appears to be. Her name is Miranda.”

About the Author

Jenna began creating stories before she could read. Over the years, she has worked in several different industries, including modeling, interior design and travel, however, writing has always been her passion. She earned a degree in Creative Writing from the University of Victoria in British Columbia and currently lives in a semi-rural setting fifteen minutes from that city. She loves reader feedback. You can visit Jenna Ryan any time at
www.jennaryanauthor.com
or leave a comment on her Facebook page
www.facebook.com/jenna.ryan.5201
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Look for these titles by Jenna Ryan

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Coming Soon:

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Don’t miss the other titles in Jenna Ryan’s Shadow series

In the bayou mist, evil waits just beyond the edge of your sight.

Shadows
, Book 3

When Rosemary Sayer answers her brother’s frantic call for help, she has no idea it’ll be to look into his dying eyes before a sniper finishes him off. She escapes with seconds to spare and her brother’s last words ringing in her ears. Find Sean Tanner or risk being killed herself.

The difficult former Navy SEAL is the last person Rosemary wants to turn to, but it’s either that or die, and she’s not ready for the grave just yet.

Tanner wants no part of Rosemary or her half-formed second sight. But when she shows him a familiar sketched silhouette, he can’t turn her away. He knows about Crucible and the phantom murderer named Leshad—and he’d rather walk through a minefield than deal with what lies ahead.

As an unbalanced killer pursues them ever deeper into the swamp, their attraction flares and ancient, macabre tales take on a nightmarish reality that pushes Rosemary and Tanner to the edge of everything they thought they knew about the past, the present—and a future that’s about to be ripped away.

This title was originally published by Harlequin in 2014.

Warning:
Contains best friends turned turncoat, assumptions turned on their heads, and opposites turned lovers. Pull up a cypress stump, it’s time for a story that’ll burn your s’mores to a crisp. Ain’t nobody gonna be sleepin’ tonight!