Dark Lily: Shadows, Book 4 (6 page)

“Might be back. Might not. He drinks.”

“I’m beginning to understand why.”

“Okay, fine.” Raising her hands in surrender, she pivoted to face him. “You don’t want to go? No problem. I’ll just leave you to Fred, let him haul you around town, show you the Bokur ropes.”

He climbed into the truck. “You’re fucking worse than my grandfather.”

Shrugging, she punched in a phone number. “There you go,” she said as he pulled her into the cab behind him. “I was just trying to make you feel at home… Crap, he’s not answering. Or he left his phone somewhere. Don’t you dare not start,” she added, pointing at the engine Mitchell was attempting to crank over.

When it caught, Mitchell sent her a steady look. But all he said was, “This place is too damn weird for anyone not hatched from an egg.” With that, he upped the volume on Deep Purple and followed her directions to a barely navigable road slash trail that apparently bisected the island.

For fifteen minutes, they slammed through stagnant pools, climbed up and over swamp knolls and spotted more alligators than could possibly be healthy. Steam rose, Spanish moss dripped and although the sun was up, shadows hung thick and heavy between the misshapen trees.

He figured they were closing in on the dock when Gaby huffed out a breath and dropped back in her seat. “Forget it, Mitchell, you can slow down. Boat’s gone.”

He checked the dash for warning lights after the rough ride, but nothing glowed red. “Straight answer, Gaby. Why did Morgan weigh anchor so early?”

“Could be more people are coming to work on the hotel. Five or six are already here, but I don’t think Annie’s impressed with their workday-starts-whenever attitudes. Supplies all need to be imported. And I meant what I said before. There’s a better than even chance Morgan ran up a bill at the bar that he doesn’t have the money to pay down.” She started to elaborate but regarded him instead. “Why do you have a cop-like expression on your face all of a sudden?”

“How many workers did you say are here?”

“Five or six.”

“Are any of them local?”

“No. Annie went with local six months ago. She hasn’t been able to use the hotel dining room ever since.”

“Are these five or six workers staying at the hotel?”

“Two of them are. The others brought camper vans. Where’s this going?”

“It’ll come to you. What about tourists?”

“Maybe a dozen. Three or four of them are kids.”

“That’s a lot of strangers, Gaby.”

“Annie and the town council would beg to differ.”

Mitchell’s mind kicked into full investigative mode. “Do you know when these people arrived? Go back two days, three at the most.”

“The workers driving vans came yesterday. The two at the hotel—not sure. You can ask Annie about them and about the tourists. There’s nowhere else to stay on Bokur.”

He raised both brows. “Nowhere?”

“Nowhere that isn’t privately owned. Leshad’s not here, Mitchell. I’d sense his aura.”

“I don’t think Leshad does his own dirty work. He might have at one time, but my guess is, he’s beyond that by now.”

She angled the vent fan to blow on her face. “Were you this reassuring during your active days on the force?”

“I only pulled protective detail once. The guy I was assigned to watch was a prick, so I took great pleasure in not reassuring him. I talked to Phoebe three and a half days ago. She sashayed into my new blues club through the front door, and sat down with me in plain sight.”

“Just exactly what kind of crowd does this blues club of yours attract?”

“I haven’t owned it long enough to find out.” He went back over their conversation. “She was careful to keep her voice low and not to speak when anyone came near our table.”

“All points in her favor, I’d say.”

“Except for the storeroom behind me,” he continued. “Several glasses crashed to the floor as her visit was winding down. I thought Jasper and Bruce were behind the destruction, but that’s the easy answer.”

“And Jasper and Bruce are?”

“Ghosts.”

“Really?” Her delight was evident. “Now there’s a thing I would never have guessed about you, Mitchell Stone. You tolerate poltergeists.”

“I’m not sure tolerate’s the right word, but I’ve spent enough time in New Orleans to know that what is just is, whether there’s a rational explanation for it or not.”

The light in her eyes took an artless turn. “That’s an excellent philosophy, the kind that opens a lot of doors on Bokur Island. Maybe I’ve been premature in my rush to get you off the island.” She surprised him by angling herself so she could stroke a speculative finger over his cheek. “You’re pretty, in a tall, dark and mysterious way.”

“I can live with half of that description.”

“I had a stuffed dog named Mojo once,” she went on. “Still do actually. You have his namesake quality, a mystical soul. Touch of wild, touch of hard, touch of grudging conscience. If it makes you feel better, those qualities take the pretty down several desirable notches.”

Fixing his gaze on hers, he leaned in to wrap the fingers of one hand around the side of her head. “I’ll take the mojo, but tell me I’m pretty one more time, and I swear I’ll find a way to stick you and your fellow islanders with my grandfather’s ghost. Believe me when I tell you, he’ll drive everyone here, alive and dead, to their graves.”

“You make him sound like a monster.”

“He was. Why are you pulling away from me, Gaby?”

Tipping her head back, she studied him through her lashes. “Because I’m not sure I want to kiss you. Or let you kiss me. I’ve been known to get…carried away by my emotions.”

“Yeah, I noticed that last night.”

“No, you really didn’t. Last night was a slight overstep of a calculated warning. My Aunt Tallulah told me that hate and anger are the most dangerous of all emotions. I don’t have cause to hate anyone, but I feel glimmers of anger from time to time.”

It had to be inherent perversity that made him view her remark as a direct challenge. “Are you angry right now?”

Her smile held an answering dare. “I’m not sure. I guess it’s up to you to decide whether or not you want to find out.”

Only a fool would rush in. Or any male in a ten-mile radius with a single functioning ball and half a working eye. The way Mitchell saw it, he’d made far worse mistakes in his time.

Her humorous, “Sounds like you’ve lived a very interesting life,” probably should have frightened the living hell out of him since he hadn’t uttered the thought aloud. But then some risks were simply worth taking.

Letting his gaze glint into hers, Mitchell took the plunge.

Chapter Seven

His kiss overloaded her senses. She hadn’t anticipated that. Wouldn’t have believed it could be done. But the slide of his lips over hers sent shockwaves right down to Gaby’s toes.

She knew a moment of mindless delight, followed by a hard thrust of need like a knife blade to her midsection.

Taking her face in his hands, Mitchell gave himself better access to her mouth. He used his tongue to seduce, to explore and evoke. Maybe to provoke as well, because he was more rough than gentle, with no apology offered.

A hint of dark mischief swam in as Gaby pulled free to regard him through her lashes. Amusement, already kindled, rose when she realized his eyes were even blacker than before. “You’ve got a wicked kick, Mitchell. I like it. Sweet and yearning’s never been my style.”

“Makes two of us,” he said and took her mouth again.

No whiskey could rival the taste of him. Gaby wanted to climb over the console and onto his lap. To sample and be sampled. To sink in and let sensation take her wherever it chose.

There was music. She heard the driving beat in snatches above the thud of her heart. The air around them sizzled. Her mind and body wanted more. Her mouth demanded it.

Mitchell took the kiss deeper. The word
plunder
spun in and out like a dervish. He glided his hands from her face to her throat and along her bare arms.

He left his lips on hers as he murmured, “You’re killing me here.”

She smiled against his mouth. “Anything electric you’re feeling is your doing, not mine. I’m too busy enjoying myself to be shooting off sparks.”

He kissed her again, and this time her whole body tingled. “You don’t need to shoot sparks. Touching me is more than enough. Honey, you’ve got some kind of magic fingers.”

“I’ve got…” Confusion slipped in. She glanced between them. And laughed when she realized what unrestrained lust had compelled her to do.

She didn’t remove her hands from the bulge in his jeans, but she did close her eyes and smile. “Sorry. Urges got away from me. That doesn’t usually happen.”

“I’m flattered.”

The humor of it lingered. “I could say better flattered than smoked, but that would be a lie.”

“Which part?” he asked as she retreated with a sincere sigh of regret back to her seat.

Still amused, she fanned her face and let the question hang.

Steam rising from the water ramped up the already wet heat. Every so often, a breeze fluttered the sycamore leaves, but beyond that, it was all about bayou life—insects buzzing, birds chirping and reptiles patiently waiting for their next meal.

The sounds soothed Gaby’s mind and her senses. The world felt lush and eerie this deep in the swamp. New Orleans was a million miles away, and California was fast becoming a memory. A pleasant one in many respects, but here was home. Here in this microcosm of wandering spirits, spells and dark voodoo magic.

She wondered vaguely how Mitchell viewed those things. Then the thought stalled, and she raised her head. Was there smoke in the air? She inhaled and caught the scent again, just a trace. Not the kind of smoke that came from a burning barrel, this was the smell of old wood going up in flames.

Alert as a cat, Gaby twisted in her seat, searching. “Scent of wood smoke,” she murmured. “Where’s the source?”

Mitchell frowned. “All I smell are flowers.”

“That’s my perfume. Something’s burning.”

He lowered his window, started the Jeep. “Got it. Which way?”

She spotted the first wisps. “North. Take the twisty road.”

“What the hell’s the twisty road?”

“Not the main one,” she said. “It’s a small island, Mitchell. Names aren’t necessary, except in town.”

“Which also has no name. Point me, Gaby. Nothing looks like a damn road around here.”

“Head for the gap between the cypress trees. And don’t say your Jeep won’t fit. It will.”

“Without scraping off the paint?”

The look she sent him didn’t say anything kind. “It could be someone’s home going up in flames. A little paint is hardly important.”

“You and my grandfather would not have seen eye to eye on any subject.” Gearing down, he maneuvered through the trees in ruts nearly the height of his tires. “Does this mean your friend Celia’s potion doesn’t work, or do you have more than one pyromaniac on Bokur?”

Gaby braced a hand on the dash. “Celia’s potions always work. Fred probably screwed up the ingredients. Reading’s not his best skill. Turn left.”

“Into a river?”

“It’s a stream, and don’t argue. I think it’s Celia’s shed.”

Five minutes of serious off-road dips and climbs brought billows of thick gray smoke into sight. And, yes, they were coming from Celia’s shed.

Mitchell eased the Jeep closer. “How is it possible for anything to burn after last night’s storm?”

“Shed’s freshly painted. Paint repels water.”

“Did Celia have anything valuable inside?”

“No.” Gaby hopped out before he came to a full stop. “But I do.” Spotting a man in the trees, she strode toward him. “Harley Ficket, you damn well better sprout wings. I had an antique secretary, a whack of hardwood flooring and three crates of old books in that shed. If I catch you, I’ll set you on fire.”

Although he leaped from his perch and bolted, it was nothing more than a game to Harley.

Gaby ran after him, partly for form and partly to cool her temper, while she tried not to think about the flames devouring her possessions.

The shed had been fully involved long before she and Mitchell had arrived. There’d be nothing left but ashes by the time she returned. So she ran on and didn’t stop until she felt certain Harley would be wheezing.

Pearled rays of sunlight began to poke through the canopy of treetops. Down below, the mist held sway. She sensed a presence or two but nothing that chose to manifest. Setting the restless murmurs of past lives aside, Gaby thought back to a kiss that shouldn’t have happened. Not that such a fascinating distraction hadn’t been welcome after everything Mitchell had dumped on her last night. However, it hadn’t been wise.

She turned a slow circle as she walked, ducking under Spanish moss and making another turn. She could still taste him, still feel what he’d called up inside her. Emotions she’d never entirely tapped into before. Sensations she’d chosen to avoid rather than acknowledge.

It was dangerous at the best of times to shut out her surroundings. Gaby realized she’d made a mistake when something cold, like an icy finger, slithered down her spine. She had no time to react, no chance to scream or even take a breath, as a leather-covered hand slammed across her mouth. A second hand grabbed her right wrist and yanked her arm up behind her back.

“One sound, one twitch, one shiver I don’t like, and you will know pain,” a man’s rough voice said in her ear. “You’re all alone in this godforsaken swamp. I’m not. Do you understand me?”

Terrified, but not beyond her capacity to think, Gaby gave a quick nod. Despite the pain, she forced her mind to relax. If she jolted him, he might break her arm. If Billy appeared and startled him, same result. Better to do as he said and keep thinking until something came to her that wouldn’t end with any part of her being damaged.

He uncovered her mouth, but only so he could curl his fingers around her throat. “Very good,” he congratulated. “I was told you’d be smart.”

She steadied her breathing, before venturing a calm, “Told by Leshad, or by Senator CJ Best?”

“Told by the person who hired me,” he growled. “That’s all you need to know, and all I care about.”

“Really? You don’t care about Sherry Lynn?”

His fingers jerked. The hand holding her wrist tightened. “Where’d you get that from?”

“From you.” She scrambled to dig out his name. Couldn’t quite. “You think I smell real good. You want Sherry Lynn to smell like me and pour the drugstore perfume she wears down the toilet.”

“You do not know that.” He yanked her arm up higher, hissed through his teeth. “You can’t.”

Okay, this wasn’t working the way she’d hoped. Gaby tilted sideways, trying to ease the pain that raced up and down her arm. She would have spiked him, except she wasn’t wearing heels. And he was muscled to the max, so ramming an elbow into his stomach was pointless. He’d probably scoff at the attempt. Then break her arm.

He raised his voice. “Get over here now, Baxter. This bitch is creeping me out.” When his partner didn’t answer, he barked. “Baxter, you candy ass. You get over here before I snap her arm in two.”

He was doing that already. Wincing, Gaby leaned farther to the side. “Damage the goods, pal, and you run the risk of Leshad and/or Best doing the same to you.”

He kicked her with his knee. “You’ve got a big mouth, lady.”

“That’s not all I’ve got…” His name came to her on a slash of pain. “Stubbins.”

The sound of his own name froze him. “How the hell do you know that?” He shook her roughly and whipped her around. “How?”

She was about to go for a strong mental punch coupled with a physical shove when he flung her to the ground.

Stars exploded in her head. She landed in mud that sucked on her limbs when she tried to roll.
Okay
, she thought woozily,
need a moment to lose the stars and collect my thoughts.

Very slowly, the sound of fists colliding with bone worked its way through the mental fog. Her head continued to spin. Billy’s face, grinning like a ferocious animal, slipped in and out. Mitchell’s face came and stayed.

She made it to her hands and knees, focusing on the movement ahead of her. Mitchell and Stubbins were gridlocked. Stubbins broke free and landed a double-handed blow to Mitchell’s shoulder.

Gaby felt the pain as if it were her own. It surged along Mitchell’s arm. Shaking her own, she shoved the hurt away and pushed to her knees.

The dizziness began to fade. A smile stole across her lips. Mitchell was doing just fine by himself. But… “Guy has a glass jaw,” she shouted.

Mitchell’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. Oh, yeah, he knew how to handle himself, all right. When Stubbins fumbled a gun from his boot, Mitchell kicked it away. Gaby heard it splash in the water.

Locking her gaze on the big man, she took a shot of her own, an invisible board to the back of his head.

Stubbins yelped, and then he got mad. More punches flew. She saw Mitchell dance back, could almost hear him calculating the odds. Out of nowhere it seemed, he landed a punch that toppled his opponent like a felled tree.

Impressed, Gaby rubbed her still-tingling arm.

“Are you all right?” Mitchell asked.

“Arm’s sympathetic. I hit my head, but it’s clearing. Stubbins’s is a mess. His thoughts are all over the place. It’s tricky to follow a bouncing ball.”

“Do what you can.” Going to one knee, Mitchell dragged the big man’s head from a pool of water. “Much as I’d love to let you drown, we need some information.”

Stubbins glared one-eyed. “You wait’ll Baxter shows up,” he slurred. “He’ll go through you like a bullet through butter.”

“So about the same effect as a bullet going through your brain.” Mitchell held the man’s face out of the water by his hair, which was long and a dirty-brown.

Gaby put his age at about forty-five as she walked a tight circle around him. “I’m getting Leshad’s name more than Best’s,” she said. “But that could be fear. Leshad’s vicious and vindictive, and Stubbins knows it. I think it was CJ who actually sent him.” She glanced in the direction of Celia’s house. “Sent him and Baxter.”

Mitchell smiled a little. “That’s a handy talent you’ve got there, Gaby. What does Baxter look like?”

She offset the chill that wanted to crawl over her skin. “I can’t find it. It’s buried too deep in his mind. All I’m seeing is Leshad and snippets of Sherry Lynn.”

“Who?”

“Girlfriend. I’m being polite. If you want answers, Mitchell, Celia has some plant-based concoctions that run along the lines of truth serum.”

“No fucking way!” As if shot with a super dose of adrenaline, Stubbins reared up. His backhanded punch missed, so he wrapped his arms around Mitchell’s waist.

“Jesus.” More annoyed than concerned, Mitchell let the big man take him down. Then he used an elbow to clip Stubbins’s throat.

Flopping onto his back, the big man reached inside his shirt. Fortunately, Mitchell was faster and straight-armed his police special before Stubbins’s hand made it all the way out.

“On the ground,” Mitchell told him.

Stubbins responded by snapping a gun in Gaby’s direction.

Mitchell shot the weapon from his grasp. But Gaby saw the unswerving resolution in Stubbins’s eyes, read it in his mind. Not going to jail.

“Don’t shoot him, Mitchell,” she warned.

“Do it,” Stubbins bellowed, and bleeding from the wrist, surged to his feet.

The next bullet grazed his shoulder.

Roaring, he yanked a knife from the back of his pants. He used his massive body weight to propel himself forward.

With Stubbins virtually on top of him, Mitchell jumped sideways.

Stubbins hit the ground hard. Gaby swore she felt the swamp shudder. A long grunt bled into a watery groan. All four of his limbs twitched and then stopped moving.

Swiping at blood on his mouth, Mitchell stuffed his gun in the waistband of his jeans. “Fell on his own knife,” he told Gaby. “Anything left in his mind?”

“Not now.” She stared at the motionless man. “But as he was going down, I heard him think he was lucky to be getting off so easily.”