Deja Voodoo (A Cajun Magic Novel) (Entangled Suspense) (18 page)

When he thought the swamp might go on forever, Joe entered the sinister gloom of a cypress forest, where the Spanish moss hung low enough they had to duck to avoid being slapped in the face.

A small, dilapidated house appeared, nestled in the watery forest, its eaves sagging, bright-green moss growing on its porch rails. Madame LeBieu’s home.

In the shadows at the side of the house, movement caught Ed’s attention. He strained to see what or who lurked in obscurity as they sped closer.

About the time he could make out Marcus’s form, the man stepped into the open, carrying an automatic rifle at the ready. Oscar Mills emerged from the opposite end of the house, sporting a rifle and a handgun.

Joe slowed as they neared the rickety dock, and then shut down the engine. They skimmed in to bump against the wood planking. Ed jumped onto the pier, Sport close behind him, Calliope bringing up the rear.

Ben Boyette pushed through the front door, frowning. “What’s happened?”

Ed stopped and called up to his friend. “Ben. They have Alex.”

The man’s face paled, his lips tightening. “Damn.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “They want to trade for the witness, don’t they?”

“I have a name, dumbass.” Phyllis Ragsdale shoved Ben aside and stepped out onto the porch. “You told them hell no, didn’t you?”

“It’s not safe for you to stand out in the open,” Ben snapped at her. “Go back inside.”

“I’m tired of being bossed around. I want out of this stinkin’ swamp and back to the city where I belong.” She stood with her hand on her hip. “And I’m not gonna stand by and let you swap me for some swamp bimbo. I got my rights.”

Ed clenched his fists about to launch himself at the bitch, when a large, mocha-skinned woman dressed in a bright red, pink, and orange muumuu with a scarf tied around her head emerged behind Ben and Phyllis and raised her hand. “Silence!”

All eyes turned to the commanding presence of the legendary Voodoo queen. Ed had only heard tales of her from Ben, but she was every bit as intimidating as he’d promised, and then some.

“I’m not taking any more orders from some fat lady in a Hawaiian tent,” Phyllis stated.

Madame LeBieu held up a hand and clamped her fingers together.

“Get me out—” Phyllis’s words cut off abruptly in mid-rant. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her eyes rounded and she clapped a hand to her throat, her mouth continuing to flap, but blessed silence reigned.

Good Lord.
Had he seen right?

Ed stared at the witness who’d been talking nonstop since they picked her up four days ago. This was the first time the woman had been quiet. What on earth had Madame LeBieu done to get her to stop?

Magic?

He shook his head. He didn’t believe in magic. But he sure wished he could conjure a crystal ball to help find Alex.

“Dog, come to me.” The Voodoo queen waved her hand toward Sport.

Ed frowned. Why had she called Sport
dog
?

Sport climbed the steps and handed Madame LeBieu the pouch he’d been carrying since they left Alex’s house.

She took the pouch in one hand and reached out with the other to brush her hand across his forehead, pushing the shaggy hair out of his eyes. “What brings you to Madame LeBieu?”

Ed answered impatiently, ready for this visit to be over so he could head back to town and begin his search for Alex. “Sport said he knew of a dog who could track Alex.”

“I say silence!” Madame LeBieu held up her hand. “Let de dog speak.”

“What dog?” Ed asked. “We came to get one.”

The old Voodoo queen glared at him until he closed his mouth and waited.

She gave her attention to Sport again, her expression softening. “You want for me to break de spell?”

Sport glanced toward Calliope, his brown eyes filled with sadness. When he turned back to the mistress of Voodoo, he nodded. “Sport find Alex, but not like this.” He held his arms out.

Calliope flew up the porch and grabbed Sport’s hand. “I love you.”

Sport squeezed her hand. “We always knew this could not last.”

The old woman shook her head. “De dog be right. De
cunja
not meant to be forever.”

“Will he remember?” Calliope whispered, pressing her face to Sport’s palm.

“No.” Madame LeBieu shook her head and reached out for Calliope’s hand. “But you will. Do you want to forget?”

Calliope gazed affectionately into Sport’s eyes. “No.” She leaned up on her toes and kissed him.

Ed shook his head, the conversation going on in front of him getting more bizarre by the minute.

“Come.” Madame LeBieu beckoned Sport to enter her house, holding the door open for him.

Calliope hesitated, but the old woman nodded, allowing her to pass, as well.

When Ed started forward, the Voodoo queen blocked him. “De rest o’ you wait here.”

“But—”

Ben gripped his arm. “Do as she says, and trust her. She’s Lucie’s grandmother, and one of the most respected Voodoo artists in all of Louisiana. Her magic is very strong.”

“Magic?” Ed couldn’t believe Ben was going along with this bullshit. “Alex was taken! And we’re playing in the swamp with a Voodoo queen instead of searching for her? What the hell, Ben?”

He got no answer.

The door closed behind Madame LeBieu, shutting him out, and Sport and Calliope inside.

“That’s it.” His patience at an end, Ed spun and marched back to the dock. “Joe, take me back to Bayou Miste. We don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Joe stood still, shaking his head. “We go when Madame LeBieu says we go.”

“Are you
kidding
me?”

The marina owner crossed his arms and stood solid.

Ed was incredulous.
They’re all stark-raving mad
. Did they not
care
about Alex?

On a tear, he searched for the pirogue Ben and Oscar had used to transport the Ragsdale woman to Madame LeBieu’s. He spotted it concealed in the brush near the shore, twenty yards away from the house. As he dropped over the side of the dock onto the marshy island, he could swear he heard the beat of drums.

His footsteps faltered, and he glanced back at the house.

All gazes focused on the front door as a low melodious sound resonated through the wood siding, growing in strength as it continued, combining with the drumbeat.

Shivers slid across Ed’s body, raising gooseflesh on his arms. A buzzing whine filled his head as the chanting increased from inside the building. He pressed his hands to his ears, his vision blurring and his thoughts growing hazy.

A brilliant flash of light and sound erupted from the house and the front door blew open, the screen door slamming against the exterior.

From the dark interior, a golden retriever leaped out into the open and barked.

Calliope emerged, followed by Madame LeBieu.

“Go,” Madame LeBieu said. “Save my Alex from de evil mans.”

The dog bounded toward the airboat and jumped aboard.

Ben hooked Phyllis’s arm. “Come on, we’re all heading back and we can’t leave you here.”

The woman dug in her heels and shook her head, her mouth working but no sound escaping.

Marcus stalked up the steps, flung Phyllis over his shoulder, and carried her to the airboat, dumping her onto a seat. Ben and Oscar climbed aboard.

Ed heaved himself up on the dock and ran to get into the airboat as Joe started the engine. The huge fan blade spun, the sound echoing off the canopy.

“What about Sport? Isn’t he coming?” he called out as Joe spun the craft around and headed toward Bayou Miste.

Calliope bent over, crying, her arm around the golden retriever, and no one else spoke as the airboat zigzagged through the cypress forest maze and out into the open fields and canals.

Ed, Marcus, Ben, and Oscar each held tight to the boat with one hand while pointing weapons outward, ready to take on any assault.

All the way back to Bayou Miste, Ed prayed they weren’t too late.

Chapter Sixteen

Alex awoke to the smell of oil and gasoline, her cheek lying against greasy concrete. Pain ripped through her head, and her mouth felt like the Sahara desert. Her wrists were bound behind her back by a zip-tie, and her ankles were bound the same way. She listened for voices or movement, her sight adjusting to the dim light coming from dirty windows.

Where was she?
Better question—where was the man who’d abducted her?

She lifted her head, wincing at the sharp, stabbing pain, and looked around at what appeared to be the interior of an auto shop. Long derelict, the building had old tires piled against the walls, what was left of a hydraulic lift anchored to the floor, and gnawed-on pegboard attached to the wall with hooks. Across every surface was a nasty layer of grime. And she’d worn her favorite baby-blue tank top. A car that looked like the one that had hit Sport stood in one bay with a dent in the front fender.

Laughter bubbled up inside her and would have escaped but for the wadded-up sock stuck in her mouth. Her gaze returned to the metal plate that had at one time anchored the hydraulic lift. One corner of the plate had been pried upward, leaving a jagged edge. Just what she needed to break through the plastic handcuffs.

Rocking back and forth, she built up her momentum and rolled, scooted, and inched across the disgusting, slimy floor to the metal plate. For a moment, she lay still, breathing and listening for the return of her captor. When nothing stirred, she rolled on top of the plate, the jagged edge scraping her arm several times before she wiggled her body into position where her wrists lay over the metal edge.

With awkward persistence she sawed at the tie, gouging hunks of flesh from her arm in the process. Blood mixed with grease, making it even more difficult to hook the plastic. Her arms and belly aching from holding the uncomfortable position, she finally broke through and rolled to the side, rubbing the feeling back into her hands.

Metal scraped against metal as a door opened in the back of the building.

She swung her feet around and jammed the zip-tie over the sharp edge of metal, ripping her jeans in the process. After three attempts, the tie broke and she lurched to her feet, ducking low behind a counter.

A man entered the car bays. Enough light shone through the dingy windows to silhouette his form. He carried a handgun with a very long barrel on it, like it had a silencer attached to the end. “Ms. Boyette, it’s time to go.”

When he arrived at the spot where he’d dumped her and she wasn’t there, he grew still and turned in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle.

Hidden behind the only counter in the shop, she realized it was only a matter of time before he found her. If she wanted to live, she had to get out, now. She felt around on the floor for something to throw. Her fingers curled around something that felt like a lug nut. With all her strength, she threw the nut to the opposite end of the shop from the door her abductor had come in through. It landed near the pile of tires.

The man spun and ran toward the sound. “You can’t get away from me.”

Oh yes, I can
. She balled up her muscles and launched from behind the counter and ran, zigzagging toward the back door.

As she reached the exit, something pinged on the metal wall beside her. She ducked and swung the door wide, rushing through and to the right. The back of the shop opened out on the canal. Her mad rush gave her so much momentum she plunged over the bank and slid into the water.

Knowing the man with the gun would have an easy target if she came up for air, she stayed below the surface, swimming as fast and as far away as she could. When she thought her lungs might burst, she ran into a bed of lily pads. She tipped her head up, pressing her lips to the bottom of a pad and lifted it ever so slightly, breathing in enough air to go under again.

A bullet pierced the water beside her, so near she could almost feel the current it produced. She pushed away from the lily pads, afraid their movement on the surface would give her position away. As she swam through the dark canal water, she prayed she didn’t get hit by a bullet or a boat, or eaten by an alligator. When she came to an opening off the canal that led out into the swamp she swam toward it, hoping her attacker would stay on dry ground and give up his chase.

As she slipped deeper into the swamp, she heard the sound of a boat engine start.

Oh, hell, the bastard had found a boat
. If she didn’t find a place to hide, soon, she didn’t stand a chance.

As she surfaced for another quick breath, she prayed,
Please, Ed, please! Find me!

…

The sheriff had an airboat sitting at the marina when Joe pulled in and practically ran over the pier with his. “Sorry!” he shouted as he shut off the engine.

Ed didn’t wait to explain anything to the local law. As soon as they stopped, he hopped out of the boat onto the dock. The dog leaped out beside him and ran.

“Follow him!” Calliope yelled.

Ben ordered Marcus, “Stay with the witness.”

Ed chased the dog across the street, dodging sheriff’s vehicles and bystanders. Mrs. Boyette was standing on the porch at Alex’s house talking to a deputy holding a notepad.

The dog raced between their legs and into the house.

Ed squeezed Mrs. Boyette’s shoulder and said, “We’ll find her,” then set her aside, rushing into the house after the dog.

“Hey!” the deputy yelled. “You can’t go in there. This is a crime scene.”

With Alex’s life hanging in the balance, he didn’t have time to waste talking to the man. When the dog ran out the back door, he followed, running on blind faith that the animal knew what he was doing.

In the backyard, the dog put his nose to the ground, sniffing. He followed a scent to the edge of the property and beyond, crossing streets and ducking through yards, moving farther and farther away from Alex’s home.

Ed kept the animal in sight. He looked back once to see Ben racing to catch up. They spread out, running parallel to each other behind the dog.

At the edge of town, the dog stopped and sniffed the road and a curb. He whined and looked up at him as if he wanted Ed to look there as well.

Ben staggered to a stop, breathing hard. “What is it? What did he find?”

Ed bent to study the dark stain on the curb. “Blood. And from the way the dog is whining, I bet it’s Alex’s.” His gut clenched.

The dog spun in a circle, picked up a scent, and headed for an abandoned building that might once have been an auto mechanic’s shop. The metal sides of the building had rusted; what paint was left had long since faded.

The dog scratched at a door. Ed reached for the knob, but it was locked.

“What is it, Sport?” Ben asked. “Is she in there?”

Ben went one direction and Ed the other. When they reached a back door, it was wide open.

“Alex!” Ed ran inside, picking his way past old tires and discarded, broken equipment to the other side of the shop, where a fairly new car was standing. It had a big dent on the front panel. As if it had hit something.

Sport circled the car, growling, then he sniffed at the floor, whining. He picked up something with his teeth and trotted over to Ed.

Ed bent to take what the dog had in his mouth, and walked to where Ben and Marcus stood near the door and held it up to the sunlight. A zip-tie, like ones they used in the department. And it had blood on it.

Sport slipped through their legs, pressed his nose to the ground outside, and took off running, barking as he went. He threaded through tall grass that ran along the bank of a canal, pulling ahead of Ed and Ben as they ran after him. The tall grass hid the dog from view. If not for the incessant barking, Ed would have had to guess where he was.

Ahead in the canal, a boat pulled away from the shore, a man with shocking white hair at its helm.

There was something familiar about the man. The shock of white hair, his height, and the way he carried himself. He turned back at the sound of the dog barking.

“Holy shit, that’s Gordon Dean,” Ed said.

Ben ran up beside Ed. “Are you sure?”

“I saw his face. It’s Dean.”

“That bastard’s the leak in the department,” Ben said, breathing hard to keep up with the dog.

“I’ll kill him if he’s hurt Alex,” Ed ground out, sprinting to catch up, knowing that if Dean got too far ahead, he could disappear into the depths of the swamp. If he had Alex in the boat, he could dump her anywhere and they’d never find her.

A fork in the canal loomed ahead of the man in the boat. If he made it there, they’d never catch him.

The dog burst through the brush and, with a magnificent leap off the bank, landed on Dean’s back. The boat swerved, bouncing against the bank. Dean struggled to straighten the boat as the dog sank his teeth into the man’s hand.

“Goddamn dog!” Dean raised the hand holding the gun.

“Don’t you hurt my dog!” Alex Boyette climbed up a hassock of dirt and swamp grass, screaming like a raging Valkyrie, her hand loaded with a clump of something dark and dripping, looking suspiciously like a wad of swamp grass, roots and all.

As Dean leveled the gun on the dog, Alex swung her grass and launched it into the air, clipping the man in the shoulder. The gun went off with a soft pop.

The dog yelped and fell into the water.

Ed and Ben ran along the bank of the canal until they were parallel with the drifting boat.

Dean aimed the gun at Alex. “Stop or I’ll shoot her.”

Ed knelt on the grass, whipped his rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at Dean’s shoulder. “Put down your gun.”

“You really want me to kill her, don’t you?”

“You shot my dog!” Alex either didn’t hear Dean or didn’t care. She dived at the boat.

Ed squeezed the trigger.

Dean’s hand jerked, the gun flying into the water just before Alex hit him with the full force of her body. She knocked him out of the boat and tumbled into the canal with him.

Ed and the others slid down the bank and into the water.

Gordon Dean grabbed Alex by her ponytail and yanked her neck into the crook of his arm. “Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Shoot him, Ed!” Alex said. “He killed Sport.”

He aimed his gun at Gordon’s head, afraid to pull the trigger for fear of hitting Alex.

“Throw your weapons in the water or the girl dies,” Dean yelled.

“Don’t do it,” Alex pleaded.

“I have to. I can’t let him kill you,” he said.

“Let her go, Gordon,” Ben said. “The game is over. You won’t get away. You kill her and the court won’t settle for anything less than a lethal injection.”

Alex wiggled in the man’s clutches, her face turning red, then purple.

About to toss his weapon to the bank, Ed hesitated, spying movement in the water behind Dean and Alex. “Alex, be ready to swim. There’s an alligator behind you two.”

Gordon Dean’s eyes rounded and he swung his head around, trying to look over his shoulder without releasing his captive. Then his body jerked and he screamed, his hold loosening.

Alex pushed away from him and swam to the other side of the canal.

Gordon splashed and thrashed, his head going under, then coming up spitting water. “Help! Please, help me!”

Behind him, instead of a deadly alligator, Sport snapped at him again, sinking his teeth into the man’s shoulder.

Ed ran to where Alex slipped and slid on the bank, trying to climb the side of the canal. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her up into his arms.

“No.” She struggled to be free. “I have to help Sport.”

Ben chuckled. “Relax, Alex, he seems to be helping himself.”

The dog snarled and took another bite out of the crooked cop, then abandoned the man and paddled toward the bank where Alex had come ashore.

Ed set Alex away from him and dragged the tired, injured dog up the muddy bank.

Alex dropped to her haunches and hugged the dog. “Oh, Sport, why did you do it?”

“He saved your life.” Ed squatted beside her. “That dog is a hero.”

“Oh, Sport, you sacrificed so much.” She buried her face in his wet fur and wept.

Not wanting to part her from her dog, Ed nevertheless knew he needed medical attention. “Alex, honey, he’s bleeding. Let’s get him to a vet.” He helped Alex to her feet and lifted the dog into his arms.

Ben dragged Gordon Dean out of the canal and up the bank, where he collapsed on the ground, muttering, “Damned dog. I should have killed him.”

Ben ran ahead to get a vehicle to transport Sport to the vet and Gordon to jail in Baton Rouge.

After Ed settled the dog into the back of Ben’s SUV, he slid into the backseat beside Alex.

She leaned into him, her hand resting on his leg. “There’s something I’ve been waiting all day to tell you.” A soft chuckle shook her frame. “I even wore my favorite blue shirt for the occasion.”

Covered in mud, with grease streaked across her face, and the blue shirt more brown than any other color, she’d never been more beautiful. “Before you say anything…” He kissed her, holding her close, soggy clothes and all. “Alex Boyette, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

She glanced up, her eyes shining. “That’s what I was going to say.”

“Yeah, well, I beat you to it.” He brushed his thumb gently across her bruised cheek.

“You’re not afraid of my huge family?”

“I love your huge family.”

“I have a business.”

“My job is in Baton Rouge, but I don’t mind the commute.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “We can play it by ear and find a way to make it work.”

Alex sighed. “I’m not afraid to leave Bayou Miste. There’s a whole world out there I haven’t seen.”

“Yeah, but it will be a lot more fun to explore it together.”

…

Alex watched anxiously as the veterinarian bandaged Sport’s leg and the assistant gave him a mild sedative and a shot of antibiotics to ward off infection. He prescribed rest and a low-stress environment for twenty-four hours for Sport. Then he checked Alex’s eyes for concussion, cleaned and applied bandages to her head and wrists, and told her to see a doctor in Morgan City as soon as possible, which she promised to do.