She took a breath to regain control and pushed back just a bit so that she could look at him.

“I really appreciate your understanding. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with this earlier.”

Brian reached one hand up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “You didn’t know you could trust me, especially given the past. I hope you know now that you can.”

Justine nodded.

Brian’s eyes were locked on hers. His arms still held her close, and even before he lowered his lips to hers, she knew he was going to kiss her. And she knew she wasn’t going to pull away.

Bayou Bodyguard
Jana DeLeon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my friend, Leigh Zaykoski, for helping me with my new business venture

and being a constant source of inspiration.

To my critique partners, Cari Manderscheid and Cindy Taylor, for always helping

me improve my work and meet my deadlines. To my friend Colleen Gleason, who

talks me off the ledge when I’m frustrated. To my friend Tracey Stanley, for your

steadfast support and all your marketing efforts. To my friend Leslie Langtry, it’s

all good from here on, baby! To my parents, Jimmie and Bobbie Morris,

and Jimmie, Donna and Katianne Morris for all your support. To my agent,

Kristin Nelson, for being a rock during the turmoil that was 2010. To my editor,

Allison Lyons, for giving me the opportunity to write books for the Harlequin line

I’ve always loved to read.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001 and focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day, she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana at her website, www.janadeleon.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Justine Chatry —The historian jumped at the chance to find the lost emeralds at laMalediction, but her reasons for agreeing to the job weren’t purely for business. She hadn’t planned on a bodyguard looking over her shoulder as she worked—especially one from her secret past—but was even more unsettled by the way he made her feel.

Brian Marcentel —The former Marine took a leave of absence from the New Orleans Police Department to help out his friend by playing bodyguard. He was expecting trouble, but not from the woman he was hired to protect. His attraction to the beautiful historian wasn’t something he planned or welcomed, and when he finally realizes why the Creole beauty looks familiar, it only makes things worse.

Sheriff Blanchard —The good sheriff is suspected of hiding information about the strange occurrences at laMalediction, and is very unhappy to find more people in residence at the estate.

Tom Breaux —The superstitious café owner claims that laMalediction is cursed, but lives in a cabin on the bayou with a path behind it that leads directly to laMalediction. Does he really believe the house is cursed, or does he tell ghost stories to keep others away?

Chris Pauley —The young, brash mechanic has a loud mouth and an abrasive demeanor. He’s been caught trespassing at laMalediction, but no one knows what he was doing on the property. What is very clear is that he wants Brian and Justine to leave Cypriere.

Deedee —The café waitress seems easily spooked and refuses to talk about the haunted estate. Justine is certain she’s hiding something, but breaking down the scared woman’s defenses is going to require finesse and time.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

It looked like something out of a Stephen King novel, Justine Chatry thought, as she stared at the house in front of her in the fading dim of daylight. Of course, mansion was a better word for the ten-thousand-square-foot, three-story monstrosity that rose up out of the bayou, its dark windows peeking out from moss-covered stone and seeming to stare back at her.

It was at least eighty degrees in Cypriere, Louisiana, but Justine felt a chill come over her, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to cast off the feeling of foreboding. laMalediction, the locals called it—meaning “the curse.” Both beautiful and horrifying, seductive and sinister, it seemed to call to her.

And that gave her the creeps.

She chided herself for being fanciful and reached back into her car to grab her small suitcase. Just because her mother chose to believe in haunts and curses didn’t mean Justine followed suit. The house was a house. Granted, this house was an extremely large one—with a bloody history—but that didn’t change the job she had to do. In fact, it made her job all the more interesting.

“You made it.” A voice called from the entry to the house, and Justine looked up and waved at Olivia Markham, the woman who’d hired her for the research job at laMalediction. Olivia smiled and crossed the courtyard to Justine’s car.

“I’m glad to see you,” Olivia said. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it here by dark. We’ve made some strides clearing the road to the house, but it’s still not the best place to be at night if you don’t know where you’re going.”

Justine smiled, thinking “road” was a bit of a stretch to call the dirt path almost hidden by the swamp. “Sorry I worried you. I got held up by my mother. She’s a professional at making me late.”

Olivia opened the door to the backseat and pulled out one of Justine’s boxes of supplies. “I hope she’s not worried about you staying here,” Olivia said, as they walked toward the house.

Justine frowned. “She’s not thrilled, but my mother is not your average person.”

Olivia balanced the box on her hip and opened the front door to the house so Justine could walk inside. “What do you mean?” Olivia asked. “Is there such a thing as an average mother?”

“Probably not, but mine is worse than most. She was raised deep in the bayou and still believes in the old ways.”

Olivia closed the door and stared at her. “Voodoo?”

“Yeah,” Justine said and stared beyond Olivia at the wall behind her. Her mother’s insistence on using spells and potions to manage every aspect of her life and health, along with her attempts to direct Justine the same way, had resulted in years of constant friction between them.

“Wow,” Olivia said and started down a hallway. “You never told me that when we talked before.”

“It’s not something I like to tell a lot of people.”

Olivia gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand, but given the situation here, your secondhand knowledge of voodoo may help you with your research.”

Justine stared at Olivia. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

“I believe there are more things unexplained than explained here at laMalediction. And I believe the former residents believed in it. Understanding those beliefs may help you find the missing emeralds.”

“And fulfill a voodoo prophecy, right?”

Olivia shrugged. “That’s what the journals say. I figured a historian like you would love to solve an old mystery with a treasure at the end.”

“Yes,” Justine agreed, although her reasons for taking the job involved so much more than locating the allegedly cursed emeralds that Olivia referred to. So much more that Justine hadn’t told Olivia or anyone else, and didn’t intend to. If Olivia knew the real reason Justine had jumped at the chance to access the old journals and photo albums at laMalediction, she may have thought twice about hiring her.

Olivia stepped into a library and set the box she was carrying down on a table in the center of the room. “I figured you’d want to set up shop here in the library. I moved all the books from the underground chamber up here.”

Justine looked around the library, at the wall-to-wall bookcases teeming with old books, and could hardly contain her desire to get started. “It’s perfect.” She pulled a book from one of the shelves and opened it, immediately drawn to the beautiful longhand text inside. “You said you brought everything up from the tunnels? Do you think you and John found everything…all the passageways?”

Olivia frowned. “We hope so. But I don’t want to lie to you—we really don’t know. I… Damn, there’s something I need to tell you, and I’ll understand if you change your mind about staying.”

Justine studied Olivia, wondering what had made the calm and collected woman she’d met in New Orleans so nervous. “What’s wrong?”

Olivia took a deep breath and blew it out. “When I stayed here before…when all those things happened to me, John and I assumed it was the estate attorney, Ross Wheeler, who was responsible for everything.”

Justine nodded. Wheeler had been killed by Olivia’s fiancé, John, while holding Olivia hostage in an attempt to force her to reveal the location of the missing emeralds. He’d used the secret passages in the house to spy on her and play tricks with her mind.

“The thing is, the day someone locked me in a tunnel, Wheeler was in court in New Orleans. We just found out a couple of days ago. It couldn’t have been him.”

Justine took a couple of seconds to process that information. “So someone else was sneaking around besides Wheeler?”

Olivia bit her lower lip. “Yeah, and we don’t know who, as there’s no indication from Wheeler’s documents that he was working with anyone. But the reality is, if that one incident wasn’t Wheeler, then some of the others, like the night someone shot at John, may not have been him, either.”

“And with Wheeler dead, you can’t ask.”

“Exactly. John and I talked it over with the new estate attorney and none of us want you or anyone else to be at the house alone. We also don’t think it’s safe for anyone to stay here at night. You’re at a complete disadvantage against anyone who knows the estate, and with the storms that move in, you can become trapped in a matter of minutes. So the estate attorney found a vacant house in town to rent…and John and I sorta convinced the attorney to hire a bodyguard.”

“You what?” Surely, she hadn’t heard correctly.

“The rental house is right behind Main Street and has two bedrooms. Unfortunately, the owner is out of town until tomorrow, so you can’t get the keys until then. The commute isn’t bad, as long as it’s not raining, and this way you both have a safe place to stay, hopefully where the electricity works better.”

Justine frowned. Staying in a rental away from the estate wasn’t optimum, but she could hardly blame the estate attorney for being careful. He probably didn’t want the liability. Then Olivia’s exact wording hit her. “Both of us? This bodyguard is staying in the rental house with me?”

“His name is Brian and he’s a longtime friend of John’s,” Olivia rushed to explain. “He’s an ex-Marine and works at the New Orleans police department with John. He’s overdue for vacation and offered to do this to help us out. I promise you he’s completely trustworthy and qualified to protect you. You’ll be here at laMalediction during the day and only at the rental at night. Even in closer quarters, I promise Brian won’t get in your way.”

Despite the ten-thousand-square feet of laMalediction and the unknown amount of acreage to get lost in, the thought of some strange man roaming the halls while she worked bothered Justine on a number of levels. And that was daytime. She couldn’t even comprehend staying in close quarters every night with a strange man. Especially a cop. Justine’s family didn’t have the best of relationships with law enforcement, and she’d grown a bit jaded about the whole “protect and serve” claims they made.

“I don’t know…” Justine said, not sure how to argue with what appeared to be a reasonable plan, given the circumstances.

“If you’re not comfortable with him, then we’ll get someone else. But we can’t let you work here alone. I’d feel guilty forever if something happened to you, and, well, the attorney sorta insisted.”

Justine sighed. “I understand. It’s not that I blame you for being concerned, and I certainly understand the attorney’s position. It’s just that I have…well, reclusive tendencies.”

Olivia placed a hand on her arm and gave her a sympathetic look. “I totally get that, and I’m really sorry that this turned out to be different than what you signed up for. But I hope you’ll still take the job. I have a good feeling about you.”

Justine smiled. “I’m not going to let a man keep me from this job. It’s by far the most intriguing thing I’ve ever been asked to research. I’m looking forward to it.”

The relief on Olivia’s face was obvious. “I promise Brian will blend into the background and will not be around unless needed. The attorney scheduled appointments with appraisers and contractors to provide bids for the repairs needed. The old caretaker was only able to minimally maintain the estate, and the house needs a lot of work before it can be sold. Brian will escort those people to do their job while he’s here.”

The sound of crunching gravel sounded outside the library window and Justine looked out to see a Jeep pull into the courtyard.

“That’s him,” Olivia said. “I’ll go get him so I can intro duce you.” She hurried out of the room.

Justine stepped up to the window and watched as a hulk of a man stepped out of the Jeep. He was well over six feet tall, and even from a distance, she saw muscles rippling through his T-shirt. His brown hair was cut military short, and his erect stature gave away his Marine background. The intense expression he wore moved swiftly into a smile as Olivia bounced across the driveway to give him a hug.

Justine could tell by the genuineness of the smile and the hug that he liked her, but not in a sexual way. More like a brother-sister sort of thing. His former intensity had made him look dangerous and sexy. The smile made him human. He released Olivia and reached into his Jeep to pull out a duffel bag, and Justine saw a flash of metal at the back of his waistband.

The gun made him a cop.

She stepped back from the window with a sigh. Maybe Brian would be too busy dealing with contractors to get in her way. The thought of a man, much less a cop, watching her every move made the walls seem more narrow, the air in the room thin. She was a woman who needed her space—reveled in it, truth be told.

Olivia stepped into the library, the cop close behind, and waved one hand at Justine as she made the introductions. Justine froze when Olivia said his full name.

“Brian Marcentel.”

The blood rushed to her head and she struggled to maintain control. Surely, it couldn’t be. She studied his face, hoping it was all a coincidence, but his dark blue eyes gave away the boy she remembered from long ago. Brian extended his hand and Justine hesitated just a moment before placing her hand in his. His hand was solid, with a firm grip, and he studied her as they shook, just like cops always did. Sizing people up.

Did he recognize her? Did he remember? She’d legally changed her name years ago, and the confident woman she was today didn’t even remotely resemble the scared child of the past. Was that enough?

Olivia turned to Brian and said, “Justine has reclusive tendencies, so no hovering. Okay?”

A hint of a smile crossed Brian’s face and he held one hand up. “Scout’s honor,” he said to Olivia, then locked his gaze on Justine. “There’s some things I want to go over before we get settled in, about the security and all, but I’ll do my best not to get in your way.”

The light from outside dimmed, as if someone had turned down the power, creating shadows across the library. Olivia looked outside and groaned at the dark clouds swirling above. “My car won’t make it down that path in a rainstorm. I better run.” Olivia looked at Justine, her hesitation and indecision clear as day.

“Go,” Justine reassured her. “Get back home to your fiancé. Brian and I can work out all the details of avoiding each other without a referee.”

Olivia gave her a quick hug, clearly relieved, then grabbed her purse and rushed out of laMalediction without so much as a backward glance. Justine watched her car as it pulled away, the taillights shimmering in the fading light. She sure didn’t waste any time leaving.

“So,” she said as she turned to face Brian, “is there a plan? A security system?”

“I’ll start installing the security system tomorrow, here and at the rental, but nothing is in place for tonight. John and I covered every square inch of a couple of bedrooms upstairs and made sure there’s no way in or out except the bedroom door and the windows. We’ll bunk there tonight.”

Justine felt her pulse increase. “Are they next to each other?”

“Yes, and there’s a connecting door. Olivia figures the rooms probably belonged to a child and nanny.”

“Is that really necessary? A connecting door, I mean?” Justine could already feel the walls closing in on her. The possibility of someone with access to her bedroom, watching her sleep, was far more than she’d bargained for when she’d taken the job.

“John and Olivia think so, and I work for them.”

Justine took in the stern expression and the set jaw, and knew it was useless to argue. If Brian was anything like his uncle, he made having things his way a personal crusade. If she wanted to search through the historical documents at laMalediction, she was going to have to find a way to deal with him. “And during the day? Do you plan on sitting across the library table from me as I work?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Brian narrowed his eyes. “Once the security system is in place, that shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll carry a remote alarm sensor on me. It will let me know if there’s a security breach. I won’t be very far away.”

“And this security system will be rigged to do what, exactly?”

“Let us know if anyone enters or exits this house or the rental, either through a door or a window.”

“So I can’t leave either house without setting off an alarm? That’s sorta like prison, don’t you think?” Justine could feel a flush rising up her neck and she struggled to remain calm. “Look, I know I’m here to do research, but I jog every morning. I spend too much time sitting in a chair to ignore exercising. This job is no different.”

Brian nodded. “Give me a time and I’ll go with you. I’m used to jogging myself.”

Justine bristled. Jogging was her personal time. Granted, she spent most of her time alone, but jogging was when she centered herself for the day ahead and cleansed her mind of everything cluttering it. “I jog alone.”

“Not here you don’t. This swamp is full of things that can kill you.”

“You think I can’t handle myself? I grew up in these swamps. I probably know the sounds and tracks of predators better than you.”

Brian locked his eyes on hers. “Including human ones?”

Justine stared. “You’re serious?”

“Alligators didn’t trap Olivia in that tunnel and neither did ghosts. For all we know, Wheeler may not have been behind some of the other things, either. We still haven’t figured out how he got to the estate with no one seeing him, and with him dead, there’s no way of asking. Could be, whoever else was involved may not be any happier with you here than they were with Olivia.”

“Maybe it was kids who locked Olivia in the tunnel.” Justine refused to consider the other possibilities.

“You think kids broke into a house that locals fear as haunted to play a practical joke on a stranger?”

“It’s not impossible,” Justine said, but even as the words left her mouth she knew it wasn’t very plausible, either.

“Look,” Brian said, “this is the bottom line—John feels something was going on here besides the stuff Wheeler did. I’ve known John Landry most of my life, and if there’s one thing he’s got, it’s instincts. If he says something’s going on here, then there is. And I’m damned well going to find out what it is.”

Justine crossed her arms in front of her, a trickle of fear beginning at the back of her mind. “Is that why Olivia was so anxious to leave?”

“Maybe. A lot of bad things happened in this house—to Olivia and to those who lived here before her—and she’s seen it all, either in real life or in her dreams. I don’t blame her for not wanting to spend another minute here.”

Justine stared at him, a bit surprised. “You really believe Olivia saw Marilyn Borque’s murder in her dreams? That everything she dreamed was real?”

“Yes, I do.”

Justine tried to wrap her mind around such a disciplined personality completely buying into the paranormal. “But if the spirit of Marilyn Borque was trying to get something besides vindication, why did the dreams stop after Wheeler’s death?”

“Who says they did?”

Brian grabbed his duffel bag from the floor. “Your room is the second on the left. I’m in the first. We should get settled in before the storm hits and the power goes out.” He glanced at the black, swirling sky outside, then left the library.

Who says they did?

Justine felt a chill run through her. She didn’t want to believe in the old ways, but what was happening at laMalediction seemed grounded in them. No wonder Olivia wanted to leave. If she was still having the dreams, then whatever malevolent force held laMalediction in its grip wasn’t gone.

It was awakened.

Chapter Two

Justine sat her suitcase on the end of the bed, pulled out her nine millimeter and checked the clip. She set the gun on the bed and reached for a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. They weren’t what she normally slept in, but she wanted to be prepared for anything, including late-night intruders. The last thing she wanted was to chase an intruder through the house, armed with a nine and wearing G-string underwear, like in some cheap B horror movie.

She heard the door close in the next room and glanced over at the adjoining door. Having a cop, especially one from her past, on the other side of that door didn’t set well with her, but Olivia had left her no options. Somewhere in the records she was hired to research, she hoped to find the answers she was seeking. Answers that could change her life. For that possibility, she was willing to endure practically anything.

So far, Brian hadn’t given any indication that he knew who she was, and with any luck, he wouldn’t find out until they were long gone from Cypriere. A knock on the adjoining door brought her out of her thoughts and she shoved her gun back into the suitcase before calling for him to enter. When he stepped into the room, the walls seemed to close in around his large frame. She sucked in a breath. If Brian Marcentel didn’t scare an intruder away, she wasn’t sure what it would take.

“You okay in here?” Brian asked as he surveyed the room, probably memorizing every square inch.

Justine nodded. “Just getting set up for the ghosts.”

Brian stared. “You’re doing what?”

Justine pulled a box of salt from her suitcase and began to sprinkle it around items sitting on the dresser. “You put salt around things so that in the morning, you can see if they moved.”

“And you think things are going to move on the dresser?”

“I hope not! But if someone is in here besides me or you, I want to know about it.”

Brian narrowed his eyes. “So then, how would you know if it was ghosts or people?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Justine replied. “I don’t want either of them in my room.”

“People are more dangerous.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for, right?”

“Yeah, but I won’t be with you every second. Do you have your nine with you?”

Justine froze and set the salt on the dresser.

“I know you have a nine millimeter registered,” Brian continued. “You had to know they’d check you out.”

Justine blew out a breath. Of course they would. Olivia had been held hostage by a crazy man and almost killed. They had proof that someone aside from Wheeler was contributing to the problems at laMalediction and Olivia was married to a cop. It would be foolish to think she’d get involved with anyone concerning laMalediction without her fiancé running a thorough background check.

Which meant Brian knew everything about her, too. At least, everything they’d found. How deeply had they looked? Past her name change and into her childhood? Could they even access those records? Olivia hadn’t seemed to know anything about her mother when she’d mentioned her earlier. Maybe no one had made the connection to the person she was for the first eighteen years of her life.

“I have my gun,” Justine finally replied.

“Do you know how to use it? And I don’t mean just the basics.”

Justine nodded. “I took lessons at the shooting range, and I practice twice a month. I’m not going to win an Olympic event, but I can take a man down if necessary, and I’m not interested in shooting to injure.”

The hint of a smile crossed Brian’s face. “I’ll make sure I announce myself before entering rooms.”

Justine waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, I promise to look before I shoot—for a second, anyway.”

Brian took another look at the salt and frowned. “Well, if you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to unload the security equipment from my Jeep before that storms gets going.” He pointed to the lantern on the nightstand next to her bed. “I understand the electricity around here is a temporary thing, especially in storms. There are matches in the nightstand drawer for when you need them.”

Justine glanced outside at the ever-darkening sky. “Thanks.”

Brian gave her a single nod and left the room. Justine watched as he closed the adjoining door then stepped over to the window. The black clouds swirled above the estate like angry pillars of smoke. Justine had seen those clouds often enough to know a heat thunderstorm was on the way and it was going to be a doozy. They were common this time of year, and usually nothing to worry about.

Until now.

Now, she was closed up in a creepy house with a hulking policeman, and in no time she would certainly be without electricity. She watched as Brian pulled a box out of the back of his Jeep, placed it on the front porch then went back for another. Rental houses, security systems, a bodyguard from her past…it was more than she’d bargained for, that was for sure, but then she hadn’t expected to feel so edgy, either.

She could blame the feeling on sharing close quarters with a cop, or on the fear that he’d remember her, but that wouldn’t be completely true. One thing Justine never did was lie to herself. Like it or not, her uneasiness came from knowing that Wheeler hadn’t been the lone gunman. That someone else had access to laMalediction and could still enter undetected.

And more importantly, that Olivia’s dreams continued.

She heard a creaking sound outside the bedroom door and stiffened. A single glance out the window confirmed that Brian was still unloading boxes. It could just be the house settling, but every instinct inside her screamed that it wasn’t. Silently, she eased her gun from the suitcase and crept to the door.

She peered into the hallway, but it was empty. Then at the end of the hallway, a shadow slid out of an open doorway. Tightening her grip on her pistol, she slipped into the hallway and inched toward the doorway. The shadow lengthened for a second, then disappeared back into the room. All thoughts of safety aside, she sprinted down the hallway and burst into the room, but there was no one in sight.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. A quick survey of the room told her nothing. A couple of cardboard boxes and a small table lined the far wall, but otherwise, the room was empty. She crossed the room and took a closer look at the boxes, even shifted the top one of the stack, but all she found was a thick layer of dust that caused her to sneeze.

She slowly walked around the room, feeling the walls, looking for an entry point, but the plastered walls looked seamless in every aspect. The single window in the room was closed and locked, and when she attempted to open it, it held fast, glued into place by ancient paint. Frustrated, she blew out a breath. Building construction and hidden passageways were not her forte. Justine had never set foot in a place so grand that it housed servants, much less provided them hidden passageways to conduct their daily work while remaining invisible to visitors. Still, for someone to have disappeared so quickly, shouldn’t she see a sign somewhere?

She walked back to her bedroom, trying to put this latest occurrence into perspective. Maybe something blowing in the wind had passed the window in the room, casting a shadow into the hall. Okay, so the window was at the completely wrong angle and there hadn’t been even a breath of wind when she looked outside, but wasn’t that just as plausible as a disappearing person, or even worse, a ghost?

Or maybe her overactive imagination played a trick on her. She wasn’t given to fancy, but it wasn’t impossible. A lot was riding on her work at laMalediction. That, coupled with Olivia’s unnerving behavior earlier and the unwanted introduction from her past, was certainly enough to put her on edge.

She crossed her bedroom and looked out the window in time to see Brian locking his Jeep. He didn’t look even remotely disturbed or alerted to anything out of order. Sighing, she slipped her gun back into her suitcase, disgusted that she’d allowed herself to be so easily spooked.

And that’s when she noticed the piece of folded paper on the nightstand.

Her breath caught in her throat. That paper hadn’t been there before, but now it sat perched on the thin layer of salt she’d poured earlier. She knew she shouldn’t touch it. She should call for Brian. Let him do his cop thing with fingerprints and such, but she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for it, opening it.

She gasped as she looked at it. Tears stung her eyes at the picture of her mother, secured in a straitjacket, locked behind bars, her face still fresh with bruises from the “helpful” law-enforcement officers who had dragged her away.

“I know who you are.”

The words were written just above the photo.

She crumpled the paper and tucked it in her pocket. She’d burn it at the first opportunity.

But no matter what, she wouldn’t be scared away from laMalediction. Whoever had left the paper was brazen, especially with the cop right outside, and that told her one of two things: he was either crazy or desperate.

Either could work in her favor.

BRIAN TOSSED HIS GUN and keys onto the bedroom dresser, then stepped into the tiny bathroom to turn on the water in the bath, wishing like hell someone had thought to update the antiquated bathrooms in the main house to include showers. Taking baths in a relic of a house in the middle of nowhere and babysitting angry women with a fear of cops—he’d reached an all-time low. Granted, this job gave him the opportunity to take a much-needed break from police work, and for that he was grateful, but it came with other complications that he was usually able to avoid.

Like angry, beautiful women with a fear of cops.

He tensed for a moment and rubbed the two-day growth on his jaw. Where had that beautiful part come from? Granted, when Olivia had told him she’d hired a historian, he’d been expecting the gray-haired-librarian sort. A dark-skinned Creole beauty with green eyes, miles of black, wavy hair and a body that was toned to perfection had never entered his mind. Not to mention there was something familiar about her. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it would come to him eventually.

He stepped back into the bedroom and grabbed some clean clothes from his duffel bag just as a huge bolt of lightning struck outside. The lights flickered twice, then went out completely, leaving him in total darkness. He took a couple of steps to his right, trying to feel for the lantern in the inky, black room, and banged his knee on the nightstand. Mentally cursing himself for doing the very thing he’d warned Justine to be prepared for, he located the matches and lit the lantern.

He placed the lantern on the center of the nightstand and tossed his clean clothes on the bed. It was probably a bad idea to submerge yourself in a tub of water during a thunderstorm. Pulling the heavy drapes to the side, he peered outside at the rain that poured from the sky. These blinding-heat thunderstorms that blew in off the Gulf of Mexico were nothing new to him, but while normally he could ignore the storm and go to bed, being at laMalediction spurred his thoughts to all the things a storm this bad implied.

Communication would be nonexistent, and if there was an emergency, he wasn’t certain they’d be able to make it down the path to Cypriere, even in his Jeep. It was also far easier for someone to hide in a blinding rainstorm, both their movements and the noise they made, so he needed to be more alert than ever.

Brian released the drapes, but as the heavy curtain slipped back into place, he saw a flash of white across the courtyard. He yanked the drape back again and focused on the area behind the fountain where he’d seen the white object, but there was nothing there.

He waited a couple of seconds and was just about to chalk it up to debris blowing in the storm when he saw it again, this time clearer. It was a tall figure wearing a long, white robe. He couldn’t see a face, but he had no doubt the object was human. The person stood just at the edge of the woods, motionless in the storm as the white robe whipped around him.

Brian dropped the drape and reached for his gun. No way was someone standing out in that rainstorm to bring a housewarming gift. After his conversations with John and Olivia, he’d anticipated trouble, but not necessarily so soon. He shoved his gun into the waistband of his jeans, grabbed a flashlight and knocked once on the connecting door before entering Justine’s room. She sat in a chair at a writing table and stiffened as he entered the room, her expression both aggravated and indignant.

“That wasn’t much notice,” she complained. “What if I’d been dressing?”

“There’s someone outside in the storm, standing across the courtyard. I’m going to check it out. I need you to lock both doors to your room and do not come out until I tell you it’s clear.”

Justine’s eyes widened and she glanced out the window into the storm. “Someone’s out there in that? But that’s crazy!”

“Exactly my point,” he said as he opened the door to her room and slipped into the hallway. “Stay put until I get back.” He pulled the door closed and rushed out of the house and into the storm.

Chapter Three

Justine rushed to lock doors as soon as Brian left, then pulled her gun from her suitcase and checked the clip. Placing the gun within easy reach on the writing table, she took a breath and tried to process what Brian had told her. It was so unbelievable, she was still having trouble wrapping her mind around it.

She knew that standing in front of the window during a lightning storm was a dangerous thing to do. Not only because of the lightning, but because she’d left the drapes open earlier to watch the storm, and the lantern would cast her silhouette onto the window. Even the most amateur of shooters would find that an easy target.

Not that she had any reason to believe that someone was trying to kill her, but she had every reason to believe that someone was trying to scare her. A well-placed shot through a window would be a good way to scare someone, but could also result in disaster with the high winds of the storm. Edging across the room, she stopped just before the window and leaned over to peer outside.

The storm was raging and she had to strain to make out Brian as he slipped behind the automobiles in the courtyard. After that, the fountain came into clearer view and she got her visual bearings. Scanning the courtyard, she looked for anything out of place…like someone standing in the middle of a torrential downpour just asking to be struck by lightning.

Across the courtyard, just beyond the woods, she saw what had sent Brian running outside. She dimmed the lamp to barely an ember to remove the glare from the window, and looked outside again. The figure was still there, wearing a white-hooded cape that whipped around in the storm. She strained to make out a face or even to tell if the figure was a man or a woman, but the head was bent, as if staring at the ground.

Suddenly the figure raised his head, and Justine would have sworn on everything holy that whatever was out in the storm was looking directly at her. Two red eyes glowed inside the white hood and her heart began to race. Her skin tingled and her hair stood on end as a wave of fear like she’d never experienced before washed over her.

She drew back from the window, her body flat against the wall, and struggled to breathe normally, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it would burst. What in God’s name was out there? And where was Brian? She hadn’t seen him at all. Had that…that thing gotten him?

You’re panicking. Get a grip. It has to be a trick.

She sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, then leaned over and peeked outside again. But this time the courtyard was empty. No white-hooded figure. No red eyes.

No Brian.

She scanned beyond the courtyard, past the caretaker’s cottage and the storage shed and into the woods. Surely Brian wouldn’t have gone into the woods. He was armed, but if someone was playing a trick on them, they were obviously prepared, and Justine had to assume, better equipped to disappear, even in the storm. What Justine had seen required planning and setup and careful deliberation. Certainly not the sort of thing kids would pull off, as the sheriff had suggested to Olivia.

She scanned the courtyard once more, looking for any sign of Brian, and her hands clenched involuntarily as every square inch she could see turned up empty. How long did she wait? Hours? All night? What if he needed help?

Justine was an excellent tracker, but in a storm like this, even she would have trouble determining whether the telltale signs of a presence in the woods were due to a man passing or the winds and rain of the storm. Footprints wouldn’t remain for long in the downpour.

Frustrated and antsy, she blew out a breath and paced the length of the room. On the second pass, her nose wrinkled and she stopped to sniff the air. Something was different…acrid.

Smoke!

Blood rushed to her head and she clutched the desk to remain steady. The room went out of focus for a moment, then seemed to tilt. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, on regaining control.

Think.

But there was little to think about. There was only one way out of the second floor that she knew of, and that was down the main stairwell. She shoved her keys into her pocket then lifted her pistol from the desktop and crossed the room to the door. She ran her hand across the surface of the bedroom door to check for heat, but felt none.

This is it.

She stared at the dead bolt and took a deep breath. Finally, she slid it back and eased the bedroom door open to peer into the hallway. The smell of smoke was much stronger in the hallway, but she couldn’t see smoke or hear any sign of fire. More importantly, she didn’t see anyone with red eyes wearing a white robe.

Her best option was to get out of the house, even if the road to Cypriere was unpassable. The house was old and huge and the fire could be anywhere below or above her. Either could create a collapse, so her car was the safest place to be, assuming there was nothing in the courtyard that was more dangerous than fire.

Not allowing her mind to dwell on that possibility, she hurried down the hall toward the stairwell and rushed downstairs to the entry. Stopping short at the front door, she peered out the narrow side windows to ensure the courtyard was clear. As she reached for the doorknob, she heard something behind her, but before she could turn around and take aim, something hard struck the back of her head and she dropped to the floor, everything fading to black.

THE RAIN CAME DOWN in blinding sheets and soaked Brian completely before he’d even made it twenty feet from the house. He wiped the excess moisture away from his eyes, wishing he’d thought to grab his ball cap on the way out. He skirted around the edge of the courtyard, moving from one hiding place to another without using the flashlight, trying to limit his exposure. When he’d made it completely across the courtyard, he hid behind the storage shed near the caretaker’s cottage and then slipped into the edge of the woods just beyond.

He looked back at the house to get his bearings, and saw the dull glow of the lantern light cast from the windows of the bedrooms that he and Justine occupied. He looked across the courtyard from the windows and estimated the location where he’d seen the figure. The area was empty now, but if someone had been standing out in this storm, they would have left footprints in the thick, gummy Louisiana mud, even in the downpour.

He moved steadily through the edge of the woods toward the spot where he’d seen the figure, then scanned the courtyard and the woods beyond for any sign of movement. Nothing. He waited a couple of seconds, but nothing moved except the storm.

Finally, he left his hiding place in the woods and walked to the ground where he’d seen the person standing. He turned on the flashlight and shined it on the ground.

No way.

He shined the light back and forth across the muddy ground, looking for the trail that had to be there—the trail that should indicate how the person arrived or where they’d gone. But the ground held no prints at all. He turned around and shined the light across the ground where he’d walked and saw the outline of his footprints in the mud.

Even with the intensity of the rain, there wasn’t enough time for footprints to have washed away—not in a matter of minutes. He walked to the edge of the woods and shined the flashlight along the perimeter, looking for any sign that someone had entered or exited the courtyard through the woods.

His frustration grew with every step he took. He hadn’t imagined the figure, and he knew he was looking in the right area. But no one could have walked across that ground without leaving a trace.

No one but a ghost.

And that just wasn’t possible. He’d never believed in that sort of thing before, and regardless of what Olivia thought she’d seen when Wheeler held her captive, and the huge amount of respect he had for her, he wasn’t about to start buying in to it now. There was a logical explanation for everything happening at laMalediction.

And he was going to get to the bottom of it.

He entered the woods just behind the area where he’d seen the figure and scanned the ground for any sign of passage. There was some broken foliage along the edge of the woods, but the force of the storm could have caused that as easily as a man. What a storm couldn’t do was leave footprints and there had to be footprints somewhere.

He covered at least a hundred-foot stretch of woods, ten feet deep into the brush, but turned up nothing. Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d been gone from the house for over thirty minutes. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Justine in there alone, especially not at night and during a storm.

He glanced back at the house and his heart began to beat faster. The light from Justine’s room barely showed through the window, when earlier it had been bright. Abandoning his investigation, he ran straight across the courtyard to the house, his mind racing with a multitude of possibilities, none of them good.

No way had she turned off the lamp and gone to bed and he’d made sure it was full of oil when he checked on her earlier. If she was afraid of someone seeing her, she could have drawn the drapes, but he could still make out the dark lines of the heavy fabric drawn to the sides of the window.

He burst through the front door, prepared to dash upstairs, but his foot connected with a solid object in the dark and sent him sprawling across the marble floor of the entry. He directed his flashlight to the floor and a single glance back confirmed his worst fear. He scrambled over to Justine, who lay across the entry.

Leaning in, he watched her chest and saw it rise and fall. A quick check of her pulse showed a somewhat elevated heartbeat, but nothing alarming. “Justine,” he said and patted the sides of her cheeks, trying to wake her. “Justine.”

His pulse quickened as he failed to get any response. He slipped his arms underneath her and carried her into the sitting room where he placed her on the couch. A lantern sat on a table next to the couch, so he lit it to cast more light on the situation. As he placed the lantern on the coffee table closer to Justine, she stirred.

And that’s when he saw blood on the couch pillow.

He froze for a moment, then knelt down and gently lifted her head, trying to see what was causing the bleeding. The gash was immediately visible, and he let out a sigh of relief as he realized that the cut wasn’t deep or large, and was probably made by something with a fairly sharp end, rather than the marble floor, as he’d originally feared. She must have slipped and hit her head on something. But what?

There was nothing in the center of the entry where he’d found her, so the only other logical explanation was that she’d hit it somewhere close by and staggered to the center of the entry where she’d passed out. He stepped through the other side of the sitting room and into the kitchen. He’d noticed clean dishtowels in a drawer earlier, so he grabbed one and soaked it with cold water. Justine still hadn’t wakened when he returned to the sitting room, so he placed the cool cloth across her forehead.

She stirred a bit and her eyes fluttered. Then all of a sudden, she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide with fright. He grabbed her arms as she tried to strike him.

“Justine, it’s Brian. You’re safe. Stop struggling or you may injure yourself.”

Justine locked her gaze on him and he could see the panic in her eyes begin to diminish. She gasped for air, then blew out a huge breath and swung her legs around so she was in a sitting position.

“What happened?” she asked.

Brian shook his head. “I found you passed out on the entry floor. You’ve got a gash on the back of your head. I figure maybe you fell in the dark and hit your head on something.”

Now that the initial crisis had passed, Brian felt irritation begin. “Things like this are exactly why I told you to stay put. You can’t just walk around in the pitch-black in a strange house. You’re going to be lucky if you don’t need stitches.”

“There was a fire,” Justine argued. “I smelled the smoke in my room, and stronger in the hallway.”

Brian frowned. “I don’t smell anything, and if there was a fire we’d see it by now. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Do you think I would risk leaving the room with that…that thing outside if I didn’t have a good reason? I know you’re here to protect me, but I didn’t exactly grow up in Mayberry. Survival is something I’m very familiar with.”

Brian sat on the coffee table and sighed. “So what happened after you left the room?”

Justine stared at the wall behind him, her brow scrunched in concentration. “I figured the safest place to go was my car. I checked the bedroom door before opening it. It was cool, but the smell of smoke was stronger in the hall. I hurried downstairs and looked out the entry window to make sure the outside was clear.”

She frowned and Brian could see she was struggling to remember.

“Did you see something outside?” he prompted.

“No…I heard something…inside.” Her eyes widened. “Directly behind me in the entry, but before I could turn around, something hit me on the back of the head and everything went black.”

“Damn it!” Brian jumped up from the coffee table and paced the room. “I should have known better. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“What should you have known? I don’t understand.”

“It was all a trick to get to you. The person outside to draw me out of the house. The smell of smoke to get you out of the locked room. All so someone could take a shot at you.”

Justine sucked in a breath. “But that’s crazy. Why would someone go to all that trouble just to hit me? If they’d wanted me dead, I would be.”

Brian frowned at Justine’s words because he knew she was right. There had been plenty of time to kill her if that was the intent. “Maybe someone wants to scare you away.”

“But why me? Why not go after you? You’re the strongest.”

Brian shook his head. “All I can figure is that someone is unhappy about your work here.”

“How would anyone even know about it?”

“It’s a small place. I’m sure word has already gotten around about most everything that’s happened here. A lot of the story was splashed all over the New Orleans newspapers, and the Cypriere locals probably all know what really went down. All anyone would have to do is figure out what you do for a living and they could put two and two together.”

“I thought the missing emeralds were a secret, assuming they’re even still around. The only other thing I’m here to do is research the Borque ancestry. Why would anyone care about that?”

“No one should care, and that’s exactly what I don’t like about all this. Olivia and John didn’t make the emeralds public knowledge because they didn’t want the estate besieged by treasure hunters.”

“That makes sense. And the locals have probably passed down tales of the emeralds and other things at laMalediction for generations. A local would have looked for them before now if he thought they really existed.”

“Maybe he has been looking and wasn’t successful. News of the hidden journals was made public. Maybe he thinks the journals will lead you right to the very thing he’s been looking for.”

“This is so convoluted.”

Brian nodded. “John and Olivia anticipated trouble when they asked me to come here, but I know for a fact, they didn’t expect anything like this.” He placed a hand on Justine’s arm. “I think you ought to consider leaving. Pack up the journals and albums and take them back with you to New Orleans.”

“No way. The emeralds are not hidden in any of those books, and that’s what Olivia’s paying me to do. If they even exist and can be found, they’re going to be at laMalediction.”

Brian blew out a breath. She was right but he didn’t have to like it. “Okay, then we stay, but we’re going to have to come up with a strategy. Someone prepared for us, so right now he has the advantage. We have to make sure we do everything to level the playing field. That means, if you want to stay, you do everything I ask with no argument. Got it?”

The apprehensive and somewhat belligerent expression on Justine’s face gave away her real feelings, but she nodded.

For now, he guessed that would have to do.

Chapter Four

Justine awakened before dawn the next morning, but that was no surprise. She’d never been a heavy sleeper, and the previous night hadn’t been exactly restful. She sat up in bed and gingerly felt the back of her head. The lump was still there, but had decreased significantly in size. It was tender to the touch, but her headache was gone, so she figured the worst of it was over. She threw back the covers and eased out of bed, careful not to jar her head and start the throbbing all over again.

The connecting door to Brian’s room was partway open, so she eased over to it and peeked inside. Brian was sprawled on top of the bed, covers bunched in a ball at the foot of the bed. He wore only a T-shirt and drawstring shorts, and Justine couldn’t help but admire the toned, tanned length of his muscular arms and legs. As much as being closed up with a man, especially this man, made her uneasy, she had to admit that, as far as bodyguards went, Brian appeared to be a competent one. Certainly his bravery wasn’t in question, given what he’d chased in the courtyard the night before.

She pulled the connecting door almost shut, hoping the sound of her moving around wouldn’t wake him. He’d tended to her head last night in a gentle way that she’d found surprising, then he’d insisted on helping her to bed and to two shots of whiskey. He’d sat in the rocking chair in the corner and claimed he wasn’t leaving until she fell asleep. Justine had no idea what time he left her room, but figured he could probably use the rest.

She eased out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen. Coffee and aspirin were her first orders of business. She couldn’t afford a headache, with everything she needed to do today, any more than she could afford to be unfocused. Between the caffeine and the aspirin, she should be ready to take on the world—or at least her research. Olivia had indicated she’d left supplies in the kitchen and Justine sighed with relief when she pulled out a sealed package of gourmet coffee.

Pulling the package apart, Justine took in the rich smell of the grounds and gave Olivia a mental blessing. Her employer had seriously good taste in coffee. She filled the coffeepot, figuring Brian wouldn’t be able to pass up a cup, once the smell had permeated the entire downstairs, and while the coffee brewed, she checked out the refrigerator and pantry. Olivia had understated the amount of food she’d provided. Both the pantry and refrigerator were full of tasty and easy-to-prepare items.

Justine pulled a strawberry breakfast bar out of the pantry and waited impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing. She’d just taken her first heavenly sip when Brian entered the kitchen.

“Man, that smells fantastic,” Brian said, and took in a deep whiff of the coffee. “It is fantastic,” Justine said as she removed a coffee mug from the cabinet and handed it to Brian. “If Olivia was here, I’d kiss her.”

Brian poured a steamy cup of coffee and smiled. “I didn’t know you swung that way.”

Justine smiled at his teasing. “For this coffee, I may consider it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I want something,” he said as he took a seat at the kitchen table. He took a drink of the coffee and sighed. “You’re right. If John wouldn’t shoot me, I’d kiss Olivia, too.”

Justine laughed, then caught herself and opened the pantry door again, pretending to inspect the contents. It unnerved her how easily she’d slipped into a comfort level with Brian. She always had her guard up, for good reason, and now, despite the best reasons of all, this man was able to get her guard down. She wasn’t even going to assess the reason why, as that might lead to all sorts of questions she didn’t want to address. Not now, nor anytime in the future.

She felt his eyes on her and looked over at him. Despite the stellar coffee he frowned, and Justine steeled herself, knowing that whatever he was thinking was probably some thing she wasn’t going to like.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“It’s fine. A little tender still, but my headache was gone when I woke up. It aches a little now, since I’ve been moving around, but nothing unexpected given the circumstances.”

“I think we should call the sheriff,” he said. “You could have been seriously injured or even killed when you fell last night. The fact that someone attacked you the first night here doesn’t sit well with me at all, but ultimately it’s the sheriff’s responsibility.”

Justine closed the pantry door. “You really think he’s going to do anything about it? He wasn’t exactly a big help for Olivia, from what I heard.”

“No, he wasn’t. And no, I don’t really think he’ll do much of anything. Quite frankly, I don’t know that he’s got the skills to, but what I do think he’ll do is spread the word around that you have a bodyguard and I’m not afraid to fire a weapon. It shouldn’t take long for that bit of gossip to spread through Cypriere. Maybe someone will think twice about that stunt last night when they realize how deadly the outcome could be.”

His words made sense, but the last thing Justine wanted to do was deal with more cops. More people who might dig into her past. “Whatever you think,” she said finally, knowing that he was going to do it whether she agreed with him or not. Putting up an argument would only make him suspicious when notifying the cops was the normal thing to do.

“Let me know when he’s here,” she said. “I’m going to start setting up in the library.” She refilled her cup of coffee and left the kitchen before Brian could clue in on her sudden case of nerves.

DESPITE THE THIRTY-MINUTE reprieve she had while setting up in the library, Justine felt a lump in her throat when Brian called to her from the front entry that the sheriff had arrived.

He’s just going to ask some questions. Olivia told you he was useless. He’s nothing to fear.

If she kept telling herself that, maybe she’d start to believe it.

She walked down the hall into the entry, assessing Sheriff Blanchard as she shook his hand. He was older, probably late fifties, if his silver-and-black hair was any indication. His expression was one of clear annoyance, even though he politely shook her hand and addressed her as “ma’am.”

Brian directed them to the kitchen, and Justine took a seat across the table from the sheriff while Brian leaned against the kitchen counter to her left.

Sheriff Blanchard studied her for a moment and she struggled not to look away. Finally, he spoke. “Mr. Marcentel says you had a bit of trouble here last night. You want to tell me about it?”

Justine looked over at Brian and he started telling the sheriff about the figure standing in the courtyard.

“Standing in the middle of the storm wearing a dress?” Sheriff Blanchard stared at Brian as if he’d lost his mind. “Someone would have to be crazy and have a death wish. Besides, how did they get here and where did they disappear to afterward? You said yourself there were no tracks.”

Justine saw Brian’s jaw flex and knew he was getting angry. “Are you saying I imagined what I saw?”

Sheriff Blanchard shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time people saw stuff that wasn’t there. This house has a history that can play with the mind. All I’m suggesting is that, maybe with everything that happened to your friend before, you’re looking for something to be wrong now.”

Brian straightened up, but before he could respond, Justine said, “So, did we share a delusional vision, Sheriff? Because I saw the same thing that Brian did. I might agree with a diagnosis of collective insanity if Brian and I shared a close past raised by people rooted in those beliefs. But considering I just met him yesterday, I seriously doubt we formed that sort of bond while unpacking.”

“Now don’t get your back up,” Sheriff Blanchard said. “I wasn’t trying to suggest—”

“Yes, you were,” Justine said, “and you’re wrong. Tell me, Sheriff, if that figure outside was just our imagination, then who hit me on the back of the head? I’m not imagining the gash or the headache, and I fell in the middle of the entryway where there is nothing for me to strike my head on.”

Sheriff Blanchard sighed. “What would you like me to tell you? That you hit your head somewhere else and wandered into the entry before you collapsed? That you and your friend here spooked yourselves and imagined it all? I don’t have any other answers. Until Olivia Markham came to this house, hadn’t nothing untoward happened here for a hundred years. Maybe that should tell you all something.”

Justine felt heat rise to her face as the sheriff talked, and she was ready to attack when she felt Brian’s hand squeeze her shoulder. She looked up at the former Marine, who gave her an imperceptible “no.”

“I understand your position,” Brian said to the sheriff. “Cypriere being such a close-knit town and us being outsiders, you don’t want to get involved. I’ll be happy to call the state police to look at the situation. That should relieve you of the duty of investigating your friends and family, which would probably be a conflict of interest, anyway.”

Sheriff Blanchard rose from the table and glared at Brian. “Are you saying I’m not capable of doing my job?”

“No. I’m saying it’s inconvenient for you to do your job.”

“Fine,” Sheriff Blanchard said, his jaw clenched. “You want me to see if some kids are pulling pranks on you, I will. You want me to figure out how she got that knot on her head, I’ll need to go over this entire house to find what made that cut. But as my only deputy is on his honeymoon, I can’t manage that sort of investigation for a couple of days. I still have a town to protect.”

Sheriff Blanchard shot one final look of disdain at Justine and Brian, then spun around and left the house. As the door closed behind him, Justine realized Brian’s hand was still on her shoulder. Suddenly the room was too small or he was too close, or both. Before she could move, he dropped his hand and stepped away from the table.

“I don’t think he’s going to be much help,” Brian said.

“Doesn’t look like it. What do you think the problem is?”

Brian shrugged. “No telling, really, but my guess is he’s probably getting ready to retire and doesn’t want this mess interfering with his coasting along to those pension checks. He’s probably turned a blind eye to things happening out here for years, dismissing it as kids or thrill seekers.”

“He doesn’t believe us.”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell him you were a cop? Don’t you guys have some kind of unspoken code where you have to believe each other?”

“I don’t trust the man. Maybe he’s just incompetent and lazy, but either way, I’m not offering up any information. If he wants to know anything about us, he’s going to have to ask or run a background check.” Brian grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator. “I’m going to start installing the security system. If you need me, I’ll be within yelling distance.”

Justine watched as he exited the kitchen through the sitting room. He was clearly aggravated with the sheriff’s attitude, but he hadn’t pushed the issue. In fact, he’d prevented her from causing a scene, and for that she was glad. The last thing she needed was the sheriff digging into her past and determining he had a good reason to accuse her of imagining things, but the way Brian had left things, that may be exactly what the sheriff did.

Instantly, her mind flashed back to the photo of her mother and the message she’d found in her room the day before. Someone in Cypriere already knew who she was or someone had followed her to Cypriere. But who? And why?

Justine touched her shoulder where Brian’s hand had rested. It was almost as if he’d sensed her discomfort as soon as she felt it and stepped away from her. Was he really that intuitive?

If so, Justine had to be very, very careful around Brian Marcentel.

JUSTINE PLACED the two stacks of journals on the table in the library and plugged in her laptop, ready to get to work. She’d organized by date the journals written by Marilyn Borque, the murdered mistress of laMalediction, and the journals written by her personal maid, Sissy Dubois. She hoped that by reading them together, she could form a clear vision of the events during that time.

Olivia had already filled her in on Marilyn Borque’s background. The poor woman had essentially been sold to Franklin Borque just before the Civil War by her father to seal a business deal. Franklin built the monstrosity, laMalediction, when no town existed within a hundred miles, effectively cutting his young wife off from civilization. The remote location made it easy for him to beat her without coming under question.

Franklin left for the war the following year and Marilyn sent for her lover. When Franklin returned, he was more crazed than before and had obtained a lion statue with giant emeralds for eyes. Marilyn was certain the acquisition was not legal, but Franklin’s obsession with the statue was a far bigger concern. Sissy sent Marilyn to her cousin, a voodoo priestess, for help and the two formed a plan to contain the evil that rested in the emerald eyes of the statue. When Franklin discovered that his prize possession was missing, he murdered Marilyn and was then struck by lightning the same night in the middle of the courtyard.

Justine opened a marked spot in one of the diaries to reread the entry Olivia had flagged.

June 15, 1863

I took the statue to Sissy’s cousin tonight. She had a violent reaction to the piece as soon as she saw the eyes. The emeralds, she said, are cursed. She removed the emeralds from the statue and placed them in a pouch for safekeeping, then performed a spell on the statue to separate it from the evil in the stones. We then broke the statue and crushed the pieces until they were dust. We collected the dust in a jar and will fling it far into the bayou, where the spirits that inhabit the water can prevent it from resurfacing. She will bind the emeralds in metal and cast a spell two nights from now when the moon is full. Then I will hide them in a safe place.

I know this is the only way, but I feel overwhelming guilt for the future I am creating for my descendants. The stones will not remain bound forever. One day, the emeralds will call on those of my lineage to fulfill the prophecy that I have set in motion.

Even if it costs their lives.

Justine set the journal to the side and opened a document file on her laptop. She began to make notes on possible avenues for research. Sissy’s cousin had lived in a Creole village with other descendants from Haiti who still practiced the old ways. Memories from her childhood gave Justine an understanding of the purpose behind binding an object in another the way the woman had bound the emeralds in metal to cut off the energy that emitted from them. But Sissy’s cousin would have insisted on a double binding if she thought the emeralds were cursed—the first binding by man, the second by nature.

Justine blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair. Olivia had been right. Her knowledge of the old ways would give her an edge, as much as she was loath to admit it. The most logical way to bind the stones with nature would be to bury them, but where? Certainly, Sissy’s cousin would have insisted the stones remain on the estate, as it was the family’s responsibility to watch over the evil they’d brought to this place. But the estate consisted of not only laMalediction but hundreds of acres of swamp.

There had to be a clue in the journals about where Marilyn had hidden the emeralds. That was the angle she’d start working on first. With any luck, her research of the journals would provide her the answers she was looking for in her personal quest—the real reason she’d taken the job. Even if the journals yielded nothing, she was still convinced the answers she sought lay somewhere in laMalediction. And she was going to find them.

“How’s it going?” Brian’s voice broke into her thoughts, causing her to jump.

“Sorry,” he said as he stepped into the library. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s not your fault. When I’m lost in the work, I tend to filter out everything around me.” She gave him a rueful look. “Probably not the best trait, given the situation here, right?”

Brian shrugged. “You’re a researcher. If you couldn’t focus on your research to the exclusion of everything else, you probably wouldn’t be very good at your job. Let me worry about catching the bad guys—that’s what I do naturally.”

Justine leaned back in her chair, considering Brian’s words. “So you think the man upstairs had a master plan for all of us, and doled out talent accordingly? Then where do people like Franklin Borque fit into your theory? I assume you know the history.”

Brian nodded. “Olivia told me what she found. I don’t know what makes people like Franklin Borque, but I do believe I’ve stared evil in the face in Iraq.”

Justine sat upright in her chair. “What does it look like? Evil?”

“Sometimes beautiful and seductive, sometimes so normal that it never registers on your radar…until it’s too late.” He stared out the library window for a moment, then looked back at Justine. “But there’s always those moments…and if you’re paying attention, you can catch one of them. When the facade relaxes and just for an instant, you see it in their eyes. Then in a flash, it’s gone, leaving you wondering if you ever saw it in the first place.”

Justine crossed her arms across her chest, a sudden chill running through her body. “Do you still wonder when you see it now?”

“Not anymore. I would recognize it now.” He paused. “It’s funny, you know. Good can take on many appearances, many faces, but evil always looks the same.

“Anyway,” he said, “I came to tell you there’s a storm brewing. It’s almost three, so I figure we may as well head into town and get everything settled with the rental house. I’ve got to load a couple of boxes in my Jeep, so just meet me out front when you’ve wrapped up in here.”

Justine stared out the library window, watching Brian as he rolled up the soft top on the back of his Jeep. What kind of horrors had Brian Marcentel seen? And more importantly, would he see them again in Cypriere?

Chapter Five

Justine waited in front of laMalediction as Brian loaded the last box. He couldn’t help but notice how striking she was as she stood in front of the stained-glass windows, her long hair rippling in the breeze. She looked as if she fit here. He’d thought the same thing when he saw her deep in thought in the library. He’d like to think it was because the house was deep in a swamp and Justine was Creole, but there was something more to it than that. Something that he couldn’t quite place, and that bothered him.

“I put my suitcase in my car, but I can move it if I’m riding with you,” Justine said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“I figured you could follow me in your car. The road should have dried from the rain yesterday. We have a better chance of getting in and out of here every day using my Jeep, so I figured we’d leave your car at the rental house, assuming you don’t have any objection. I’m not convinced it would be safe here at night.”

“No. That sounds perfectly reasonable.” Justine pulled her keys from her backpack and hopped in her car.

Brian climbed in his Jeep and waited until Justine gave him a wave before pulling away from laMalediction. He checked his rearview mirror to make sure Justine was behind him, then continued at a slow pace down the rough dirt path that led to Cypriere. In his mirrors, he could see laMalediction fading into the swamp, and with every foot he put between himself and the house, it was as if a weight lifted from him.

Surprised, he mulled that bit of revelation over in his mind. He hadn’t realized that being in the house cast that much of a shadow over him, and it was something he needed to carefully monitor. It was easy to take on the emotional energy of a place and the people. He’d learned that in Iraq. That level of intuition had saved his life on more than one occasion, but on the flip side, if he allowed himself to become mired in the energy surrounding him, it took the edge off his response time and dulled his critical thinking.

Feel, then analyze.

Apparently, his mind had decided he’d entered hostile territory, so he needed to keep his mantra in mind. Odd, that his ability had never once surfaced while working as a cop, but it had come back full force when he arrived at laMalediction. Odd and disconcerting.

He cut off his train of thought as he drove into Cypriere. The owner of the rental house promised to leave the keys with the café owner, Tom, so Brian pulled into a parking space in front of the café. Justine pulled in next to him.

“We’re supposed to pick up the keys at the café,” he explained to Justine as she joined him on the sidewalk in front of the place. “If you’re hungry, I figured we could eat supper here. We’ll need to stock the rental house, and quite frankly, I don’t feel like grocery shopping at the moment.”

She hesitated for just a second then nodded. “Fine by me. I totally skipped lunch.”

Brian opened the door and waited while she stepped into the café, wondering if during her hesitation she’d decided that eating with him in a public place was preferable to eating with him alone in the rental house. He’d been warned that she was reclusive, but from what he observed, Justine acted guarded.

It took him a minute to realize that she wasn’t moving forward. One look around the café filled him in on the why. Every patron in the place sat frozen in time. Even the waitress had stopped serving to stare at them. Feeling as if he’d trespassed onto private property, Brian took Justine’s arm and steered her to a table in the far corner at the front of the café, away from the curious patrons.

Justine immediately lifted a worn plastic menu up to hide her face. “Wow. I guess we should have called ahead and warned them we were coming.”

“I think we could have held a parade and gotten the same response. I’m sure everyone in town knows we’re here and why.”

“Guess they’re not happy about it.”

Brian looked to the side and the patrons all averted their eyes, except one. He was young, maybe in his twenties, wearing jeans, a red ball cap and a T-shirt with smears of motor oil on it. He stared directly at Brian, as if challenging him to say something. Brian stared right back until the guy looked away. Best to let them know up front that he wouldn’t be intimidated.

“This sorta puts a damper on my research,” Justine said and sighed.

“You were planning on doing interviews?” It had never occurred to Brian that Justine would talk to the locals.

“I still am, even though it might be hard to get information from them.”

“What kind of information do you think they have?”

“Tales mostly. Stories handed down among the generations.”

Brian nodded. “I see. You’re figuring that the campfire tales and stories used to scare kids might contain an element of truth.”

“They usually do.”

“That’s smart of you and something I never would have thought of.”

“Really? I thought cops used rumor and gossip to get leads.”

She made an attempt to say it lightly, but Brian caught the underlying animosity and sarcasm in Justine’s words. Interesting. Maybe her problem wasn’t just with strangers or men, but only with cops. He logged that tidbit for future pondering.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. “It’s all hearsay and it’s never quite correct, but it’s usually enough to send us in the right direction.” He was about to ask another question about Justine’s research methods, hoping to learn more about his new roommate, when the waitress stepped up to the table.

She was probably in her thirties, but the years of sun and bayou air had weathered her skin, making her look older. Her long, dark hair was piled on top of her head and she looked down at them, brown eyes full of suspicion. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’ll have sweet tea,” Justine said. “My name’s Justine and this is Brian.”

Justine’s introduction clearly surprised the waitress and she bit her bottom lip, the indecision on her face clear as day. “I’m Deedee,” she said finally, but Brian could tell she had given the information grudgingly.

“What would you like to drink, sir?” she asked Brian, her eyes fixed on her order pad.

“Sweet tea for me, too.”

“Did you want anything to eat?” Deedee asked.

Justine ordered chicken-fried steak and Brian put in an order for a burger and fries. Deedee barely nodded and scurried away from the table, without so much as a glance back. Justine gave Brian a wry smile. “You should really work on your technique. You’re scaring all the women away.”

Brian saw the cook stop Deedee and ask her a question. Deedee shook her head and started to fill two tall glasses with tea. Her hands shook as she poured the tea from the pitcher into the glasses. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the waitress’s discomfort because when she finished pouring, the cook took the glasses and directed Deedee to make more coffee.

Brian sized the man up as he made his way from behind the counter and across the café to their table. He was a big guy, probably in his fifties, and looked as if he could handle most anything life dealt him. He studied them carefully as he walked up to the table, but the fear that Brian saw in the waitress wasn’t present in this man.

“Two sweet teas,” the cook said and placed the glasses in front of them. “You must be the people that’s here to research that house of the damned.”

Brian blinked at his rather abrupt, albeit accurate, description. “Yes,” he replied and stuck out his hand. “I’m Brian. This is Justine.”

“Tom Breaux,” the cook said and shook his hand. “I own the café.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and handed them to Brian. “These are for you. Sammy’s house is on the street behind the café, about fifty yards east. Has yellow siding and white trim.”

“Thanks,” Brian said, and took the keys.

Tom looked at Justine. “What kind of research are you doing?”

“Family stuff mostly,” Justine relayed the cover story she and Olivia had agreed upon, “and furniture cataloging. Antiques are a specialty of mine.”

Tom nodded then fixed his gaze back on Brian, narrowing his eyes. “Pardon me if I say so, but you don’t look like some brainy researcher.” He inclined his head at Justine. “Not that you do either, ma’am.”

“I’m not a researcher,” Brian said, certain the man had already heard about the sheriff’s visit and was fishing for information. It was the setup Brian had been looking for. “I’m more of the freelance security sort.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Seems a strange place to freelance.”

“I’m a friend of Olivia’s. She asked me to watch over the repair people she has scheduled, and make sure Justine’s work follows an uncomplicated path.”

Tom gave a single laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s gonna take more than muscle and a keen eye for shooting to best what’s going on at that house. You can’t shoot or wrestle haunts.”

Justine leaned across the table toward Tom. “You really believe the house is haunted?”

“I know it for a fact. Things has gone on out there as long as I lived and a hundred years before. Ain’t no human been out there causing trouble for over a hundred years. The place is cursed. I told your friend Olivia the same thing, but she didn’t listen. And look what it got her—almost killed by a madman.”

“But a human madman,” Justine pointed out.

Tom shook his head. “The man was cursed. Cursed by the spirits in that house.”

“That man was cursed by insanity,” Brian said.

“Yeah,” Tom agreed, “just like Franklin Borque. I heard all the stories growing up—about why he built that monstrosity in the swamp to hide all the valuables he acquired, some legally, some not—including that wife that he bought and paid for, then stuck out here to die. That attorney may have been cursed with insanity, but it came from that house. Came from the ghost of Franklin Borque.”

Brian studied Tom’s face, figuring the man was trying to scare them away, but he saw no hint of dishonesty. Clearly Tom Breaux believed everything he’d just said.

“Mr. Breaux,” Brian said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to scare us with a ghost story.”

Tom shook his head. “And that would be where you’re wrong, sir. I’m trying to warn you with a ghost story. You should already be scared.” He gave them a nod. “Your food will be ready in a couple of minutes.”

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