Kismet (16 page)

I startle at the question, disturbed that my mind has wandered so much. Weariness settles over me, and all I’d like to do is sleep for about a hundred years. I guess my grandmother sees this on my face, because she rushes forward to grip my arms and hold me still. Only then do I realize I’ve been swaying.

“I got shot,” I whisper through bloodless lips.

“Who shot you?”

“A bad guy. But he’s dead now.”

“You come with me, baby girl,” my grandmother says softly, her arms going around me as she leads me into the thicket of green. “I’m here now, and I’ll take care of you.”

The temptation to fall into someone else’s caring overwhelmed me. All my life I have been the strong one, and it feels so nice to allow someone else to be my shoulder. I slink into my grandmother’s arms and follow her lead.

Chapter Fourteen

“Evie, you got anything in your trap?”

I look over the side of the boat and start pulling up my line. I see two crabs and quickly, efficiently, dispose of them into my cooler before resetting the trap and throwing it back in. I dislike eating crabs because they’re scavengers, but a lot of people in Bonne Nuit love them, so I resign myself to settling back on the boat to wait for the next round of decapod crustaceans to fall victim to my baited cage.

Next to me my cousin Ritchie yanks his fishing line and starts reeling. He pulls up a large catfish and grins at me over it.

“We’ll have some good eating tonight, eh?”

I smile and nod, losing interest almost immediately at Ritchie’s simple pleasure at catching a large fish. I lounge in the back of the boat and stare out over the water. My fingers skim lazily over the brackish water, not really seeing the grove of moss-covered trees.

Instead I see eyes the color of onyx in a face as hard as granite. I remember the way they would smile at me, frown, and scowl as well. Caress me, shine during sex. A thousand different emotions pouring from those eyes, all for me. And as much as I want to forget, I miss Kris to the point of pain. My skin aches for his touch.

I’ve healed in the two weeks I’ve been in this simple settlement. My body is healthier. I’ve filled out a little, lost the anorexic look. My skin has tanned up a bit. I’m not up to par 100 percent, but it won’t be long till I’m at full capacity. Physically I’m getting stronger day by day. Emotionally, mentally, that’s a whole different story. Marek sent me here to recuperate; it was one of his conditions. And I’m glad he insisted that I know my remaining family. Blood is blood, after all. But lazy summer afternoons lying in a boat allows too much time for my mind to wander.

As my fingertips play gently through the water, I get a vision suddenly, fast and hard. I gasp and sit up, watching it, learning where I’m to go.

“Ritchie, turn this boat around,” I command as I start pulling up my crab line. I work fast, furiously, and behind me my cousin does the same.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“Your daughter is in trouble.”

That’s all I have to say, and suddenly the boat engine roars and we go on a crazy ride back through the once peaceful bayou lake. Minutes go by, and the vision starts replaying.

“Hurry,” I urge. “Over there, over there.”

I point, and he swings the boat toward my direction. We come around the bend, and I see some kids in the water, swimming and having a great time. They turn and see us and start scrambling back toward shore.

“Where’s Layla?” Ritchie demands as he does a visual count of his four kids. Only three were on the shore.

I waste no time, standing up and diving into the brackish water. I use my vision to guide me as I swim farther down since the water prevents me from seeing. My lungs are burning, but I manage to grab Layla’s hand and yank her up from the weeds that have twisted around her ankles.

We break the surface, and Ritchie is there waiting for us. He hauls his daughter up and starts CPR as I make my way from the cool water onto the boat and then drive us right onto the muddy shore.

“Roman!” I call to Ritchie’s oldest son. “Go get Eulalie!”

The teenage boy turns and runs quickly. The other two kids—Aiden, age ten, and Remy, age eight—stand on the beach with their arms around each other as they watch their father try to save Layla’s life.

I rush back to Ritchie’s side, but all I can do is wait. It felt like hours but in truth must have been only seconds before Layla starts coughing and spewing bayou water from her mouth. Ritchie turns her onto her side as she expels the liquid from her lungs, her color turning from white to pink in seconds.

I collapse, only then feeling the burning pain from my damaged lung. I hear the excited yelling of the rest of the family as they race down the forest path toward the shore. Eulalie is the first one in the boat, pulling Layla into an upright sitting position and checking the girl over.

“What happened?” she asks as she cradles her great-granddaughter to her chest.

“Evie saved her,” Ritchie said a bit breathlessly. Tears ran down his cheeks. “I don’t know how long she was underwater, but Evie told me to come here. She dived down, found her. She saved my girl’s life.”

Eulalie turns her sharp eyes on me. I can see a bright understanding shining in them, and I realize in that moment she knows my secret. I have never intentionally set out to hide my ability, but I’ve never willingly told them about it either.

The others come forward to get us out of the boat. My other cousin, Dan, helps me down. Ritchie takes Layla into his arms and guides his other children with him as they disappear up the path.

The rest of the gathered people help with the boat, and I gladly leave that chore for them. I start to follow after Ritchie because I’m in desperate need of a bath, when Eulalie takes hold of my hand.

“You’ve got the vision,” she says quietly.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize it had gone through the generations.”

My eyes go wide. But before I can think of something to say, she continues. “Your great-grandfather was cursed,” she tells me. “To always see the future but never to change it.”

“A curse,” I repeat, somewhat miffed. “Imagine that in Louisiana.”

“Don’t mock the hoodoo.”

“Grandma, I don’t believe in magic. I only believe in God.”

“God is part of hoodoo, girl. We’re not practitioners, but my granddaddy upset a high priestess once. Cursed him, she did, through God.”

I don’t know if I believe that. But I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point. “But I can change it—the future, I mean,” I remind her.

“Maybe a woman’s instinct altered it. It’s a blessing, nonetheless.”

“I help people. Or at least, I helped people. I guess I have a bit of a hero complex.” I try not to say that with bitterness, but I think a little seeps out.

“You saved Layla today,” my grandmother reminds me, hugging me despite my wet, smelly clothing. “How can a hero not be a hero when you have the ability to save a little girl’s life?”

Ah, there it is. Plain as day. She makes it sound so easy, just
poof
, there it is. I sigh and pull away, give her a small smile, and then turn to make the long walk back to my little cottage.

So, I have this gift not for a reason, but because of a curse. I have always believed in God’s purpose, so what do I make of this? What do I know of curses? Some hoodoo magic placed on my great-grandfather that trickled down to me?

Give me a fucking break.

I enter my cottage and start disrobing, going into my little bathroom to use the gathered rainwater to wash the salty water off my skin. In the summer it rains almost every day in Louisiana, and the collected rain is used for a variety of things, including bathing.

I wrap a towel around my body and then use another to dry my hair. I exit the bathroom and head into the living room when I sense I’m not alone.

“Hello, Evie.”

I jerk to a halt. Before me is Kris, larger than life, filling up my tiny cottage. He’s dressed in standard black military fatigues with holstered pistols on his belt. He’s poised, like he’s unsure or uncomfortable. My eyes drink him in; I can’t help it. All my bitterness fades like a pulled-off scab. His hair is a bit longer, his body a little leaner. My bruised heart speeds up like I’ve just stepped on the gas.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned.

“Marek sent me.”

My mind is simply blank. I scramble to try to jump-start the neurons so I don’t continue to stand here with my mouth hanging open like a dummy wrapped in only a towel. Right. Clothing.

“Um, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can say anything else, I hurry to my tiny bedroom and dress. I don’t have much, but I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and dress with haste.

Kris is where I left him, standing like a marble statue. But any thoughts of him being made of stone fade when I catch a glimpse of his glittering eyes as they sweep over me.

“I’m really glad to see you’ve healed.”

“I had good care.” I bite my lower lip. “The hospital was great.”

“That’s good. Good to hear.”

God, we sound so civilized. My eyes can’t help but drink him in, but there is way too much between us for casual observance.

“Where’s Hyde?”

If possible, more uncomfortable silence descends.

“The 281 has gone through some changes,” Kris says. “Noble and West have asked to be transferred permanently to the base in Helena, Montana.”

“Why?”

“For Kaori.” I stare at him blankly, so he elaborates. “The girl on the JumboTron.”

“Oh! Right! Wait, they’re all together? Like, together together?”

Kris nods. “And we’ve added a new person to the team.”

“Oh?”

“Shalana.”

Again, I’m really confused. “Huh?”

“Marek saw potential in her. Strength and leadership qualities. So he asked Hyde to train her.”

“So Hyde and Shalana—”

“Are partners now.”

A volley of emotions erupt inside me at his statement. I want to throw my arms around him and hug him, but the emotions in his eyes are carefully banked. He stands somewhat aloof, apart, and he reminds me of the soldier I first met.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say.

He raises one eyebrow. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

I cross my arms. “You lost your partner.”

“I didn’t lose him. I know where he is.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He shrugs one shoulder in an “oh well” gesture.

I sigh. “Kris, it’s okay to feel angry. To feel betrayed. What I did, what Hyde did…”

“Enough about Hyde!” He suddenly starts pacing in the small room, clearly agitated, his calm, detached demeanor disappearing in a blink. “This is not about him! Marek told me to escort you back.” He marches up to me and takes hold of my arms. His dark eyes reflect his mood, brittle chips of onyx. “When the fuck did you join the military?”

“I didn’t,” I whisper.

“You didn’t?”

I shake my head. “At least, not yet.”

He stiffens, and his hands feel like steel bands around my arms. “Why are you here, Evie?”

“Marek sent me here to recuperate. He found my mother’s family and told me to come here for a month, before asking me to join the 281 as a special consultant. He thinks my visions will help.”

“A consultant. To travel around with us all the time. Are you going to join?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Why are you so quick to jump into the danger again?” he lashes out. “You almost died, Evie!”

My head snaps back, and now my anger is rising quickly. “Yeah, that’s something that I won’t ever forget!”

I yank out of his hold to lift my shirt up and show the puckered red scar above my right breast. I’m not even mindful that I forgot to put a bra on and am showing Kris all my assets.

But all my anger vanishes in a tide at seeing the devastation on his face. He reaches up with trembling fingers to trace the still slightly swollen area that extends across the top of my breast and runs through the areola. It’s not a large scar by any means, maybe about three inches long. And about four inches from that, along the side of my ribs, is another minor scar where the chest tube had been.

The doctors had made the small incision on my breast to remove the bullet. I was lucky it didn’t fragment. Hell, I’m lucky any way you slice it. But I see the emotions that Kris can’t conceal: anger, hurt, sorrow, but mainly, guilt. My breath catches.

“Kris.” I reach up to touch his face, but he yanks back from me.

“Damn you,” he mutters. “I don’t want you around that type of danger!”

It takes me a moment to realize that Kris has his arms around me again, but when it does, I suddenly stop thinking with my brain and start thinking with my heart. I slip my hand around Kris’s neck and pull his lips down onto mine.

It’s like starting a wildfire.

He growls, a primitive, sexual acknowledgment of our need for each other. His tongue snakes out to capture mine, finding its own rhythm. I take and give back, demanding, urging him on. He picks me up in his arms to bring me on equal height, still kissing me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He walks into the bedroom and kicks the door shut.

I untangle my legs and slither down his body to stand. Kris takes my shirt off and proceeds to kiss down my neck, my torso, sucking first the left nipple into his mouth before tracing a line with his mouth over to my right. First he traces the scar, worshipping it before sucking gently on the nipple.

This is a Kris I’ve never encountered before, a seductive, playful man who takes his time down my body. There’s not an inch of skin he doesn’t lick or kiss. My jeans disappear; his clothes disappear. And before I realize it, I am on my back on the bed, and he is kneeling between my thighs.

My body arches as his tongue swipes up and down my slit, the expert rendering making me wonder how the hell he learned to do that in such a delicious way. He teased the outer lips, pulling them in and sucking just so. Sensitizing them. I squirm, begging for him to suck my clit, but all I feel is his smile as he continues to torture me. I know, just as soon as he takes me fully, I’m going to have one motherfucker of an orgasm. How have I survived without this, without him?