My Immortal (4 page)

It wasn’t possible, that was the problem.

In the morning, she made herself maps using her laptop and the printer in the business center of the hotel, and drove to the police station. They were polite, but unconcerned, especially since she had no real proof Lizzie had been in New Orleans. She filled out the necessary missing person forms, then headed out to River Road, past half a dozen other plantation houses. If she’d been there for pleasure, she would have stopped at each and every one and explored.

But this wasn’t about pleasure, and she was going to stay alert and smart. If Damien knew anything about Lizzie, she was going to have to convince him to tell her.

When she reached the end of the drive and parked in front of the house, Damien came out of the
pigeonnier
, which she thought he used as an office. He was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and hiking boots, but not the rustic kind. When she looked at him, she didn’t see an athlete going climbing, or a workman on his way to fix something. What she saw was wealth, confidence, and a slight European flavor that was the influence of his French ancestry.

Marley had never attracted a lot of men, good-looking or otherwise. That had been Lizzie’s specialty, and Marley had never minded her sister’s popularity. She herself had never fantasized about or coveted the cream of the social crop. Her goal had always been to find a nice guy who was intelligent and kind and respectful. Never once had she wavered in that desire, that conviction, that certainty. No bad boys for her.

Which didn’t explain why the sight of Damien du Bourg made her mouth go dry, her palms sweat, and her inner thighs pulse with interest.

He didn’t look upset or surprised to see her, or anxious to get Marie’s letter from her. Unconcerned described him best. And he looked tousled, sexy, hair wet, like he’d just stepped out of the shower. His smile was casual, relaxed, as she got out of the car.

“Good morning, Marley.”

“Hi.” He wasn’t wearing bells as promised, but he still looked pretty darn chipper. Marley felt hot and sticky, and her night of tossing and turning was catching up with her. Patience was not going to be her word of the day.

“Would you like to come in? Have a drink? Give me the letter?”

Marley glanced over at him, not sure if he was joking or not, and irritated either way.

“No?” He shrugged with a smile. “Well, it was worth a try. And just so you know, it’s very possible your sister won’t show up at my next little gathering. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Then why am I here?”

He gave her a mocking frown of disapproval. “So negative this morning. You’re here so I can gather facts about your sister, so I can be accurate in what I’m telling people. In order to find someone, we have to know whom we’re looking for.”

“What do you want to know?” She got the sense he was toying with her, and it made her frustrated and angry.

“Let’s get inside, relax, have a seat, and we can talk. Did you bring Lizzie’s picture? I’ll scan it and send it to some friends.”

“I have it but you’ll have to cut Lizzie out. I don’t want Sebastian’s picture shown around.” Or hers, for that matter.

“Whatever you say, Miss Marley Turner.” He opened the door and swept his arm out to let her enter.

While he was polite and cheerful, Marley suddenly wondered if she was making a huge mistake. It slammed into her consciousness that she was being remarkably trusting. No one knew where she was. They were completely alone on God only knew how many acres. Damien could kill her, toss her in the swamp, and she’d never be found. Maybe that was precisely what he had done with Lizzie. The thought about made her heart stop.

She couldn’t believe that the idea of Damien being guilty had never occurred to her before. But it did now, with a glaring Technicolor horror film hugeness, and she came to a complete halt in the doorway. This was a stupid girl move waiting to happen.

“You’ve stopped walking,” he commented from behind her. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I just had a thought…” That he might be a murderer. Marley couldn’t think how to finish the sentence in a way that wouldn’t raise his suspicions. She just stood there, heart pounding, grappling with her purse. She’d feel better if she had her cell phone in her hand. Instead of her phone, her fingers landed on the snapshot of her with Lizzie.

“Here’s the picture.” She turned around and shoved it at him.

His eyebrows went up. “That was your thought?”

“Well, yes, and also…” Turning had been a mistake. She was way too close to him, close enough that she could see a faint caramel-colored stubble on his chin, like he’d forgotten to shave. She could smell him, hear his breathing. He was so incredibly attractive, so sexy, so…arousing, and yet he could be sick, twisted, violent, evil, for all she knew.

“Yes?”

He was waiting for an answer and she had no clue what to say.

“Damien, who’s your friend?” A woman’s voice came from outside, behind Damien.

Marley relaxed, relieved to have his attention distracted from her.

Damien, on the other hand, winced when he heard the new arrival. “Rosa. What a surprise.” From the tone of his voice, it wasn’t a happy one.

A head of black curly hair popped out from behind his shoulders. The woman had deep dark eyes, coffee-colored skin, and an uncertain ethnicity, her features exotic and striking. She was smiling. “Hi. I’m Rosa.” She slid around Damien, putting her hands on his elbows and squeezing through a nothing of a space when he didn’t move out of her way.

“I’m Marley. Nice to meet you,” she said automatically, as her heart rate attempted to return to normal. Damien couldn’t murder her with someone else present. She didn’t think. God, this had been such an idiotic thing to do.

“So what brings you to this dump?” Rosa asked cheerfully, plopping down onto the sofa and crossing her legs. She was thin, with legs probably longer than Marley’s whole body, and she was wearing a flowing cotton skirt with espadrilles.

“She’s looking for her sister,” Damien said. “What are you doing here?”

“We had plans, remember?”

“No, we didn’t.”

Rosa smiled, her mouth full of perfect, sparkling white teeth. “Yes, we did. You said you were going to take me car shopping.”

“Over my dead body.”

Rosa seemed to think that was funny. She laughed and swung her leg back and forth. “You’re not going to die anytime soon, Damien.”

“Precisely my point. I’ll see you later, Rosa. Thanks for stopping by.” He gave her a pointed stare.

Marley stood uncomfortably just inside the door, debating the merits of bolting. She could probably make it to her rental car before he could catch up with her. She patted her pocket for the keys.

“Fine, I’ll leave since you’re in such a lousy mood.” Rosa sighed and stood up, smoothing her tight scoop-neck shirt across her nonexistent belly. “I hate this painting,” she commented as she straightened the framed piece of art above Damien’s sofa. Rosa took her time crossing the room, a sly little smile on her face.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, Marley,” she said. “Maybe we can chat when sourpuss isn’t here to ruin it.”

Marley ripped the photo she’d brought back out of Damien’s hand. “Do you recognize my sister? She’s missing and I think she was at one of Damien’s parties.”

Rosa looked at the snapshot, then shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve never seen her before.”

Then she went to the door and put her hand in Damien’s. Marley watched in surprise as Rosa gave him a full kiss on the mouth, her lips lingering so long that he finally set her away from him.

“Bye.” She gave a little wave and left.

Damien grimaced. “Sorry. That’s…Rosa. She loves to irritate me.”

“Is she your ex-wife?”

He looked startled. “No. Why?”

“You look like you have a past.” Despite Damien’s annoyance, they were clearly comfortable with each other. Rosa’s mouth had covered his with no awkwardness, no hesitation.

“Well, that is certainly true. We’ve known each other a long time.” Damien leaned against the wall.

Marley nodded. “I can tell.” She glanced back at the painting hung so prominently on the white wall. It was hauntingly beautiful, two women suspended in nothing, a cold, barren landscape behind them. It seemed to echo the ache she was feeling, the worry she felt over Lizzie. “I actually like the painting.”

“Thank you.” Damien moved in next to her and studied it alongside her. “It’s called
The Punishment of Lust
. Do you understand punishment, Marley?”

The question was too obscure for her to answer. But it suddenly saddened her to hear the pain in his voice, to feel the way he stood next to her, stiff and isolated. She wondered about him, about how he lived his life, why he seemed to be alone despite his notorious parties. While she couldn’t answer the question, it seemed Damien knew punishment—she suspected he was castigating himself for something.

“I understand that punishment is necessary. And that the punishment should fit the crime. Is that what you mean?” Maybe Lizzie should be punished for running off and worrying her family. But Marley knew Lizzie punished herself enough on her own with her violent mood swings, her highs and her extreme lows. Marley would always forgive Lizzie for her flaws, and she would never abandon her.

“It seems to me that most often the one who pays for the crime is not the criminal.” He moved his finger in a slow half circle, tracing the women. “This painting is from a series on bad mothers. They’ve abandoned their children because of their lust…they placed carnal desire, their own pleasures, above the needs of their children.”

A chill went through Marley. That sounded too personal, directed at Lizzie. But it was just a coincidence. He wasn’t trying to make a statement to her—it was just a painting.

He was much closer to her now, and when he turned and spoke, she could feel his breath on her cheek, hot and inexplicably arousing. A shiver rippled over her skin.

“Do you understand lust, Marley?”

It was meant to rattle her, clearly, but it had the opposite effect. His probing yet somehow casual flirtation irritated her and made her bolder than she normally would be. Jerking her head to the side, she met his gaze head on. “No, I don’t. I’m not a lustful person.”

His finger came out and traced her lip, the same way he had outlined the painting. The touch was warm, erotic, invasive. Appealing. “I think you are wrong, very wrong. I can feel the lust in you, Marley Turner.”

For a second, one small tiny blip, Marley forgot who she was. In that brief splash in time, she almost believed Damien’s words, and followed her instinctive urge to shift into his touch, spread her legs around his. Give in to the desire to live like Lizzie did, for a short shallow moment.

But she didn’t. Moving her head away, she said, “That’s heat stroke, not lust.”

Damien burst out laughing. “You’re very amusing.”

“I aim to please.”

His finger tapped the end of her nose. “I shouldn’t have asked you here, to the plantation. This was a mistake. Let’s drive into town and get some lunch and talk there. You can follow me in your own car and go back to the hotel from there.”

Separate cars, a public restaurant. That worked for her. “Show me the way.”

“Where are the letters?” Rosa didn’t bother to waste time with a greeting. She hated the nasty little house, with its old-person smell and suffocating heat, and she didn’t want to hang around, even if they were only out on the porch.

“Why?” Anna stared at her from her habitual spot in a white plastic chair next to the front door, her tired brown eyes still sharp and alert.

Rosa tried to quell the discomfort that seeing Anna always brought, the reminder that if Rosa wasn’t who she was, she too would grow old like that, her body shrinking and sagging and wrinkling until she was nothing more than vein-peppered skin and brittle bones.

“A woman showed up today. He was talking to her in the
pigeonnier
.”

“So?” Anna rolled her rheumy eyes and gave a snort that irritated Rosa. “Lots of women show up here, and have for as long as I’ve been alive.”

“This one’s different. He wants her.”

That got Anna’s attention even as she scoffed. “That’s your wishful thinking,” she said, arms crossing over her chest in skepticism, though she sat up straighter. “You’ve always been a dreamer.”

“And you’ve always been too quick to assume the worst.” Rosa watched a fly buzzing in front of Anna’s face. With speed that belied her age, Anna reached for a fly swatter, arched, and swung, bringing the fly down in mid-flight.

Rosa lost patience. She had never liked being forced to deal with Anna, and liked it even less now, when she was feeling more desperate than she’d like. “Just give me the letters.”

“What? You’re just going to hand them to her? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What do you suggest I do? I can’t leave them for her to find. She’s not staying in the house like others have in the past.” It was a little dig, a reminder.

Anna wasn’t offended. She laughed. “True, true. But what makes you think she’ll care about any of this?”

“She’s oozing compassion. I can see it, feel it. It’s all around her, like an aura. The martyr who takes care of everyone, that’s who this is. And he likes that in her.” That baffled Rosa, but there it was. Damien had gotten strange over the centuries, preoccupied with redemption, inflated with pity, and this one appealed to him.

Slowly nodding, Anna said, “I can see that. You might be on to something”

“So give them to me. I’m going to make friends with this girl.”

But Anna shook her head. “Just send her to me. She’ll trust me more, the sweet old lady.”

“Good point.”

Not that there was anything sweet about Anna. Or herself.

“You’re as devious as ever, Anna. It just warms the cockles of my heart to know that.”

“What did your sister say about my plantation?” Damien asked, gazing at Marley curiously over a cracked laminate tabletop in a worn diner.

Marley wanted to be truthful, wanted to mention anything that could help Damien find Lizzie, but at the same time she wanted to protect her sister, wanted to keep to herself just how childish and delusional Lizzie could be. It was embarrassing to Marley that Lizzie had declared herself in love with Damien when he didn’t even remember her. Not that Lizzie would ever be embarrassed by that herself—but Marley had enough embarrassment, guilt, shame, and repression for both of them.

“She said that she was staying there. That there were really cool parties and hot guys…she said it was like being in a hunk calendar. She mentioned you as the owner, said you were, uh, totally amazing.”

She would have expected Damien to be smug about that last part, and waited for his reaction, but he just looked troubled.

And he didn’t even acknowledge the compliment. “I honestly don’t remember her. I wish I did. I can see how worried you are.”

“I am worried. Lizzie has left before…she’s kind of a free spirit. But she’s never been gone this long without contacting someone. So what can I tell you that will help? How can you be sure she’ll know that you’re having a party?”

Damien had ordered black coffee, and when the waitress placed the mug in front of him, he smiled at her. She was a plain woman, heavyset and wearing her hair pulled back in an unflattering ponytail. When he smiled up at her, her hand paused with the coffee, and she blushed a little.

“Anything else I can get ya right now?” she asked, beaming back at him.

“No, we’re fine, thank you so much.” He glanced at her chest where her nametag hung crooked on her cotton uniform. “Ruby.”

She blushed again, clearly flustered. “Just yell if you need something, alright?”

“I will, thank you.”

Marley wanted to ask what the hell that was all about. Ask if after she was done dishing on Lizzie, he would tell her who exactly Damien du Bourg was and why he flirted with random women. And then he could just provide a nice little explanation for why he hosted sex parties on a regular basis. Instead, she sat across from him and fought impatience, irritation. She wanted to hear what he had to say about Lizzie and then she wanted to leave. Because to her complete and total irritation, she understood why Ruby stammered and blushed at Damien’s smile. Marley felt the same way.

There was something irresistibly attractive about him. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but it radiated from him, and she absolutely did not want to respond to it.

He took a deep drink of his coffee, than sat back with a sigh. “Do you understand what kind of parties I have?”

“I have a vague idea that they’re adult parties.”

“That’s a very polite way to put it.” He looked amused. “My parties are definitely adult parties, and they are by invitation only. You won’t find drug addicts or prostitutes, anyone underage or participating against their will. My parties are for sophisticated, successful adults who want to engage in discreet, anonymous entertainment. Your sister was not someone who would have been extended an invitation. Therefore, she must have attended as a guest of someone who did get an invitation.”

Marley wasn’t sure if that was helpful or not, and detected an insult to her sister. “So, you can ask everyone who got invitations in June if they know Lizzie?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. We don’t use names, only e-mail addresses, and my guests are assured that their attendance is not kept on record. So if I were to contact them all asking if they know your sister, they would assume that I have records of their attendance, which I don’t. And mentioning Lizzie’s real name will immediately close mouths anyway. Even if they don’t mind being singled out, they’re going to know that if a girl disappeared during one of my parties, there could be a major scandal. And if they’re the one who brought Lizzie, they’re certainly not going to admit it now that she’s missing. These are people in important positions in the community—these are doctors, lawyers, ministers.”

“Ministers?” Marley almost choked on her soft drink.

Damien smirked. “Yes. It’s not porn stars who want complete anonymity, Marley. It’s people who are doing what they shouldn’t be doing.”

He might as well have added a “duh” at the end of his sentence.

“Do they pay you?” Maybe it was none of her business, but she was pretty sure she could alter her attraction to disgust if he arranged these parties for a fee. Bad enough he did it at all, but for profit? That was more than she could handle.

“No.” Damien’s expression was closed, inscrutable. “I do it as a community service.”

That was a novel way to put it. Most people just stuck to working the soup kitchen and tutoring at-risk kids when they felt the urge to help their fellow man. But whatever. “And for your own entertainment?”

“Of course.” He shrugged carelessly, but his eyes told a different story. When Marley looked at him, she saw it clearly, so obvious she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. Damien’s eyes were burning, with both anger and a raw, agonizing pain.

The emotion took her breath away, stripped her indignation, stirred her compassion. Marley found herself reaching forward, putting her hand over his, wanting to comfort him. “Damien…”

She stroked his hand, and he glanced down at it, looking startled. The moment hung between them—his pain, her sympathy, his reluctant help, her fear. Then Damien shifted his hand, slipping it over the top of hers, and held her still. His thumb moved, stroking across her skin, sliding under to circle over her palm. She sucked her breath in at the sudden change in his eyes. The pain was gone, replaced by desire, a raw and powerful lust, and she snatched her hand back.

Touching him had been a mistake. It had taken her gesture of comfort and flipped it on its side, shifted control over to him, and made her feel vulnerable, needy. As though when he had caressed her hand, he had seen inside her, where she was hungry to be the center of attention for the first time, desperate to have someone love her, focus on her, be strong enough to let her lean on them just once. Whatever truth there was to that, none of it was relevant here with him, and she wasn’t about to let Damien muck around in her insecurities.

She sipped her soft drink, then said, “So if you invite the same people, you’re hoping Lizzie will show up with whoever she was with last time? What about her picture? I thought you were going to show it to some people.”

“Just a few close friends. My hope is more that she’ll arrive with the same people as before, which is why I wanted to hear about her. I need to know the type of man she is usually drawn to and where she was before she arrived in Louisiana. Maybe I can target the invitations based on that, since we don’t know what night she was here exactly.”

“She made it sound like she was here for several days.”

“That’s helpful. I had a three-day event in mid-June.”

The word
event
made Marley want to snicker, but she held it in. “I think she came here straight from Cincinnati. She was definitely home for Memorial Day, because I left the following week, and I saw her before I left.”

“What type of man does she normally go out with?”

Any man with two legs that had at least a smattering of English language skills. But that would sound snarky if she said it out loud, which it probably was. Marley shrugged. “Lizzie doesn’t have a type—she’s gone out with construction workers and a doctor. Tall guys, short, thin, built. I’ve never seen her date a guy much older than thirty, thirty-five though. And generally speaking, they’re white.”

“What about the child’s father? Could she be visiting him?”

“I don’t know who Sebastian’s father is.” Another source of contention between her and Lizzie. “She wouldn’t tell me. She just said it didn’t matter because he wasn’t in the picture anymore.”

Damien shook his head. “This isn’t much. But I’ll do what I can. I’ll invite the largest group possible without arousing suspicion. Given the short notice, we should get a nice attendance…most like the challenge of rearranging their busy work and social schedules to attend a last-minute party. It adds to the stimulation. With a little luck, your sister will show up.”

“What time should I be there?” Marley’s mouth went dry at the thought of going to Damien’s party, but she would just station herself near the door as a coat checker or something and look for Lizzie. She had no intention of actually seeing any of these people doing whatever it was they did.

“You’re not going to be there at any time.”

That made her spine straighten. “Yes, I am. I have to be there to recognize Lizzie.”

“No. For one thing, I don’t think this is your sort of party, Marley. Second, people are going to notice you charging through the rooms staring at them. While most of them enjoy voyeurism to a certain extent, they’re not going to appreciate your marching up and shoving Lizzie’s picture in their faces.”

“I wasn’t going to do that!” Much. “I can be discreet. I have to be there, Damien.”

“No.”

“Yes. I’ll check coats or be the caterer or something.”

“No.”

“Isn’t everyone masked? How are you going to recognize Lizzie?” He was being irrational and she was getting frustrated.

“Yes, everyone is masked. I think we’ll do a pirates of the Caribbean theme. Appropriately over the top, which is what people are expecting. Men as pirates, women in as little as possible. Bikinis should do nicely. That will help me recognize Lizzie, since you won’t be there.”

Marley felt her face go hot. The thought of Damien wandering around a room full of bikini-clad pleasure seekers, studying their bodies in detail, was an image she just didn’t want in her head.

Especially because if Marley wanted to get in to that party, which she had to do to ensure Lizzie didn’t escape Damien’s notice, she was going to have to blend in with the crowd.

Which meant she was going to have to wear a bikini and a mask and be scrutinized by men.

Damien in particular, help her.

Just the thought of his eyes roving over her bare, bathing suit–clad body made her want to pass out stone cold and wake up when it was all over.

Damien’s reasons for the bikini theme were legitimate. But he also was very much looking forward to witnessing Marley half naked trying to go incognito through the party. Which was foolish on his part. Playing with the fire of his self-control.

He knew she intended to sneak in and look for her sister herself. It was there, written in the determination in her eyes.

He didn’t doubt it for one minute.

What he did doubt was his ability to maintain the detachment from her he needed.

With this one, it would have to be look, but never, ever touch, and that was not going to be easy.

In the beginning, I will own it was tolerable, Angelique. Even though the thick heat of the bayou wrapped around me like wet linens, and I frequently felt fatigued and ill, it was not unbearable. The neighbors came to call, there were dinners and an occasional ball, and the quiet social niceties with the other ladies of River Road. These comfortable moments of tea and sewing, inane chatter and talk of fashion, were pleasant distractions from the stress of my marriage.

Damien was polite and all that was proper in public, but in private we went on as we started. He had little tolerance for me, and I had no conceivable notion of how to please him. No one taught me how to satisfy a man either in bed or out, how to anticipate his wants and needs, or how to strike that proper chord in conversation with him. I was taught to pour, to powder, to dance, to curtsy, but none of those served me in the slightest in the company of my husband. Damien wanted something, it was quite evident to me, and I didn’t know what it was or how to give it to him. The shame, the failure to please my husband, made me even more nervous in his presence, so that I dropped things, averted my eyes, turned my face against his kisses.