Shivers Box Set: Darkening Around Me\Legacy of Darkness\The Devil's Eye\Black Rose (50 page)

“I’ll go back for the car in the morning,” Ryder said when they returned to Desdemona’s antique shop in the swamp.

But Mia wasn’t listening. She’d kissed him. She hated him—or wanted to—and yet she’d taken one look at his mouth and kissed him until her mind had gone blank, and all she’d been able to think about was having sex in a predator-infested swamp.

As logical moves went, she’d have been better off staying in New Orleans.

“Not happy.” She yanked her clothes off in Desdemona’s guest room. “Not dealing. Not properly.”

“Not dead either, little kitten…”

The voice in her head could have been Iona’s or Desdemona’s. It sure as hell wasn’t hers. Fine, she wasn’t dead. But Ryder had lied to her. She felt alone, angry. And, God help her, she still wanted to have sex with him.

“Cracking up,” she said to the shadows that seemed to be everywhere in the room.

Also hungry, she realized when she discovered it was after 10 p.m. Maybe that’s why she’d kissed him. Her brain was starved for nutrition.

Whether that made sense or not, she went with it. She’d go with anything that would get her back to the level-headed person she’d been. Or thought she’d been, but apparently hadn’t.

Okay, enough
, she decided. Forget kisses and killers and lies. Desdemona had told her to raid the kitchen any time she felt hungry, and she was going to take her hostess up on that offer.

Pulling on her pajama pants and tank, she took a flashlight from the dresser and made her way down to the shop.

The ticking clock sounded louder than before, but she chalked that up to perception and twitched away the sensation of ants crawling on her skin.

The floor creaked beneath her—no way to avoid that—while she carefully forged a path toward the rear of the building.

Spotting Billy in his chair, she paused to play her light over him. Had he been smiling earlier? She didn’t think so. And she was sure his eyes hadn’t been wide open.

“Spooky,” she murmured.

Raising the beam to the high shelves, she noticed a collection of other dolls, most of them made of rags, none of them particularly riveting.

“So what is it about you, B-Billy?” His name stuttered out when she brought the beam back down. Stepping back quickly, she stabbed an accusing finger at his face. “Okay, you’re not smiling. Why aren’t you smiling? You were a minute ago. And we’re the only ones here…I hope.” She looked away, then back. And jumped halfway across the aisle when she saw Billy’s mouth was now open in a silent scream.

“Stop it. Just stop it, right now.” Temper surged. “It’s been a really bad day, and I’m in no mood to play games.”

The air behind her stirred unexpectedly. A rough hand covered her mouth, and a man’s rusty voice croaked in her ear. “If games aren’t your thing, lady, you busted into the wrong establishment. Because while this here place might not be yours or mine, seeing as we’re both standing in it, I say, game on.”

* * *

Mia didn’t know what happened next. Confusion reigned, and it began with the man behind her emitting a broken yelp in her ear.

The hand on her mouth vanished. She fell forward, almost knocking Billy out of his rocker. With her palms braced on the wall, she steadied herself, and then pushed upright.

The yelp became a gurgle, followed by a high-pitched plea for air. Shaking her head to clear it, Mia located the flashlight she’d dropped and swung it around to the shelves behind her.

“What in God’s name are you doing, Ryder?”

“Catching a fox in the henhouse.” He hauled a tall, wiry man away from the shelf, spun him around and shoved him against it—back first. “This is Desdemona’s son.”

“The bar owner.” Mia recalled him.

“That’s the one. Fortunately, she has two other sons who’ll watch out for her after we’re gone.” He shifted his attention to the man he currently held by the throat. “Tell the lady you’re sorry, Benny.”

“Mama didn’t say you were coming, Ryder.” Benny offered Mia a lopsided smile. “I am most deeply sorry, ma’am, that you’re a guest and not a thief come to rob Mama blind.”

Mia laughed at the apology. Her life probably would get more bizarre, but at the moment, she honestly couldn’t see how. Still smiling, she looked down at Billy. And felt the blood turn to ice in her veins.

Billy’s chair was there. But Billy the doll was gone.

* * *

“He just fell from his seat in the tussle, is all.” Desdemona brushed the doll’s hair back in place, blew the dust from his cheeks. “There you go, Billy, right as rain. I even polished up your rocking chair. What do you think, Mia? Isn’t Billy a handsome boy?”

“Yes, very handsome.” She made herself smile. “Are you sure you’ll be all right when we’re gone?”

“Sure as can be. Got three sons, two of ’em big as linebackers. And Benny’s bar isn’t called the Fox for nothing. You just go, and don’t worry about the bad chasing after you. Ricky’ll keep you safe.”

“Yes. Well.” Mia hugged the older woman. “Thank you. For everything.”

* * *

The morning had dawned hot and steamy with a low overcast that spoke of something more ominous than a light summer rain. Where was Ryder taking her today? No idea. Why she was going with him? Even more of a mystery.

“Not dead, little kitten…”

“Not helpful, Iona. Now please, get out of my head.”

“Talking to yourself is one thing, Mia. Having a conversation isn’t quite as healthy.”

Mia slid her eyes sideways, but didn’t turn as Ryder fell into step behind her. “I’m not talking to you one way or the other, Detective Ryder.”

“Lieutenant,” he corrected.

She waited until the borrowed truck was loaded and the engine coaxed to life before asking, “Where are we going, and are you sure the killer won’t hurt Desdemona for letting us stay here?”

“I’m sure, and we’re going deeper into the swamp. Desdemona’s old friend has a house there. It’s only accessible by boat.”

“And murderers are notorious for not being able to operate motorboats.” She huffed out a breath. “You’re cutting us off, Ryder.”

“One way out, one way in. If the killer shows, we’ll see him coming.”

“Unless he comes while we’re sleeping, paddle in hand, knife between teeth.”

“You want to go back to New Orleans, don’t you?”

Did she? She stared into the swamp. “I want to live,” she decided. “I know what the murderer looks like now. I remember the expression on Helene Dubose’s face when she died. I want him to pay for what he did, not only to her, but to however many of the other victims he killed as well. Also, if possible, if he has a reason, which he must, I want to know why he did it.”

“You might never know that last thing, Mia.” But she saw a muscle in Ryder’s jaw tick when he spoke. “It can take years for some murderers’ motives to be established. The guy we want might or might not be killing on his own behalf. Whatever the case, the six deaths we know about don’t appear to be connected.”

“Except for Helene Dubose’s and the first woman’s.”

“Madeleine Lessard.”

She cast him a shrewd look. “I assume Crucible’s authority strongly supersedes that of the New Orleans police.”

“Quite strongly. Your point?”

“What would he do to you if we were to go back tomorrow?”

He shoved the old truck into gear. “Nothing I wouldn’t deserve.”

That was all he had to say about crime, punishment or any other subject for the next two hours. They drove, hiked and finally made their way down to a short shabby dock where a small boat bobbed at the end of a time-worn rope.

“O-kay.” Mia inspected the craft from various angles. “The bottom’s been patched at least seven times, and there’s water in the bow.”

“Rainwater.”

“Who owns it?” she asked.

“Benny. He likes to fish on Saturdays.”

“Ryder, Benny weighs 130, soaking wet. You, me, food, our bags and gear—I hate to think.”

He gestured at the narrow waterway. “We could swim instead. Your choice.”

She barely suppressed a snarl. New Orleans was beginning to look better and better. “I still have my gun,” she reminded him. “And a whack of doubts as to why I’m trusting you enough to do this.”

He helped her down. “I sense a reluctant ‘but’.”

“There’s a voice in my head I can’t shut out. It’s telling me that while I certainly could be by now, I’m not dead. And if you add a ‘yet’ to that statement, I’m back in the truck and gone. Savvy?”

He smiled, albeit grimly, and lowered the motor into the water.

Fifteen minutes later, and riding much lower than Mia preferred, they were cruising along, following the lazy curve of the shore.

“I can’t tell the difference between alligator heads and rocks.” Ryder avoided a clump of gnarled roots by less than six inches. “You?”

“If you see rocks with knobs where eyes should be, they’re gators. My advice? Sit in the middle of the boat.” Not missing a beat, she asked, “How does Desdemona know your aunt?”

He swept his gaze through the surrounding trees. “They were childhood friends. The friendship sustained. I don’t remember not knowing Desdemona. We lost touch for a long time and then met up again in Florida. But life moves on, and so did she. To New Orleans. She rented a studio apartment there for a while. She was tight with a handful of psychics and a voodoo queen who was really a scam artist. But then I imagine only one in a thousand would be genuine.”

“Try one in ten thousand, and that’s probably a generous estimate.” Mia shrugged. “Desdemona swears the woman who owned the antique shop before her had the sight.”

“Desdemona also talks to dolls as if they were people.”

“One doll,” she corrected, but feeling edgy, let the subject drop.

Although she was tempted to trail her fingers in the cool water, Mia knew better than to do it. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the bench and watched the dense bayou plant life slide by.

“It’s strange—and don’t take this to mean I trust you—but every once in a while I feel like we’re floating downriver on the
African Queen
.”

“With me in the role of the gin-drinking captain and you as the pious prude?”

She tried not to grin. “You surprise me, Ryder. I’d have pegged you as an action hero fan.”

“I am. But my first high school crush was a retrospective movie buff. She liked Hitchcock’s
Suspicion
, I preferred pinball. She read poetry, I read Stephen King. She had a purebred poodle named Lulu, I had a mutt from the pound called Scar.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“It was. Until Scar knocked Lulu up. Relationship went south from there.”

“My first crush was the front man—well, boy, really—for a local rock band. He had hair down to his nipples and a bad-ass stepbrother who was into hydroponic gardening, cigarettes and black leather. As soon as I met his sexy step, my fascination with rocker boy died. I was fifteen at the time and extremely impressionable. Lucky for me, my grandmother was older, wiser, and she knew what ‘hydroponics’ really meant.” Mia cast a dubious look at the blackening sky. “Are you using a map, or have you been to this place we’re going before?”

Ryder’s lips twitches. “I came here once when I was fifteen. Benny and one of his fishing buddies tried to drown me.”

“And you responded by…?”

“Giving Benny an underwater punch in the balls, kicking his friend in the same general area and taking their boat.” He steered theirs into a narrow channel. “Do you hear something?”

Unfortunately, she did, and memory told her it wasn’t thunder. “We should probably turn right at the next waterway…Or not,” she added as they rounded a bend and she spied the piecemeal craft eighty yards ahead.

A loud boom reverberated through the air. Mia saw the water in front of the craft explode. Moments later, two or three men began to hoot.

“Poachers?” Ryder guessed.

She nodded. “We really don’t want to get mixed up with them. They might be harmless. They might also be drunken hotheads.”

When two rifle shots rang out, Mia ducked. “Okay, hotheads. Can we run?”

“Only if we ditch our belongings and the food.” Bending low, Ryder climbed over the seat and positioned himself ahead of her. “Take the tiller, stay down, and head for shore. I’ll keep them busy.”

“I should have voted for New Orleans,” she muttered.

Bullets whizzed past as the poachers—thankfully only two of them—caught sight of the interlopers and opened fire. Mia maneuvered through a complex series of tree stumps and was closing in on the shore when it occurred to her that the rifle shot was fading rather than growing louder. Risking a quick look back, she saw the poachers making for an open area of the river.

Relieved, she eased them away from the weeds.

“Well, that was ten minutes of gut-wrenching terror I could have lived without. What made them turn tail and run?”

Ryder shoved the Glock back into his waistband. “I got one of them in the arm, shot the other guy’s rifle out of his hands.”

“Impressive.”

“It would be except for one thing.” He nodded toward the front of the boat. “One of their bullets put a hole in our side. We’re taking on water, Mia, and we don’t have a pump.”

* * *

Naturally, rain started falling in sheets almost as soon as the poachers vanished. Ryder jammed a piece of wood into the hole while Mia followed his directions and steered them toward their destination. He bailed the excess water inasmuch as he could, given that the boat wasn’t the only thing that had been hit.

“Is that a dock?” Shaking the hair from her eyes, Mia pointed through the streaming rain.

Ryder drew a mental map, hoped his memory was sound and nodded. He threw a jacket on over his T-shirt, readied the line and gave her top marks for a smooth glide alongside what remained of the ragged planking.

“House is up there.”

She tipped her head way back. “I see a shack, Ryder, not a house, and at least forty questionable steps leading up to it.”

Very questionable
, Ryder thought, but held his tongue. Desdemona insisted the bones of the staircase were solid, and she liked Mia too much to be lying.

Once the boat was tied off, he loaded up, regarded the steep stairs, then told Mia to hold onto his jacket and stick close. If she slipped, he figured he’d either save her or they’d both be gator bait.