Cursed: Decorah Security Book #21 Read online

  “What did you do to my brother?” the man demanded.

  “Your brother, Rick Brevard?”

  “You damn well know who I mean.” His gaze swung to Morgan, then back again. “Did you see him yesterday?”

  “If he was one of the men who delivered the car—yes,” she answered.

  Andre took a protective step closer to her. “Could you tell us what this is all about?”

  “The last I saw Rick, he was on his way out here—driving your rental car.”

  “And he left again,” she said quickly. “With another man.”

  “Henri Dauphin. I was damn well expecting them yesterday evening. They’re not back.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” Andre said.

  “Where were you all day?” Brevard demanded. “And last night?”

  “Last night, I was sleeping,” Andre said evenly, his gaze flicking to Morgan.

  A few minutes ago, he’d said he was in the swamp. Had he slept there? He must have, he couldn’t stay up twenty-four hours a day.

  “Today, I was in the bayou to saw up some logs and split them for firewood.”

  “So you say.”

  “Well, the fresh-cut logs are by the back door,” Andre said. “And I can help you look for the men.”

  “I don’t need your help!”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To tell you they’d better show up.”

  “I hope they do,” Morgan answered.

  “Yeah, you’d better hope so,” the man growled, his eyes on Andre. For a long moment, they stood facing each other, and Morgan was afraid Carl Brevard might do something stupid. Instead, he brushed past them, climbed into his car and slammed the door.

  As he roared down the drive, Morgan breathed out a little sigh and pulled her hand from her purse.

  “What were you going to do—pull a gun on him?” Andre asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “I saw your hand go into your purse.”

  “It was an option,” she murmured.

  “But not a very good one.”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I would have done it—if I needed to.”

  “You don’t want to get arrested because of me.”

  “You think that would have happened?”

  “Chere, the least little thing that happens around here—they call the cops.”

  She nodded tightly, then changed the subject. “What do you think happened to the men who brought the car yesterday?”

  “You saw them drive away.”

  “Yes!”

  He sighed. “I don’t know what happened. But I think I’d better go look for them.”

  “Let me help.”

  “No,” he said quickly and firmly. “If something happened in the bayou, I want you safe in the house. Is that understood?”

  “I could help you,” she insisted. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

  “Not necessarily. I told you, I know my way around the backcountry—since I’m there every night. I know how to avoid the dangers. If you were with me, I’d only worry about you. And your going off by yourself is out of the question.”

  “Rick could be waiting to jump you.”

  Andre nodded tightly. She wanted to insist on going with him. She wanted to say she would be worried every moment he was gone. But she kept those words locked inside and clamped a hand on his arm. “You’re willing to help him? Even if he hates you?”

  His gaze scorched hers. “Especially if he hates me.”

  A noise from the landing made her glance up, and she saw Janet gazing down at her—looking upset.

  “Come in,” she said to Morgan in a quiet but insistent voice.

  Two against one, Morgan told herself. She still could have protested, but now she and Andre had an audience.

  Lowering her voice, she said, “We have to talk—about Linette and Andre.”

  “Yes.”

  At least he’d conceded that much, although maybe he was just agreeing so she’d stop arguing with him.

  “I have to go,” he added. “Don’t make me worry about you tonight. Promise me you’ll stay inside.”

  “All right,” she whispered. Then, before she could change her mind, she climbed the steps. At the top, she turned and stared down at Andre, who was looking up at her. “Stay safe,” he growled.

  Then, stiffly, he turned and trotted away. She wanted to ask what he was thinking right now. She wanted to ask where he would look for the men and how he could possibly locate them in all that wilderness. Instead she watched him disappear into the trees.

  Shoulders slumped, Morgan followed Janet into the house.

  “He told you he goes into the swamp at night?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s more than he’s told anyone else.”

  “And what do you know about it?” Morgan demanded.

  “I won’t give away his secrets, child,” the woman said before turning away.

  Morgan wanted to follow her into the kitchen and demand a better answer. She knew she’d be wasting her time. Janet was loyal—and stubborn.

  So, she went up to her room and tried to do some online research. But she couldn’t find anything on the history of Linette Sonnier and Andre Gascon.

  A knock at the door made her glance up sharply.

  “Come in,” she called out.

  Janet opened the door. “Would you like to have dinner?” the housekeeper asked.

  After a silent debate, she answered, “Well, I’ve had a pretty tiring day. Would you mind if I just took a sandwich up here?”

  “Since I got the oven back, I made a nice shepherd’s pie. You could take some of that.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Morgan said. “I was just trying not to make any extra work for you.”

  “The dinner’s already made. You can eat on the sun porch,” Janet said quickly.

  Morgan wasn’t sure what the polite thing to do was, but she decided that Janet might not want her company, either. So, she followed the housekeeper downstairs, then took a tray of food out to a room at the side of the house where she hadn’t been before. It was furnished with wicker chairs and a wrought iron patio set. Several ficus trees and pots of flowers were set around on the slate floor. Through the big windows, she could look out at the last glimmers of light from the sunset.

  The view would have been appealing if she’d been able to relax and enjoy it.

  She had very little appetite. But since Janet had gone to the trouble of making dinner, she finished as much of it as she could.

  When she took the tray back to the kitchen, she was relieved to find the room empty. After a quick glance over her shoulder, she scraped the remaining food on her plate into the disposal and ran the appliance before putting the plate in the dishwasher.

  Up in her room, she stood at the window for a long time, wishing she could see something—even a light in the swamp. But it was pitch dark, and she didn’t know how Andre could function out there.

  Bone-deep worry gnawed at her. If he were anywhere else besides the middle of a swamp, she would have gone outside to look for him. But she knew that tramping into the bayou was as dangerous as it was futile.

  Again, she tried to distract herself. As she did most evenings, she checked her e-mail. At least there was something to take her mind off Andre—a message from Decorah.

  One of the agents, Zane Marshall, had looked at the maps Morgan sent and confirmed they seemed to be a geological survey. But he wasn’t familiar with the notation and was sending them to an expert. Morgan should expect to hear something in a day or two.

  After thanking Zane, Morgan looked at some of the bulletin board digests she usually checked out.

  But the messages simply didn’t hold her interest. Finally, she gave up, took a shower and pulled on clean panties and a tee shirt. Always prepared to get out of bed quickly, she set out a pair of jeans over the arm of a chair.

  She lay
in bed for a long time, listening for Andre to come in. Finally, she drifted off, only to startle awake at the sound of chanting. It took a moment for her to figure out where she was and what she was hearing.

  The damn voodoo priestess was back.

  Morgan felt her throat close, felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. Wanting to get a look at the damn woman, she got out of bed, then had to grab the edge of the mattress to keep from falling over. It took several moments before she felt steady enough to walk.

  Still, her steps were shaky as she crossed the room, then stood at the window, breathing hard.

  She felt as if she were trying to function underwater. After her experiences on the road and in the graveyard, the chanting voice and the sound of the drum seemed to reach her on a deeper level—pounding at the frayed edges of her sanity.

  The words beat in her head. She had to get away. Out of this room. Out of the house. Out of Louisiana. If she didn’t leave, she would die. She knew that on a gut-wrenching, fear-ridden level.

  Panic clawed at her chest, at her throat—until she ordered herself to get a grip.

  “You will not fall apart. It’s just a woman out there trying to scare you,” she told herself. “Stop it this minute.”

  Her fingers dug into her palms as she fought to catch her breath. Panting, she focused on the pain as she struggled to ground herself.

  The small jabs helped bring her mind back to reality. She had been caught in the grip of a panic attack. That was all! The woman was trying to put her under a spell. Only now she had a better idea how to fight against it.

  “You shouldn’t have left those charms. I’m on to you now,” she muttered. “I’m not going to let you scare me.”

  Taking several seconds to catch her breath, she looked out into the darkness, searching under the trees. At first, her eyes could see little in the bayou night. When she had adjusted to the low light, she zeroed in on the spot where she’d seen the priestess the first time at the estate.

  This time, she saw nothing. Blinking, she stared harder. But she wasn’t mistaken. The woman wasn’t there, and she felt a spurt of disappointment.

  She had been so sure she would find the culprit. But the spot was empty. And the chanting hadn’t stopped.

  Again, fear leaped up, blocked her windpipe.

  Not fear for herself. For Andre. He was outside in the dark. And he had told her the priestess hated him—that her curse had some kind of power over him. Maybe, this time, the chant was meant for Andre. And maybe a voodoo charm had already done something to the men who were missing.

  Whirling away from the window, Morgan grabbed her jeans and quickly pulled them on. Scuffing her feet into shoes, she looked toward her purse. Her gun was in there. And she wanted the comfort of its weight in her hand. But after the episode in the graveyard, she knew that taking it could be dangerous. The wrong person could get shot—especially in the dark.

  Throwing open her door, she started for the stairs. She was halfway down the hall when someone grabbed her arm from behind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Morgan went into a martial arts crouch, ready to fight off whoever had grabbed her.

  It was Janet, and the woman’s eyes widened as she stared at Morgan’s defensive stance.

  “Don’t . . .hurt me, child,” she quavered. “I didn’t mean anything . . . bad.”

  “Why did you grab me?”

  “You were going out. Like that woman wanted you to do.”

  “The priestess?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m still going out,” Morgan corrected.

  “You can’t.”

  “Andre’s out there. She may be after him.”

  “He can take care of himself,” Janet snapped.

  “But . . .”

  “Andre can take care of himself,” Janet repeated. “It’s important for you to stay inside—where you’re safe.”

  “Why?”

  The housekeeper gave her a long look and answered with what she had said before. “Because he needs you.”

  “For what?”

  Janet continued to stare at her. “You have to figure that out for yourself.”

  The woman’s words were spoken in a low, quiet voice. But they hit Morgan with a staggering force. The chanting from outside wrapped itself around her. “What are you doing to me? All of you?” she gasped.

  “You have to be strong,” Janet said softly.

  “I thought I was strong. Now . . .”

  “Go back to your room. Get some rest. You have a lot to face in the morning.”

  “How do you know?”

  Janet hesitated, then said, “I have the sight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s in my blood. Not like my cousins, but I know things.”

  “What things?”

  “That you should be in bed now.”

  Maybe it was the firm way Janet said it, but Morgan turned around and went back to her room.

  With fingers that felt thick and clumsy, she pulled off her shoes and pants. She was feeling strange and muzzy headed as she started for bed. Then a thought crept into her mind and lodged there. The robe was in the closet. She should put on the robe.

  The robe? She had told herself she was never going to wear it again. Now a strange sense of purpose gripped her as she walked to the closet and fumbled through the hangers. When her fingers closed over the shoulder of the garment, she sighed with relief and pleasure. Pulling it off the hanger, she shoved her arms through the sleeves, then quickly fastened the buttons.

  The robe seemed to hold her in an embrace, heating her skin, soothing her soul in a way that she was at a loss to explain. She felt like she had come home, come back to herself.

  Gratefully, she tottered to the bed, crawled in and pulled the covers up to her chin. Within moments, she was sleeping soundly.

  The fates let her rest for a while. Then she awoke. Not in the here and now. In another woman’s life—the woman she had visited twice before. She was Linette again, standing in the garden patch outside her cabin, looking toward the bayou, watching the rain fall, waiting for her love.

  She knew he had been in New Orleans, making arrangements. He had said he would come back for her. But he had been gone for days, and now she was worried about him.

  She had secretly packed some of her belongings. Her fate was out of her hands now. All she could do was wait.

  She had a little of the second sight her aunt possessed. And sometimes it told her that it was better if he simply went away and left her here. She kept thinking that something terrible was going to happen if she went away with Andre. To her. To him. In the future.

  But if he came, she knew she would be helpless to do anything besides follow her heart. She loved him. She wanted to make a home for him. Do all the things a wife could do for her husband. Have his children. Grow old with him.

  She was heading back inside when the sound of horses’ hooves outside made her go rigid.

  Looking out the window, she saw a stallion come out of the bayou. She knew the animal, knew the rider. It was Andre on Richelieu.

  She flew toward him. By the time she reached him, he had dismounted and tied the reins to the branch of a pine tree. Turning he caught her in his arms. She melted against him as he gathered her close. The rain was falling on them, and he moved her under the shelter of the branches.

  “I’m sorry, angel. I’m sorry I took so long. But I wanted to make sure we could leave New Orleans as soon as we arrived in town. There’s a ship down at the docks waiting for us. We’re going to San Francisco. We can live there.”

  “San Francisco. That’s so far away. Are you sure?” she whispered.

  He tightened his hold on her, then set her away from him so he could look into her eyes. “Yes. I’ve made all the arrangements. I sent inquiries to several cities. One of the universities offered me a job. So, we don’t have to worry about that. And I have some good ideas for books I want to write.” He dragged in a breath an
d let it out in a rush. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

  “I want to be with you,” she breathed. “I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

  “But?” he pressed.

  “I’m frightened,” she said in a small voice.

  “Of what? Your family? My father? I’m taking you where they can never touch us. And we’ll be free to love each other.”

  “I know. You’re so smart. I could never have planned something like this in secret.”

  He laughed. “No. You’re too honest. Too straightforward.”

  She was hardly listening. “I don’t know what you see in me.”

  “I love you. I look at you, and I see all the good, warm, gentle things that I never had in my life—until I met you.”

  “Oh Andre.” She lifted her arms, bringing his head down to hers. As soon as his lips met hers, she felt a profound sense of relief. How could she be worried? He was holding her and kissing her as though he had been starving for the taste of her, and she felt the same.

  She opened for him, feasting from him, thinking that no one was home, and she could take him into the house, into her bedroom. She wanted him. They would be married soon. But there was no reason to wait for the joy of making love with him.

  But before she had drunk her fill, he lifted his lips, leaving her light-headed. “We have to go,” he said, his voice thick.

  She knew he was right.

  “Are you ready? Or do you need some time to get your things together?”

  “I’m almost ready.” She went back into the cabin and brought out the small bag she had already packed. She had known she couldn’t take much on horseback, so she had chosen carefully. Her robe lay across the chair, and she stroked her fingers over the silky fabric. She loved the robe, and she would have liked to take it, but she needed other things more.

  A step behind her made her turn. Andre had come into the room. He walked to her, touched the robe. “You must be a sexy sight wearing that. I’d like to see it.”

  She flushed.

  “I’ll get you one you’ll love even more.”

  “You don’t have to buy me things.”

  “It will be my pleasure to buy you things. You’re going to be my wife. But we must go.”