by Lisa Kessler
“Of course, sir. What kind of assignment?”
“There’s a new coven in Savannah, and it appears they may have the figurehead from the Flying Dutchman in their possession. I need you to join them, find out if they have it and how they got it. I’ll have an extraction team come for you and the relic once we know where it’s hidden.”
She didn’t reply right away.
David frowned. “Aura?”
“I’m here. I’ll be ready, sir.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll need some training. Witchcraft isn’t my specialty.”
David nodded. “Yeah. I’ll connect you with Petra in the occult division. She can give you the basics for an initiate.”
“Maybe she’d be a better fit for this assignment?”
David raised a brow. It wasn’t like Henderson to turn down a chance to go undercover. “Petra doesn’t have your weapons training.”
“Is this a violent coven?”
“I can’t be sure.” David sat on the edge of the bed again, staring down at the multicolored throw rug. “If my working theory is right, they managed to take the figurehead from the Serpent Society.”
“And the Serpents never would have sold it to a woman,” she replied without hesitation.
“Exactly. It may have been violent. I won’t know until we get inside. You’re the only agent I can send in for this one. I know it’s not your usual area, but if they killed to get this thing…”
“I understand, sir. I’ll find Petra when I get to the office.”
“Thanks, Henderson.”
He dropped his cell phone on the bed, wondering about her hesitation. His gut still told him she was the best pick for this detail, but he’d have to stay close.
If she needed backup, he’d be there.
…
The sky was just beginning to lighten as Drake drove up to Heather’s house. Shades of peach and pink bathed the heavens, a new day in an endless stretch of eternity. The sunrise left him unrenewed, his soul still empty from last night’s onslaught. This time Thomas had been relentless in his accusations, his attack focused on the soft spots in Drake’s spirit. The wounds that would never heal.
The boy wept for his suffering mother, Drake’s sister, and accused him of breaking the blood oath he’d given her that he would protect Thomas with his life. Drake had failed her on every level.
And although Heather warned him the spirit of his nephew was being controlled by others like a puppet, the words stung with truth and left him shaken to his core. Thomas was right. He didn’t deserve to be alive.
But he also couldn’t die. Would he spend eternity haunted until he sank into madness?
Greyson approached Drake’s truck with his customary swagger, shaking the carpenter out of his own private torture.
While most of the crew had blended into the current era with their jobs and clothes, even masking their true nautical accents, their gunner had taken another course. The calendar read 2020, but Greyson was every bit the pirate he’d always been. His long braids still hung down his back, and his sea legs gave him the confident, surefooted sway of a man who had passed through many storms and come away even stronger.
Greyson stopped at the driver’s side door. “How’d it go with the captain?”
“He wasn’t happy to see me, but I got the information I needed.” Drake scanned the dark windows of Heather’s house. “Any activity around here?”
Greyson shook his head. “Other than my brief encounter with the mistress of the house, all’s quiet.” He dug into his pocket and withdrew a gold coin, flipping it through his fingers. He claimed the action kept his mind focused. “I did come across an evil eye on the north side of the house.”
He reached into his coat pocket with his free hand and took out a round piece of blue glass with a white circle and another black dot, like a pupil, in the center. He dropped it into Drake’s hand. “Makes me think you’re right about her being in danger, but other than the trinket, no one else appeared.”
Drake turned the eye over, inspecting it before clenching his fist tight around the token. He met Greyson’s gaze. “Flynn thinks Heather’s twin sister, Ashley, is the head of the Digi Robins.”
Greyson’s eyes narrowed as he turned back toward the house. “Does Heather know?”
“I don’t think so, but we haven’t discussed it. She believes her sister is in danger, but maybe this piece of glass will help bring her around.”
Drake didn’t put much stock in magic, or at least he didn’t used to. Things were changing rapidly in that department. While the crew helped Department 13 recover Pandora’s Box from the Digi Robins thievery ring, Drake had built a replica of the box. Being in the same room with the vile thing unsettled him. He’d heard the whispers emanating through the cracks of the ancient chest of horrors. Evil promises and threats called to him, tempting him to open the lid, begging him to free them from their prison.
Since then, he’d caught himself checking over his shoulder at night, and the lack of sleep from the ghostly encounters wasn’t helping the growing paranoia festering in his gut. A few months ago, he would have laughed at the blue glass trinket. In the dim light of daybreak, the sight of it sent a shiver down his back.
Someone was wishing evil on Heather.
…
There was a knock on Heather’s door just before nine o’clock. The corner of her mouth twitched as she set her laptop aside and stood up. Drake was right on time. She opened the door and her smile faded. Drake’s gorgeous blue eyes were bloodshot and his tanned skin ashen. She stepped back to let him inside and closed the door behind him.
“You didn’t sleep last night.” She frowned, following him over to the sofa.
“Haven’t slept well in days.” He sat on her couch and ran a shaky hand down his face. “We need to talk about your sister.”
Heather shook her head. “I’ll handle Ashley. You should get some sleep.”
“They’ll get in my head. I’m safer awake.” He patted the couch beside him. “Yer the one in danger, lass.”
She sighed and sat beside him. “So are you.”
“Aye, but death isn’t an option for me.”
She stared into his tormented eyes and cupped his cheek. “It’s not death that I’m worried about.”
“One problem at a time.” He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes for a moment, as if he wanted to absorb the comfort she was offering. A warm feeling bloomed in her chest, right until he said, “Flynn is convinced your sister is the leader of the Digi Robins thievery ring on the dark web.”
“The Digi what?”
Drake opened his eyes and raised a brow. “Agent Bale didn’t tell you about them?”
She lowered her hand from his face and settled back into the couch. “Our relationship is…complicated.”
A muscle flexed in Drake’s cheek, and his voice took on a gruff tone. “Complicated is a bullshit term. He used you when it was convenient for him and shut you out when it wasn’t. Call a spade a spade. He’s an arse, and he never deserved you.”
His blunt, but right on point, assessment made her smile. She’d spent most of her life as a loner. Having someone stick up for her was new.
She nodded slowly. “You’re probably right.”
“Damn straight.” He relaxed a little. “I’m the least qualified of my crew to explain this, but as I understand it, the Digi Robins are thieves on the internet who steal and then sell the stolen goods on some kind of dark web to pay for medical care for folks who can’t afford the treatments. I can introduce you to Harmony. She used to work for them, but after the mess with Pandora’s Box, our boatswain coaxed her into joining our crew and leaving the digital pirates behind.”
Heather smiled at his terminology. Drake was rough, exhausted, and out of his element, but he already trusted her more than David ever had. Until now, she hadn�
�t realized how many excuses she’d made for David’s behavior.
National security, the less you know the better. Bullshit. Drake was right. Whether intentional or not, David had been using her.
“My sister is super busy running an internet security firm. It’d be too risky. If anyone discovered this side business, selling stolen items on the dark web, she’d lose everything.”
Drake shrugged a shoulder. “Or, since her company needs to monitor threats anyway, she’s the perfect person to use the dark webs without anyone detecting it.”
God, he was sexy and so damned cute when he tried to talk about virtual tech. Her heart threatened to thump out of her chest like a cartoon. She forced herself to focus again. “Okay, even if that were true, what’s that got to do with the serpent ring on her finger?”
“Flynn believes she must’ve been in the Bonaventure Cemetery the same night we were there, watching from the shadows.”
Heather struggled to picture Ashley, in her Ferragamo shoes and matching bag, hiding in the shadows of a cemetery while shots were fired. It couldn’t be true. No, if Ashley had witnessed a murder she would’ve called the police, not twisted the ring off a dead man’s finger.
She shook her head. “Even if she was, which…seriously, I can’t even imagine that, but if she was there, how did she get past the Department 13 cleanup crew? I can’t see my sister going to that much trouble to steal an antique ring.”
“Aye.” Drake nodded. “Maybe she figured the ring was payment for Pandora’s Box, since we returned it to Department 13.”
“That still doesn’t answer how she got past David’s team.”
A vague memory fluttered through her head. High school. Heather had come home to find her grandmother frantic. “Your sister is toying with things better left alone.”
Grandmother had already been teaching Heather to use her gift and develop her skills in communicating with the dead. In the beginning, she’d worked with both sisters, but Ashley didn’t have a talent for it. She couldn’t hear them like Heather did.
Heather asked her grandmother to explain, but instead she’d opened her weathered hand to show Heather a tiny doll with wiry hair and a blue disc made of glass. “She’s dabbling in dark magic.”
At the time, Heather had defended her sister. They were fifteen, and Ashley was rebellious.
“These are not toys.” Her grandmother spat on the ground, making the sign of Archangel Michael with the toe of her boot as she pocketed the trinkets. She lifted her gaze to Heather’s face. “Not in my house.”
Heather frowned, pushing the memory aside. She’d always thought it was a phase. Growing up, Ashley had frowned on Heather’s psychic gift. Her sister was firmly rooted in the material world, building her fortune in money, not spirituality or magic.
But what if Heather was wrong? What if there was a side of her twin sister she’d never seen?
She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “I need to talk to Ashley.”
“Not yet.” Drake shook his head and laid a blue piece of glass on the table. “Greyson found this on the north side of your house.”
She stared at the evil eye and back up at him. “They sell those in all kinds of tourist shops around town. Someone could have dropped it during a ghost tour.”
“Not much chance it fell right onto your property, facing your house. It might’ve landed near your place. Maybe.” The intensity in his eyes had her on edge. “The other option is that someone placed it there with bad intentions.”
She pulled her long silver hair over her shoulder. “Why would you think it has anything to do with my sister?”
“Because she wants your house.”
Now that sounded more like her sister. “I can handle Ashley.”
She reached for his hand. Touching him, even this simple threading of their fingers, centered her. It seemed natural, like breathing, like she’d found the missing piece of her soul. And when she looked into his exhausted, tormented blue eyes, her desire to heal him swamped her, blotting out her mental warnings to protect her heart.
Drake had eternity. She did not. And no amount of love or passion would change that fundamental difference.
She squeezed his hand. “First we need to stop these witches from attacking you. I’m going to call David and see if he’s had any luck finding out if there’s a new coven in town. His department tracks those things.” He said he’d call if he had any information, but as usual, he hadn’t.
Drake stared at their joined hands, his thumb caressing her skin. “I want you to meet Skye, Colton’s wife. She’s got the sight. Maybe she can give us the information without getting Bale involved.”
“The sight? As in seeing the future?” Heather had suspected her own mother had moments of clairvoyance, but she’d never met another psychic with a reliable clairvoyant gift.
“Aye.” His thumb trailed across her soft skin. “She can catch glimpses of what’s to come.”
“I’d love to meet her.” She waited for him to lift his gaze and smiled. “Can I interest you in breakfast?”
“Food always interests me.” His lopsided grin turned her knees to rubber. And every minute she spent in his company made her ache for hundreds more.
Dangerous. Maybe she was just tired of being alone. Maybe she could simply enjoy the time she had with him without allowing her heart to get entangled in the mix.
Could she really keep her heart out of it? If she couldn’t stop the ghosts from haunting him, she’d never get to find out.
Chapter Twelve
Drake fought through the angry spatters of bacon grease to turn the strips, stealing glances at Heather as she mixed the batter for waffles. He’d been alive for over two hundred years now, and he’d lost count of the exact number, but he was certain this was the first time he’d ever cooked with a woman. Sure, he’d prepared food for himself and helped One-Eyed Bob in the galley on the Sea Dog before, but the salty old sailor was far from a female.
Everything Heather did had fluidity to it, almost ethereal, like she moved to a symphony only she could hear. She fascinated him.
The waffle iron hissed as she poured the batter in and clamped it closed. She peeked back over her shoulder and caught him staring. Color flushed her pale skin, warming him all over.
“How’s the bacon coming along?”
As if the cursed bubbling oil heard her, it popped, hitting his bare forearm while he was focused on her. “Shit!” He jumped back from the stove, bumping into her. With tongs in one hand, he caught her waist with the other, steadying her. Their gazes locked and time slowed. He struggled to breathe, his voice a raw whisper. “Tell me something.”
She stared into his eyes. “Okay.”
For a moment, he couldn’t find words. Maybe it was having her so close that he caught the lavender scent of her hair, or the way her ice-blue eyes looked right into his soul. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “How do you make me forget?”
She blinked, her full lips curving into a tentative smile. “Forget what?”
“Everything.” He smirked at his own lack of vocabulary. Think, man. He tried again. “When I have you in my arms, the rest of the world fades. My inadequacies, my guilt, the ghosts from the past, they all take a back seat. I’ve tried to silence them for lifetimes.” He searched her face. “You’re magic.”
Heather brought her hand to his cheek and whispered, “Kiss me.”
He didn’t hesitate, tasting her soft lips until his pulse thrummed in his ears.
Her mouth welcomed him as his tongue tangled slowly with hers. He held her tighter, losing himself in the feel of her body pressed against his. The tongs clanked against the granite countertop as he wrapped his other arm around her, his large hand exploring her back. She moaned into the kiss as his fingertips slipped underneath the back of her shirt. His calloused hands caressed the silky-smooth skin of her back,
his erection threatening to break free of the zipper of his jeans.
He’d never wanted anyone so badly in his long life. Lost in his hunger, he boosted her up onto the kitchen counter. She parted her thighs and he moved even closer. They had on far too many clothes.
Before he could lift her shirt over her head, a loud beeping pierced his ears. Drake broke the kiss, turning to find smoke pluming from the cast-iron skillet.
“Aw, fuck!” He grabbed the oven mitt and pulled the heavy pan away from the flame.
Heather reached around him to twist off the burner and then opened the window over the sink. Coughing from the smoke, he set the pan back down, waving the bank of fog away with the pot holder until the smoke detector was finally appeased. He peered down at what used to be bacon. The strips looked more like charcoal than meat.
Her hand slid up his back as she laughed. “I didn’t want bacon anyway.”
“Yer sayin’ I battled that grease for nothing?” He brandished the tiny burn on his arm. It would be gone in a few minutes. Fast healing was one of the perks of drinking from the Grail.
She pressed her lips to his forearm right beside the wound. The sight making him forget all about the fucking bacon. She was the most beautiful, sexy, intriguing woman he’d ever seen.
Her breath caressed his skin as she whispered, “My hero.”
He wanted to be more than that. Following that path would be riddled with heartbreak as time stole her from him and left him behind.
A new beep mercifully interrupted his thoughts. Heather turned around and opened the waffle iron, revealing a perfectly browned Belgian waffle. His stomach growled in response, and the smile on her face made him wish he could stop time.
She put the waffle on a plate and refilled the iron. “I’ll split it with you while the next one cooks.”
He opened a couple of drawers and withdrew two forks. “Deal.”
They sat next to each other at the antique dining table. He admired the woodworking while she spread butter and syrup over the waffle. He hadn’t built this furniture, but he could appreciate the craftsmanship.