“Danni?”
He stretched out his hand across the bed. She wasn’t in it. Glancing at the radio on the bedside table, he saw that it was just after 3:00 a.m.
He scooped his jeans off the floor, then fumbled on the bedside table for his gun. Wolf ran to the door, waiting for him and Quinn followed quickly. He wanted to shriek her name; but at the same time, he didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence.
But if someone had been in the house, the dog would be barking furiously. Wolf would never have left Danni if she’d encountered trouble.
Still, he moved down the stairs silently and carefully. The alarm hadn’t sounded. The drapes had been open upstairs but the doors to the balcony were locked. He would have heard anyone entering by the bedroom. But then, when Danni got out of bed, he should have woken. It had taken Wolf to come and get him.
At the bottom of the stairs he looked around. Silent eyes in the various statues and paintings stared out at him from the shadows. The jewelry display at the counter gleamed in the streetlights. He could see that Danni wasn’t in the shop. He tried the kitchen, the pantry—and went down to the first level. He looked into Angus’s private collection, at his desk, through the rows of artifacts and boxes. The book lay in its enclosure. There was no sign of Danni.
Wolf licked his hand, and he realized—the dog knew where Danni was.
“Bring me to her, boy.”
He followed the dog down the hall to the rear of the shop and Danni’s studio.
She was there. She was seated at a chair before a canvas, a table bearing watercolors beside her. She was still naked, exceptionally beautiful as she sat there, hair curled over her shoulders and falling in disarray about her face. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t seem to be aware of what she was doing.
She was painting.
“Danni?”
She didn’t respond to the sound of his voice. He went on bare feet to stand behind her and see what she was painting.
A full moon rose in the night sky. There was rich foliage in the picture; the bayou could be seen in the background. He saw a building with a broken roof that allowed the moonlight to enter, but there seemed to be a dozen fires burning, as well, fires that came from torches set in the ground. He saw vats—sugar cane vats—and the chimney they’d seen earlier. Now, in front of it, stood an altar and, chalked on the ground, a pentagram with various symbols.
Displayed on the altar was the bust. The face was marble and cold, the eyes unseeing. Behind the altar was a man in a robe, holding something that looked like an ancient Sumerian knife, curved, with a wicked niche in the blade. It was silver and glittered in the light as the man held it aloft.
A form lingered behind the man, a form that didn’t seem quite solid; it was the ghostly image of a man dressed in a short tunic, a red mantle over his shoulder. He moved as the living man in the robe moved, as if he were a puppeteer.
There were dozens of people in similar robes scattered throughout the ruins of the mill. But the worst image in the painting was that of a woman chained to the remnants of the chimney. Her head was down, and she was covered by a gray-and-red mist that emanated from the fire.
The human sacrifice?
Danni reached toward the painting with her brush, about to add something to the canvas. He didn’t know why, but he had to stop her.
“Danni!”
He rushed forward and grabbed her, dashing her hand away. She started violently. Her eyes flew to his in complete confusion.
“What...Quinn—what... Oh!”
She was still confused—and she seemed horrified.
“Hey, it’s all right. You were sleepwalking. You didn’t tell me that you sleepwalk!” he said.
“I don’t!” she protested.
“But—” Her eyes fell on the canvas. She jerked back violently and he caught her in his arms.
“I—I—painted that!” she said. “In my sleep?”
He nodded, stroking her hair.
“It’s horrible!”
“No, it isn’t, Danni. It’s a little scary, but it isn’t horrible.”
“I painted what we’re expecting,” she said. “Except...do you think he’d really kill a human being right in the middle of his ceremony—in front of witnesses?”
“Oh, I think with the bust he’d do exactly that. Maybe Pietro Miro’s spirit can only take complete hold if there’s some kind of sacrifice.”
“Well, that’s that,” Danni said. “You can’t go there alone.”
“I won’t go alone,” he told her.
“So I’m coming with you?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to say aloud that the woman in the painting frightened him—that he was very afraid Danni was the intended sacrifice.
“No, you’re going to be here with a cop outside the door, Wolf at your side and Billie sitting tight with his gun.”
“Then?”
“I’m going to go see a friend in the morning—see if he wants to accompany me.”
“Who?”
“Father Ryan,” he said. “Come on. I know it’s hard, but we have to try and get some sleep before tomorrow.” He tried to lighten the mood. “And you’re not exactly dressed for chitchat in the shop.”
“Oh. Oh!” she said, realizing her situation.
“Lots of people walk around naked in their own homes. Of course, they don’t all have display windows facing the street.”
She spun around and left him, tearing up the stairs. Quinn started to follow her but paused to study the painting carefully.
A week ago, she’d done a rendering of Gladys Simon. Gladys Simon had died soon after walking into the shop.
He gritted his teeth, feeling both dread and determination filled him. He’d keep Danni far, far away from the ruins of the abandoned sugar mill in the bayou.
* * *
Business as usual. Billie called from the hospital, grumpy and eager to get home. Quinn made the short drive to pick him up as Wolf watched over Danni while she whipped up omelets for a welcome-home breakfast.
Disturbed by what had happened during the night, Danni steered clear of the studio.
Quinn returned with Billie, who’d been apprised of events since he was hospitalized. He clasped Danni in his arms when he saw her—so tightly that it hurt—but she made no protest, looking at Quinn past Billie’s head. He winked at her discreetly.
“So, we run the shop, and you go for the bust—with Larue and half the city’s finest at your beck and call,” Billie said, accepting his plate and sitting down.
Quinn nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“When are you going?”
“This afternoon. I want to find my hiding place before Shumaker and his followers start to arrive,” Quinn said.
“I’ll be with Danni, come what may,” Billie swore.
“No one can sneak up on you. You’ll have Wolf,” Quinn said.
“And you won’t,” Danni reminded him.
He smiled at her. “I won’t be alone. I’ve already called Father Ryan.”
“And you’re not worried that he might put you in a situation where you’ll have to show your position before you can get the cops?” Danni asked.
“Father Ryan got around before joining the priesthood,” Quinn said. “I’m not worried about him. Pass the butter, please,” he said, and calmly began to butter his toast. “When we’ve finished breakfast, Danni, you get back to the book. Billie—”
“I’m going to check my gun and ammo.”
“And keep an eye on the store. Brandt Shumaker was in here yesterday. If he shows his face, stay in the shadows but see that he doesn’t cause trouble. However, I don’t think he’ll come today. He has his own plans to complete for the evening.”
“So, why did he show up
yesterday?” Billie asked.
“He came in person as a threat,” Quinn said. “He’s on to us. I accosted him at his office. As for Danni...”
“Maybe, via the underbelly residents of the city,” Billie said. “He knew about Angus—knew that he was dead—but that the shop’s still here. Or maybe one of his people followed Gladys before he got that fool to break into her house to steal the statue. And it’s not as if you and Danni haven’t been seen together.”
“True.” Quinn finished his breakfast and brought his plate to the sink. “I’m going to drop in on Larue, make sure he’s ready for tonight. And then I’m going to stop by and see Father Ryan, make sure he’s ready, too.”
“Will you be back before you head out?” Danni asked him.
“I’ll come back briefly,” he promised her. “You may yet find something in that book.” He glanced at Billie, then turned Danni to him and gave her a quick but impassioned kiss on the lips. Billie cleared his throat and focussed his attention on his eggs.
Quinn left. Billie went upstairs. Danni decided to rinse all the dishes and place them in the dishwasher, then get to the book.
She heard a key twist in the lock, but Wolf barked happily and ran out to the shop with Danni behind him. Jane had arrived for the day.
“Good morning!” Danni greeted her.
“Morning!” Jane said. “There were half a dozen people peering in the window when I walked up. Got to hurry and open—I can feel it! It’s going to be a good day for business.”
“I’ll be around if you need me,” Danni told her. “And Billie is here, too.”
“Thank goodness he’s back. I’ve missed him! How he fell down and hurt himself is beyond me. Well, maybe not. We’re not spring chickens anymore—Billie or me!” Jane said. Smiling, she went to turn on the computer and check the cash.
Danni hurried back to the kitchen and dealt with the dishes. Then, as she’d planned, she took the stairs down to the first level. The book awaited her, and she picked it up reverently.Wolf was constantly by her side, curling up next to her feet as she sat at her father’s desk.
Where to look now?
She studied the cover page again and the author’s name.
“Millicent Smith!” she said aloud. “What were you thinking when you wrote this book? And what did people think of you for writing it? And where would you have information on destroying the already-cremated Pietro Miro?”
She was deep in a chapter on satanism and deals with the devil when Wolf let out a little woof and she heard a tap at the door.
The door was open but Jane stood in the doorway, waiting politely.
“Hey,” Danni said, petting Wolf. “It’s just Jane.”
Wolf settled down. “He’s fine, Jane. Come on in.”
“I think he’s starting to like me. I bought him dog treats, you know.”
“Treats—the way to a dog’s heart,” Danni said, smiling. Then she frowned. “That man isn’t back, is he?”
“No, no, Danni, that man won’t come back. I’m still surprised you were so rude.”
“You know my opinion of him.”
“But...never mind. Danni, are you okay?”
“Of course. Do you need me?”
Jane shook her head and entered the room slowly. “I was dusting and I walked by your studio. I didn’t mean to pry but I saw your painting.”
Danni realized she should have made sure the studio door was closed.
Jane swallowed. “It’s a pretty sick painting,” she said. “I’m worried about you,” she added in a rush. “I know a good psychologist. This may be fear and grief you’re feeling since you lost your father so suddenly.”
“Oh, Jane, I’m fine, really.” Danni tried to think of words that would reassure her. “I watched a ridiculous horror movie last night. It was one of those slasher movies and it took place in an abandoned sugar mill. Don’t worry, I’ll rip it up and paint a pastel of Jackson Square next. I’m all right, I swear it.”
“Okay, Danni. But you’re a sweetheart, and you know I care about you. If I can help you in any way...”
“Thank you, Jane. I appreciate that,” Danni said.
Jane nodded and turned to leave. Danni went back to the book.
“‘Time has little meaning in other dimensions,’” she read aloud. “‘Evil may lie in hibernation until it finds the opportune moment to strike. Those who have made covenant with Satan exist in that realm where hours and minutes are of no consequence. Pacts with Satan allow for souls to await the corporeal bodies that will give them the reward they craved when they signed in blood.’”
It seemed a bit like fairy tales—Grimm’s version, but definitely something out of fantasy and the more primitive folk tales. Did this mean that even Brandt Shumaker was to be a sacrifice, giving over his body to the spirit of Pietro Miro? If so, she was certain Shumaker didn’t know it. But in his careless orders to cut off all life that stood in his way, hadn’t Shumaker made his own deal with the devil? And if so, how did two souls inhabit the same body?
* * *
“Quinn, I can’t just park a dozen cars in front of the property. First, you’d hardly have an element of surprise, and second, Shumaker will be calling the mayor, the governor and God knows who else claiming police harassment. And we still don’t have proof that the man is doing anything illegal,” Larue said. He had a map spread out in front of him. “But I’ll be here—on the road closest to the entry. And my backup will be through here. The land next to his is government, so I’ll have some officers—out of uniform—close enough to run in if the roads are barred for any reason.” He looked at Quinn. “You seem even more convinced today that something’s going to happen. I hope so. I hope it’s tonight. I can only drag out half the squad so many times, you know?”
“I do know,” Quinn replied. “And I am positive.” He hesitated. “What do you have on missing-persons reports at the moment?”
Larue arched a brow. “Why?”
“I believe Shumaker plans a human sacrifice.”
Larue turned to his computer. “Last seen in NOLA?” he asked. Studying the screen, he shook his head. “We have a few. A grandmother from Uptown—no, she was found wandering in a grocery store. A Loyola student but they’re not sure he’s missing. He took off on a nature walk and we have officers and rangers looking for him. A young woman from Savannah who was supposed to meet up with friends for a bachelorette party, a middle-aged man from Detroit—”
“Just the women. Young ones.”
“Three,” Larue said.
“Well, we may find one tonight.”
“You see a girl, you get on the phone immediately, you hear?”
“I’ll be checking in with you often.”
“Except, of course, I don’t know you’re in there,” Larue reminded him.
“I’ll use your cell. Don’t worry.”
“And what if something happens to you?”
“Father Ryan will be with me,” Quinn said. “I’ll see that he’s in a position to call in, regardless of what’s happening,” he added grimly.
Quinn left Larue’s office and headed out to see John Ryan, who was waiting for him at the rectory door. When Quinn walked in, he saw that the priest had an arsenal that included far more than holy water.
“You are ready,” he remarked.
“I heard someone sneaking around last night,” Ryan said.
“Don’t parishioners come to you?”
“My parishioners knock at the door. They don’t crawl around in my bushes.”
“I’ve put you in danger,” Quinn said regretfully.
Ryan grinned. “Quinn, I’m God’s warrior, whether I’m listening to confessions—or pointing a Colt .45 at some bastard trying to murder innocent babes. I saw enough of that in Liberia. I know what
I’m doing and what we’re up against. I’ve got the weapons I need—holy water, a good Bowie knife and my trusty Colt.”
“I’m not sure the Vatican would approve.”
“In some things, most churchmen have realized that it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”
“Okay, then we’re on,” Quinn said.
“When do we leave?”
“In an hour.”
“I’ll drive. I borrowed a parishioner’s car. No one will recognize it.”
“Good plan,” Quinn said.
“See? I’m already useful!”
Quinn drove back to the shop. As he walked in, Wolf rushed up to greet him, so he knew everyone was safe. He saw Jane helping customers at the counter and sprinted down the steps to the first level. Billie sat in a corner of the room, his gun in his hands. Danni was behind her father’s desk, reading.
“Anything?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “Well, according to Millicent Smith, the author, Pietro Miro might intend a real comeback—taking over Brandt Shumaker’s body.”
“I doubt if Shumaker knows,” Quinn said.
“My thought exactly. I’m trying to find out what happens if a spirit like that chooses a person who might have made his own pact with the devil. So far...I’m still reading. I’ll call you the minute— No, no, I won’t call you. Someone could hear. I’ll text you. Can you feel a buzz when you get a text?”
He felt ridiculously like teasing her. He leaned over the desk and said softly, “I always get a buzz when you text,” he said. “Oh, that was bad, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t ever use it as a pickup line,” she advised.
“I’m in here, you know!” Billie said.
“Yeah, and I’m leaving,” Quinn straightened and looked at Billie. “Close your eyes for a minute, huh?”
He drew Danni up, into his arms. He kissed her and experienced a sensation that wasn’t so much desire as a feeling that he had finally found something, someone, so right. It gave him strength, promising all the things that made life worth living.
She kissed him back, then met his eyes.
“Gotta go,” he told her.
“I’ll be here,” she whispered.
Let the Dead Sleep Page 26