Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set

by Flynn, Connie

  She didn't believe Zach, but no way was this a road she wanted to travel. "Three wives in nearly twenty years? You can't be that bad."

  His eyes narrowed. "I should have warned you, cher. I'm a real bastard."

  Liz dearly wished she hadn't blurted out the question, but she'd wanted to get away from the subject of his daughter's name, and this open exchange had revived the feeling of camaraderie they'd shared as kids, A time when she hadn't censored her thoughts before she spoke.

  "It's the business," he added, breaking the awkward silence. "I was away all the time, setting up systems, working cases." He gave a bitter chuckle. "Funny, now Jed's gone, all I do is push paper and talk to pinstriped suits. Vera would've loved that."

  It wasn't a stretch to assume Vera had been the latest wife, so she didn't try to confirm it.

  "I'm truly sorry about Jed," she said softly. "You must miss him very much."

  "Yeah." He popped a crawdad in his mouth, his first, and she took that time to eat one herself, realizing she was hungrier than she thought.

  "I wish Allain hadn't blabbed all over the place about the similarity between Jed's death and your ma's," he said. "It's only superficial, and I don't accept the doctor's conclusions."

  "What happened?" Liz popped another tasty morsel in her mouth. "To Jed, I mean."

  "He . . . he came to Bayou Chatre chasing a guy who'd escaped from the Louisiana pen. Jed was missing for nearly six months, and then he and the con washed up in Vermillion Bay handcuffed together." She saw him shudder slightly, and offered to get his windbreaker. He nodded, and she walked over for it.

  "They were murdered?"

  "Not according to the findings. They called it an accidental drowning."

  She handed him the windbreaker and sat back down. "But you disagree."

  "Yeah, I do. You know how Jed loved the water. He'd survive under almost any conditions." He shrugged into his jacket, then went on. "The blue lips are what made me suspicious. Odd thing to happen. Usually the color fades right away, and it made me suspect poisoning. It's also the reason the doc got ahold of me. Thing is, just like your ma, Jed's toxicology came up negative, only there wasn't a family history of strokes to explain it away." He put his plate down. "I'm not hungry anymore."

  "Oh, Zach." Liz put her plate down, too, and touched his shoulder. "How awful it must have been for you."

  "Awful doesn't describe it." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "What's worse is not knowing the truth. See, I think the con was connected to a drug ring working out of the backwater, and that Jed found it. Then the ringleader disposed of them both to keep anyone else from stumbling across the hideout. Trouble is, I can't prove it. I had teams comb those bayous, and nothing. Nothing at all." He got to his feet and reached for the flask. Then, apparently reconsidering, he dropped his hand. "I should have been with him, Liz. It never would've happened."

  "Or maybe you both would be dead," she replied softly, standing up to join him. She moved to comfort him, but he turned away sharply.

  "Light's almost gone," he said. "We'd better wolf our meals down and get back on the boat."

  Feeling helpless, Liz bent and picked up her plate.

  A soft sound rose from the brush.

  "What's that?" she asked in alarm.

  "What?"

  A muted hiss, like air slowly being let out of a tire, or—

  "A snake! Dear God, I hate snakes."

  "It's not a snake, Liz. They don't move much at night. Besides, I didn't hear anything."

  "Snakes don't move, they slither like slime," she countered, not the least bit amused when Zach chuckled at her unintentional alliteration.

  The sound came again.

  "There!" Liz pointed at the bushes.

  The light from the charcoal fire gleamed off a pair of eyes in the brush.

  "Relax," he said reassuringly. "It's just a raccoon. Crawdad is their favorite dish. He probably wants an invite to dinner."

  Liz smiled at her own foolishness, and turned to tell Zach he was right. Just then, the hiss transformed into a horrifying wail that brought up images of blood and carnage and terrible, terrible slaughter. Liz whirled to see a streak of tan and black hurling toward her.

  "Watch out!" Zach yelled.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward just as the racoon sprang. Its body brushed her other arm, sending crawfish and potatoes flying. Frozen to the spot, she watched in stunned shock as the animal turned around, then crouched to leap again. Its eyes held such malice, an almost human malice, and her blood froze as she realized it was deliberately attacking her.

  "Let's get the hell out of here," Zach rasped, dipping to grab the lantern as he yanked Liz from her spot. The next thing she knew she was running after him. Despite their marathon speed, he somehow managed to steady her each time her trembling legs gave out

  Sometime later they emerged from the woods, finding themselves on a dirt road. Both bent over, their hands on their knees to let their heaving breath subside.

  Finally, Zach straightened up. "Sure as hell hope that coon likes my cooking."

  Something gurgled in Liz's throat. A laugh. And when it came out of her oxygen-starved lungs she coughed. For a few minutes she alternated between laughing and coughing, and when she felt tears come to her eyes, she pushed them back. Damned if she'd cry over a crawfish supper when she couldn't even cry about her own mother.

  Zach just waited, his breathing still quite heavy. This inanely reminded her of the ardor she'd failed to find with Stephen, and when her choking laughter finally ended, she just stared at him a minute.

  The moon had risen in the dusk, a big yellow ball that bathed his tanned face and shock of wheat-toned hair. He gleamed gold against gold. Such a beautiful man, truly he was. Her ardor became physical, a rising heat low in her belly.

  Zach smiled, white teeth showing in the golden haze. She took a step toward him, wondering if his skin and hair would feel as smooth as they looked in the moonlight, not quite sure what she was doing or why.

  "What're you doing to these animals, cher, they keep attacking you?" He continued to smile. "So what do you think it is? If you're a voodoo queen, after all, tell me now."

  Whatever crazy purpose she'd had in mind vanished in the shock she felt at Zach's innocent remark. She stopped short, feeling once again exposed, as much a victim to those superstitious rumors as she'd been before.

  "That's silly. I'm not doing anything." Why was she defending herself? He'd only been kidding. "The raccoon must be rabid, and the alligator .. . you said yourself it's mating season. He was defending his territory. And there you go."

  "Just a joke," he said, realizing Liz was getting frantic over his stupid remark. "If I really thought you were into voodoo, I wouldn't've come on this trip."

  She buried her hands in her hair. It gleamed like polished ebony in the moonlight, all curly now that wind and dampness had erased the sleek form she'd molded it into, and her cheeks were rich with color that the moon turned a tawny pink. What had been on her mind when she approached him? he wondered, recalling the dreamy quality in those amber eyes.

  "You're so beautiful, cher," he said, almost in a whisper. "No way you could be a witch."

  She smiled so sweetly he could barely resist ravishing her right there on the spot. But she was still the gal who'd turned her back on him, and they were still stranded miles from nowhere.

  "We'd better find shelter." He circled around to the south and pointed. "It'll get mighty cold mighty soon, and we'll have better luck finding civilization that way. We need a place to spend the night. You cold?"

  He touched her bare arm and she shivered slightly. "A little."

  "It'll just get worse with the sun falling. He took his key chain from his pocket.

  "You planning on driving?"

  "Cute, Liz." He opened his pen knife, then began sawing through the inside placket of his shirt.

  "What're you doing?"

  "Leaving a marker so we can find this place
again."

  She let out a soft sound of comprehension, then watched as Zach cut a strip of fabric from his shirt and went to the nearest tree to tie the frayed piece around a branch.

  "Come morning, this'll stand out like a beacon."

  "Seems I put my trust in the right man," she said jauntily. "Lead on, great navigator."

  He lit the lantern with his cigarette lighter, a tricky task at best, considering the fuel might ignite the lighter as well as the jets. When it started to glow he held it aloft with more relief than he wanted to admit.

  They headed in the direction he'd suggested, keeping their eyes peeled for signs of civilization. People camped and kept cabins out here, and they were bound to come upon someone. But he gave only half his mind to the search. The other half was occupied with Liz's words of encouragement. 'Great navigator.' Right. If he hadn't insisted on stopping, they wouldn't be stranded on this dark and lonely road, with him scared sober by a maniacal raccoon. A fact he'd kind of like to remedy.

  He reached for his flask, but caught something funny in Liz's eyes and stopped himself in mid-reach, going for a cigarette instead.

  "Anyone ever say those aren't good for you?" she asked as he lit up.

  "What do you think?"

  "Hundreds of times, I imagine."

  "Then why waste your breath?"

  "Don't know. I waste it with Papa, too. Do you know he still rolls his own? Still keeps his tobacco and papers in that wooden box we made for his birthday. One time when I took him and Mama to the Cowboy Hall of Fame, he nearly got arrested cause they thought he was smoking marijuana. Can you imagine? Papa? Who thinks drugs are the devil's tools."

  This was the most she'd talked on their trip, except for that confession about why she'd left the Port, and Zach figured she was trying to overcome her terror at being attacked not once, but twice, by swamp animals. She also had wrapped her arms tightly around her body, saying the words between chattering teeth.

  "We went on so many great trips. I keep remembering our trip to Disneyland. We rode the Pirates of the Caribbean. Afterward Mama got cotton candy. She loves— loved cotton candy, and she was still laughing about the holograms while she ate it, and the wind was blowing her curls into a tangle and . . ."

  She talked nonstop, giving tidbits about her adult life with her parents that both enlightened and confused him. She was confirming what the people at Ellie's wake had told him—Liz had never returned to the Port. So exactly how had she arranged all these encounters in cities as far away as Anaheim? Who had picked up the tab?

  Opportunity, means, motive, and visible evidence of an unexplained source of cash. These thoughts bothered him, but what bothered him even more was he didn't want to find out who murdered his brother if it led to Liz's father. How would he live without this driving force in his life? And what would he do after Liz left Port Chatre, probably never to return?

  It was totally dark now, except for the rising moon and the light cast by the lantern. On their left were the wetlands, a mass of shadowless vegetation, but the other side was dry, and he'd expected to spy some sign of people long before this.

  "You're freezing, aren't you?" he asked Liz.

  "Pretty much, and wishing I'd eaten more crawdads, too."

  "I can't do much about your hunger, but if we don't find shelter soon, I'll fix us a bed of leaves in the underbrush." Not something that appealed to him. Bugs abounded in those leaves. Spiders, too, which came out at night to weave their sticky webs.

  "There!" Liz said excitedly. He looked over to see her pointing at a tall, ominous cypress tree. "Look, Zach, lights. Over there. Look."

  He didn't see a thing.

  "Behind the tree!" she repeated, crouching.

  Zach flexed his knees until he was at Liz's eye level, and between the curtain of moss blanketing the cypress, he saw twinkling. "I'll be damned," he said. "The saints are watching out for us."

  "Saints have nothing to do with it. We're just resourceful."

  "Sometimes resourcefulness isn't enough."

  "Sure it is." She stood up and put her hands on her hips. "So how far do you think it is?"

  "Hard to tell without knowing what kind of lights those are, but we should get there by morning." Liz's jaw dropped.

  "Kidding," he said with a grin. "Just kidding."

  "You have the weirdest sense of humor, Zach Fortier."

  "I know." He lifted an arm. "But I also have a warm spot here if you'd like to take advantage of it."

  She rubbed her cold bare skin and regarded him a moment, clearly tempted. Then, giving in, she stepped into the shelter he offered.

  "There," he said as if to a child. "Better?"

  "Much."

  They started forth, arm in arm, and after a distance, Liz said, "I'm glad you came along, Zach. Very glad."

  "Hmm," he responded, then pressed her smaller body closer to his and they kept on walking.

  Chapter Nine

  Christmas tree lights, Liz noticed as they got closer, the small, twinkling kind people put up for festive occasions. This meant they weren't as far away as it first seemed. She refused to admit it to Zach, but weariness was overtaking her fast. The day had held one crisis after another, and so much had happened, she'd nearly forgotten she'd just buried her mother and that her father was in Bayou Chatre without his medicine.

  But now, walking silently in the warmth of Zach's arm, with only night sounds and the soft scratching of their feet upon the ground, it all came back. Had her father encountered troubles, too? Had his angina acted up? Was he even now in his boat, clutching his chest, cursing himself for leaving his nitro behind?

  She reached in a pocket of her overalls and rolled the vial between her fingers. Why had he gone on this crazy trip to a nonexistent island? Why had he forgotten his pills? Why the hell didn't he carry a cell phone?

  That last thought sent a gurgle of laughter to her lips.

  "What is it?" Zach asked.

  "Nothing. Just a stupid thought."

  "No crime in that."

  Soon, a low irregular roofline came into view. Zach stopped so abruptly Liz almost stumbled. He put his hand over his eyebrows.

  "Well, I'll be a . . ."

  "Is it?" Liz said, realizing they were seeing a zydeco joint they'd gone to as kids. "Is it really?"

  "Harris's!" they cried simultaneously.

  "We're gonna eat crawfish after all, cher. And Harris cooks them up a whole lot better than I do."

  Liz was ready to break into a run, but Zach hesitated and looked back. "I'd swear we'd gone a lot farther north than this." He shrugged. "It's been a long time. I've probably gotten the location confused."

  As they reached the disreputable looking tin and mud building, Zach remembered Harris's had been a private club of sorts, where outsiders, particularly Anglo-Saxons were not welcome. He'd been a scrawny stringbean of a kid then. He, Jed, Liz, and whoever else felt like tagging along, would sneak into Harris's with badly faked IDs that the door people accepted without question and drink tap beer, and listen to the zydeco bands.

  Liz had barely been a woman, but soft and curvy, with wild curly hair that drove men just as wild thinking about running their hands through it. He'd gotten into more than one brawl with a guy who'd decided to try it out.

  But this was the nineties, when all things Cajun and Creole were cool. Harris's was probably a new in-spot catering to yuppies seeking the exotic in music and food.

  As they neared the door, Zach reached back to check his wallet, figuring prices had gone up, too. Beer'd hardly be twenty-five cents a glass these days and there might even be a cover charge.

  A tower of a black man, with arms as thick as an ancient cypress and a face that said 'Mind your manners or answer to me,' blocked their way. "The password," he demanded roughly.

  On the other side of the door, Zach saw people buzzing about. A basketball game was on the television and the most mouthwatering smells he'd inhaled in all his blessed life wafted to his nose.
r />   "Password," Liz whispered. "I'm starving."

  Password, password. He hadn't been here in nearly ten years. Even if he could dredge up the last one he knew, it couldn't still be current. Besides, this gargoyle scowling down at them didn't look like he understood English, let alone French.

  "Tell him we know Harris," Liz urged, still whispering as if the man's ears were so far from the ground he couldn't hear them.

  Zach gave her a quelling look.

  "Tell him," she repeated.

  "The guy's probably dead," Zach said, whispering back even though he knew it was foolish. He looked up, pasting on his best, nonthreatening smile. "Un petit tombe dans le bois," he offered.

  "What kinda fairy password is that?"

  Zach shrugged. Liz let out a sad sigh. The man's face screwed up with bewilderment, making him even uglier, if that was at all possible. He turned his massive head on his equally massive neck and, giving a pretty fair imitation of Zach's bad French, bellowed, "Harris, you ever hear this 'En pettit toobay dan le boys' stuff?"

  "The little tomb in the woods? That's one I ain't come across in a long time. Eight, ten years at least, for true."

  Zach leaned forward, sneaking a look around the human roadblock. An aged black man, his face a mass of wrinkles below a cap of curly pure-white hair, popped his head through the throng surrounding the bar.

  "Harris!" Liz cried in delight.

  The old man turned and said something to an unseen person, then walked from behind the bar toward the door. The closer he got, the surer Zach was that this was Harris. The guy must be a pure immortal. Shorter, definitely shorter, but just as wiry, and Zach would bet he could still give that baseball bat he kept behind the bar a helluva swing, if need be.

  "Who you be, boy?" he asked, his voice still deep and booming, sounding well able to hold a strong bass note during a jam session. "You ain't a revenuer are you? Hear tell they got hold of that there password some years back."

  "Revenuer? Hell, no!" Despite the warning glare from the gargoyle, Zach stepped forward, hand extended. "It's Zach ... Zach Fortier. Don't you remember me, Harris? Used to come here with my friends all the time when we were kids."