She saw him change subtly. There was a slight tensing in his features. “Come closer, hold my hands—whisper to me,” he said.
She frowned, and then saw what he had seen.
They had been noted.
She was grateful for the shadows. She inched closer to Jackson, lowered her head and kept her eyelashes low. Martin DuPre had looked back and seen them.
He forgot about his lap dancer, pushing the stripper away. He rose, thought to excuse himself to his buddies and headed toward them.
“Closer,” Jackson said, his right arm coming tightly around her as he cupped her chin with his left hand, bringing his face just inches from hers. “He’s coming, right?”
“Right.”
“Giggle.”
“What?”
“Giggle.”
She let out a small string of husky laughter.
DuPre actually stopped for a moment. She knew that he was staring at them, even while she murmured something else unintelligible to Jackson. Jackson seemed to sense that DuPre was close behind them, but in the shadows, apparently determining whether to accost them or not.
“I think we need to take this back to some privacy now,” Jackson said, his voice rising just slightly, a sensual burr as thick as molasses in his tone.
“Yes, now. Now,” she replied, keeping her voice low, breathy and urgent.
DuPre backed away farther. Jackson rose, catching her hand and drawing her up against him. “What’s he doing now?” he whispered, nuzzling his forehead against hers while they stood in the body crunch.
“Still staring,” Angela whispered.
“I knew you would love this place. Beauty is beauty, and movement, well…” Jackson purred. “Yes.”
“I’m burning up,” Jackson said.
She kept her voice low, and very dry. “Yep. I’m just a hunk, a hunk of burning love.”
His smile then was real, even as he asked again, “He’s still watching?”
“Yes?”
He nuzzled her impossibly close, and kissed her. It wasn’t a stage kiss. It was a full, passionate, filled-with-tongue kiss, and despite herself, she was swept away by it, forgetting their real mission, and simply luxuriating in the rampant wall of heat provided by the muscled hardness of his chest and the lava-flow sweetness of his kiss. She closed her eyes, stunned and seduced in one, and feeling a tidal wave of arousal sweep over her, something that the eroticism of the most accomplished dancer couldn’t begin to create.
He broke the kiss, his lips a bare half inch away.
“Is he still there?”
“What?”
“DuPre.”
“Oh!” She almost jerked away, but she held her ground. She brushed her lips against his teasingly, whispering all the while. “No. He’s gone back to his chair. I think he’s still looking.”
“All right, then. I think we’ll notice him.”
He pulled around to his side; they were ready to leave. But as he did so, he looked out to the tables closer to the stage.
“DuPre,” he said, not loudly. He lifted a hand to wave.
DuPre lifted a hand as well. He stood, walking away from the group to join them. Onstage, a new girl—Angela was pretty sure she had been announced as Cherry Candy—was winding lithely around the pole.
Martin DuPre looked at the two of them as if seeing them for the first time. He grinned wryly. “Wow. Imagine the two of you here. I didn’t even know you were a couple.”
Jackson laughed, pulling her close. “There’s nothing against fraternizing on our team, we’re really kind of a special unit.”
“Yeah, ghost busters,” DuPre snorted.
“Imagine you here,” Angela said.
“Part of the job, I’m afraid,” he said. “David Holloway is kind of a loner, a family man, but to most people, this is good clean fun. Oil guys,” he said, indicating the three men at his table. “They don’t get out that much… They’re just having fun.” He looked at the two of them, with another smile. He was convinced his story was totally plausible, but then he seemed to think that theirs was, too.
“Sorry, still can’t imagine the two of you here,” DuPre said.
Jackson pulled her closer. “Well, this one, she’s a wicked little hellion when she wants to be. It just increases all the good stuff when you get home, huh, honey?”
She kept her smile in place, staring at DuPre, and feeling like a fool.
“It helps Jackson along a lot, you know—keeping things going, and sometimes, you know, a working guy can be just a little worn-out,” she said sweetly. She felt Jackson tense, though there wasn’t a single change in his face.
“What can I say?” he asked. “She’s insatiable.”
“Wow,” DuPre said, looking at her. Her arm was around Jackson’s waist, his was around her shoulder. She gave his midriff a solid pinch. He flinched, but again gave no sign.
“I have to take her to the S and M clubs sometimes, you know?” Jackson said.
“Wow,” DuPre repeated, looking at her with new appreciation.
“And we’ve just got to get home now—honey,” she said to Jackson.
“Yes, we do,” Jackson agreed. “Seize the moment,” he told DuPre.
“Well, good to see you two out and about and enjoying the city. Good night,” DuPre said.
“Good night!” Angela said cheerfully. Jackson waved.
And finally, they were out, and back on Bourbon Street where the bars remained crowded, the music was cacophony and life seemed to scream out loud.
Angela pulled away from Jackson and glared at him. “An S and M club?” she demanded.
“Hey! You implied that I was impotent!”
“You made me out to be an animal,” she said.
“Technically, we’re all animals,” he reminded her.
“Oh!” She stared at him with aggravation and started walking. “Hey, I think it’s better to be a wildcat than a limp rag!” he said, humor in his voice as he walked after her.
She turned back, not sure what she was going to say, but it was going to be fierce. But she saw the amusement in his eyes. He lifted his hands. “Hey, it’s all in a day’s work,” he said lightly.
She burst out laughing. His smile deepened; she waited and he stepped forward to start walking with her again.
“And quite a day’s work,” Angela said. “You know, I’m worried. There has to be a reason that Gabby was so terrified of me saying anything to anyone. She didn’t want me to tell anyone at all that I met her. But she’s going home. What if she is in danger? I doubt if her parents are prepared to protect her if someone really lethal is out there.”
“You have her full name and address?” he asked.
“Yes, I made sure I gave the cabdriver the money and her address,” Angela assured him.
“Let’s get back to the house. I’ll put a call through to Andy Devereaux and see if he can, at the very least, make sure that a patrol car keeps a close watch on the place.”
She nodded. They kept walking. Close. When a staggering group would walk by, Jackson either caught her by the shoulders or slipped an arm around her, drawing her close—and away from a potential human gridlock.
When they reached the house, Whitney was there to open the front door. “You’re not going to believe what happened tonight!” she said excitedly.
“What?” Jackson asked tersely. “Was there something that happened at the Church of Christ Arisen?”
“No,” Whitney said.
“Not unless you count Whitney singing every Beatles song known to man as something happening,” Will said, coming up behind her. “Nothing. Door didn’t open or close for three hours. We came on back.”
“Then what?” Angela asked.
Jake and Jenna had been seated in front of the screens, all rolling real time in the house. They were twisted around now, watching the others at the door.
“Guess who was at the Aryans meeting?” Jake asked.
“Blake Conroy,” Jackson replied.
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“Wow, how did he know that?” Jake asked, staring at Jenna.
“Process of elimination,” Jackson said dryly. “We were watching Martin DuPre. I saw Grable Haines lounging by the car about a block down from the restaurant. He didn’t look like a happy camper, but bored as he might have been, I don’t think he went anywhere else.”
“Was the car still there when we left?” Angela asked him. She felt absurdly guilty; she hadn’t even looked.
Jackson nodded. “I’m imagining that Haines had orders to stay put until Martin DuPre called him. So, our friend Blake Conroy was at the Aryans meeting. Interesting. Did he see you? Did you speak with him?”
“We did,” Jenna said.
“Jenna nearly caused us to be lynched first,” Jake supplied.
“I did not!”
“If comments like ‘these are the most racist assholes I’ve ever seen’ aren’t inflammatory at such a gathering, I’m not sure what would be,” Jake said.
“No one heard me but you,” Jenna dismissed his remark with a shrug.
“So what did Blake Conroy have to say for himself?” Jackson asked.
“He said that he had come to see what was going on so that he could warn the senator,” Jake said.
“And what did you think about that?” Jackson asked.
“It was hard to tell if he was lying or not,” Jenna said.
“Come on—you can read people. What did you feel?” Jackson asked.
“I honestly didn’t know,” Jenna said. “He walked right up to us, and it looked as if he was feeling the same way. As if he’d read my mind.”
“Do you mean that you think he has some kind of telepathic ability?” Jake asked.
“I’d say he can really read people, and because of it, he’s probably really good at manipulating them,” Jenna said.
Jackson nodded. “Excuse me, I have to make a call to Andy Devereaux. Angela, why don’t you fill them in on our evening. I think we have the trump card tonight,” he said casually, and left them, pulling his phone out as he bounded up the stairs.
They all stared at Angela, waiting. “Well, it was…interesting,” she said. And she told them about Martin DuPre and his group at dinner, and how she went after Gabby Taylor, what she learned from the girl, and that Martin DuPre had taken his business pals down to the strip club for lap dances. Both Jenna and Whitney found the latter amusing, and wanted to know if she had enjoyed a lap dance, too.
“Hey, hey. Business here,” she said. “I’m worried about Gabby, but Jackson is calling Andy now to see to it that a patrol car drives around her house.”
“I don’t understand—shouldn’t someone let the senator know right away that his right-hand man is practically a pedophile?” Jake asked.
“Jackson wants to lie low for a while.”
“Because none of them are what they seem—and they all have the wool totally pulled over the eye of the public—the voters!” Jake said.
“Minus my great-grandmother,” Whitney said.
“Well, the thing is, the senator might want to just turn his head while Martin DuPre handles situations that could look a little on the sleazy side,” Angela said. “After all, it’s not illegal for adults to enjoy adult entertainment. If DuPre is taking some kind of kickback for getting business situations solved without the proper safety precautions, then he is engaging in a criminal offense. But we don’t really know that. And, to say that David Holloway was having an affair—it’s not like such a thing hasn’t happened before. Especially not in politics. Not only that, but suppose we prove that Martin DuPre is a horrible person—he still hasn’t done anything illegal. Gabby Taylor fingered him as the father, but I’m not sure what that means yet. It’s slimy and horrible, but other men have impregnated women, and they’ve been wretched about it, but I don’t think people go to jail for it anymore. She is eighteen, and she joined the ‘church’ of her own accord. She slept with him—and, apparently, she did so by choice. I’m pretty sure she had to be major league brainwashed in one way or another, and it’s as sleazy, slimy, contemptible as possible, but I’m not sure anything he did was illegal.”
“Unless there are underage girls in that place,” Jake said.
“Yes, that would be illegal,” Angela agreed. “But the point I’m making is that it won’t get us any closer to the truth about what happened here, so…we’ll try to dig further. DuPre saw us at the strip club tonight, so he knows that we saw him there. He doesn’t know that Jackson recognized Gabby Taylor from when she let you into the church, Jake, and that I followed her, and that she talked to me.”
“And none of this has anything to do with a haunted house,” Jenna said quietly. “And yet, somehow, it must.”
“Maybe none of it has anything to do with anything,” Angela said. “Anyway, kiddies, I’ve had it. I’m up to bed. See you in the morning.”
They bid her good-night and she walked up the main stairway to traverse the middle wing and head to the back of the house.
She paused halfway down the hall, trying to see if she felt anything. The hallway was shadowed, and for a moment, the house felt oppressive. None of it made sense. The children were trying so hard to warn her about something, but she didn’t think that the danger was in the house. Nor was she really afraid, though, after the experience in the basement, she didn’t particularly want to be there alone. It was a good thing that Jackson had suggested that none of them do it.
“You all right?”
She jumped at the sound of Jake’s voice, and then realized that it was coming from the camera and microphone set up in the hallway.
“Sorry! Yes, I’m fine. Good night,” Angela said, laughing at herself.
She walked around the ell to the room she had chosen. Regina’s room.
She stepped in and turned on the light. The room was a room. Walking over to the connecting doors, she saw that hers was closed over, but not shut. Jackson was on the phone; the low tone of his voice was audible. His door was ajar as well.
It was a surprise to realize that she wanted the door open a bit more before she indulged in a long hot shower before bed. That night, she didn’t know why, she was feeling nervous.
Opening her door a bit more, Angela turned and walked to the bathroom, and then happily slipped into the shower and turned on the spray. The bathroom had been redone using elements of the past; there was a beautiful claw-foot tub along with a shower stall. There were dual sinks set into marble, a door that closed off the toilet and a beautiful wooden cabinet that stretched over the sinks and had a large oval mirror in the center. She set about brushing her teeth and washing her face, and then stepped beneath a deliciously hot and strong spray of water.
Moments later, feeling warm and fresh, she stepped out. While drying off, she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. She froze, looking around the bathroom, but there was nothing there.
Then, as she turned, she saw there was something in the mirror. She thought it was her own face at first. And then she realized that there, in the steam, was another face. It was that of a young woman, one with haunted, red-rimmed eyes.
The lips opened, as if they would issue a scream. But no sound came; the face began to decay as Angela watched, frozen in fear. It rotted dark and black, and the soft tissue of the eyes disappeared, and the black sockets seemed to stare back at her.
A choked-out cry escaped her as slowly. Even the skeleton disappeared, and all that was left was the steam-filled mirror.
“Angela!”
She was barely in a towel, but Jackson burst through the bathroom door and stared at her. He was wearing pajama bottoms and nothing more—and carried a big gun, his Glock 22.
He looked around the bathroom and quickly lowered the gun.
“What?” he asked her.
She swallowed hard, thinking that, even if he did see things at times, he might think that she was definitely a loose cannon now. She held the towel to her and figured there was still nothing to say but the truth.
&n
bsp; “There was a face in the mirror.”
That was the truth, but probably not the best way to express it. His expression was somewhat open for a change, and seemed to say, Of course there’s a face when you look in a mirror—your own.
“It was a young woman,” she said. That still didn’t seem to help. “It wasn’t me, Jackson. There was a face in the mirror, staring at me. Not my face. Another young woman. Please, stop looking at me like that. You admitted that you saw the children. There are spirits in this house, ghosts, souls—energy!—whatever. But…”
“But you’re all right?” he said.
She nodded, wincing. “Look, I’m sorry, sometimes these things still startle me.”
He shook his head and said huskily, “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, I’ll open both doors all the way so that you can get some sleep. And you’re welcome to scream anytime.”
“I’m really not a….” She paused. She didn’t know what to say. “I mean, I’m not a damsel in distress in any way.”
“I didn’t say you were. If something happened to me, I’d like to think you’d be there,” he said.
She smiled.
“You like it rough, remember?” he teased her.
They stood there for a minute, she in her towel, and he in his pajama bottoms and Glock. The night seemed to have gone still. She waited, thinking that the time was right. He was going to take a step and come to her. She could still remember the way it had felt when his lips had come down on hers in the club, when they had played the couple looking for a little titillation before heading home…
“Scream anytime,” he said again.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He turned and walked away, and she was astounded by the disappointment that flooded through her.
“Jackson?”
He turned back. She walked out, just holding the towel against her. “Who do you think it might have been?”
“Pardon?”
“In the mirror. Who do you think it might have been?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. You have the book on Madden C. Newton. Read through, and find out about his victims. It wasn’t Regina Holloway, was it? That would be nice—if you could just have a conversation going with her, she could tell us what happened.”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 1: Phantom Evil ; Heart of Evil ; Sacred Evil ; The Evil Inside Page 20