“Let me see this evidence.”
Swallowing hard, Sabina handed him the manila folder.
He flipped the cover open and reached for a pair of reading glasses on his desk. He perched the spectacles on his nose and studied the photo and report in front of him. Raising his gaze, he peered at her over the lenses and shook his head.
Sabina craned her neck over the edge of the folder and pointed to the photo. “It’s a bloody fingerprint on the brooch. Theresa Granville’s ruby-and-diamond brooch. The one she was wearing right before she died.”
“I can see that. The brooch that was found in your cousin’s trailer.”
“Yes. But the fingerprint doesn’t belong to Carlo or Theresa. Someone else touched that brooch. Someone else had Theresa Granville’s blood on his hands. Someone else killed her.”
Thibault shook his head. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Miz King. This fingerprint means nothing.”
His words hit her like a kick to the head. “Nothing? This fingerprint means Carlo is innocent. He’s going to die for something he didn’t do.”
“Nonsense.”
Garner stepped to Sabina’s side. “What are you saying, Leon? This seems like pretty good exculpatory evidence to me.”
Thibault tore his hard glare from her and focused on Garner. His mouth turned up in the corners and his eyes softened as if he was addressing a favorite nephew. “Yes, under normal circumstances, it would be. But this is far from normal.”
“Far from normal?” Sabina parroted. “What do you mean?”
The impatient glare returned to his eyes, along with a cocky grin. “I mean that evidence like this might be enough to convince the appellate court to grant a new trial…if it was real.”
If it was real? Anxiety gnawed in the pit of Sabina’s stomach. “The police had this photo ten years ago, but buried it. It was sent to the lab for identification last week.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And the fingerprint was identified?”
“No. They couldn’t find a match. But they determined it wasn’t Carlo’s print.”
“Of course it wasn’t. And did the lab determine the blood type of this bloody fingerprint?”
“No. They didn’t have a chance to. Someone had wiped the brooch clean. This photo is all that’s left.” Why was he asking all these questions? The photo said it all. “The police wanted to convict my cousin. When they couldn’t identify the print on the brooch as Carlo’s, they wiped it off the jewelry and hid all evidence that it existed.”
“A logical assumption if you don’t know the entire story. Let me fill you in on something, Miz King. The print wasn’t identified because it wasn’t supposed to be identified. And ten years ago the police didn’t have the lab test the blood for type because it wasn’t Theresa Granville’s blood.”
She shook her head in confusion. She wasn’t following him at all. “Wasn’t supposed to be identified? Wasn’t Theresa’s blood? What are you talking about?”
“I was at Carlo Mustov’s trailer that night, Miz King. I saw the jewelry when the police found it. And, trust me, there was no bloody fingerprint on that brooch.”
Sabina’s heart froze. “No. That can’t be true. If it is, how do you explain this?” She held up the photo of the fingerprint.
“The fingerprint wasn’t hidden by the police to send your cousin to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Miz King. The fingerprint was planted on the brooch in order to get him acquitted.”
Sabina opened her mouth but couldn’t force a sound from her throat. She just stared at Thibault, his words scrolling over and over in her mind. The aura around him was still muddy. He was lying. He had to be lying.
Garner skewered Thibault with a skeptical look. “Why would someone want to do that, Leon? Mustov didn’t exactly have a lot of friends in the police department.”
“No. The man was a troublemaker. But there was a detective on the case who was sympathetic to the Gypsies. I believe he was trying to protect Carlo Mustov.”
“Who? Give me his name.”
Thibault nodded. “Certainly. Maybe you should talk to him. See for yourself.” He glanced back down at the file on his desk, paging through it until he found what he wanted. “The detective’s name is Louis Boudreaux.”
Sabina’s heart hitched and then fell somewhere in the vicinity of her toes. Louis Boudreaux, Wyatt’s father.
Thibault turned back to her. “Let me guess—he’s the one who gave you this picture.”
Sabina didn’t answer. She’d be damned if she’d let Thibault wrap his lies into a neat little bundle and tie a ribbon around them. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re covering something up.”
He shrugged, palms out in front of him, signaling he had nothing to hide. “Talk to Louis Boudreaux if you don’t believe me. Ask him.”
“He died about a week ago.”
Leon Thibault’s brows arched toward his hairline as if he hadn’t heard the news, but judging from the steady murkiness of his aura, he wasn’t surprised in the least. He handed the photo back to Sabina. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you what you obviously want to hear, but there was no bloody fingerprint on the jewelry or anything else we found in your cousin’s trailer. If you don’t believe me, I can get you a copy of the crime-scene report.” Casting an apologetic glance in Garner’s direction, he walked to his office door and opened it, signaling the end of their discussion. “Carlo Mustov is guilty of Theresa Granville’s murder. And as a result, he will die.”
“HE’S LYING.”
Glancing at Sabina in the passenger seat, Garner started his car and pulled out of the courthouse parking lot.
He heard the tinkling of her earrings as she shook her head and repeated, “I know he’s lying.”
Garner focused on the asphalt road ahead, flanked by wide ditches of water, cattails and wild cane. “You saw the crime-scene report. Leon was at Carlo’s trailer when the police searched it, just like he said. And like he said, there was no fingerprint found.”
“Maybe he was there. But he’s lying about the fingerprint.”
“How do you know?”
She shifted in her seat and turned her head, looking out the side window at the mixture of humble trailers, grand brick houses and stretches of forest and swamp rushing by on the outskirts of town. “I just know.”
“Women’s intuition?”
“It’s kind of like that.”
“What is?”
“I see things that tell me how someone is feeling.”
“Things?”
“Light. Energy. It radiates from people and changes color and intensity depending on how they feel.”
“Auras. You see auras.”
“Yes.”
Garner had heard of the bands of light that supposedly surrounded every living thing. He wasn’t sure he believed in auras, but he’d seen stranger things in his life. He supposed it could be possible.
“It’s real.”
He snapped his gaze to hers. “What?”
“It’s real.” She shrugged, her cheeks coloring softly. “I could see your doubt.”
He refocused on the road. “That obvious, huh?”
“It was in your aura. An aura is a person’s energy, that’s all. Most people can feel it. And you can train yourself to see it, as well.” She shrugged again. “I have a talent for it.”
“What other talents do you have?” He didn’t mean for the question to sound seductive, but it did, hanging in the air between them like a cloud of rousing perfume and strains of soft music.
Sabina hesitated before answering, as if she, too, felt the tension in the air. Finally she raised a hand and smoothed a strand of hair back from her cheek. “My family has many talents,” she said, although it wasn’t her family he’d asked about. “My sister can read the future. My cousin Andrei is empathic and telekinetic. And my aunt Valonia can cast spells.” Her eyes latched on to his face. “And curses.”
Thankfully
, it didn’t seem that reading minds was one of her talents. If it had been, she would know he didn’t give a flying fig about her family’s talents. He wanted to know about hers. Like how her body moved when she danced and what kind of feelings those lips could arouse moving across bare skin.
He mentally shook himself. There was only one place these thoughts could lead, and it wasn’t a place he could go. No matter that the air between them sizzled with electricity.
He scoured his mind for a way to steer their conversation back to its original path, and away from the course his body wanted to lead it. “So you saw in Leon Thibault’s aura that he was lying?”
“Yes.”
“What part of his story was he lying about?” Garner struggled to keep his mind on Leon, but found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. The strong lift of her chin. The way the sun glinted off her hair and highlighted the curves of her breasts under the gauzy top.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell that much from his aura. Only that something he told us was a lie. I can only interpret a person’s energy. I can’t read minds.”
Garner expelled a relieved breath. Thank God for small favors. He forcefully pulled his mind from the landscape of her body and paid full attention to the flat ribbons of road and water ahead and the shadow of a truck in the rearview mirror behind. “Well, lying or not, unless we can find some evidence disputing Leon’s story, we aren’t going to get very far.”
“We? Does that mean you’ll work with me on Carlo’s case?”
If only it could be that easy. If only he could help her, work side by side with her to save her cousin. But he knew damn well he couldn’t. Her presence was like a drug to him, each dose increasing his addiction. And if he was foolhardy enough to help her, to spend more time with her, to get to know her, God knows what state he’d be in. Even now the need to run his fingers along her cheek, to taste her lips, to draw some of her color, her life into his soul was eating him up inside. “I can’t, Sabina. I’m sorry.”
She pursed her lips and nodded slowly, as if she’d been bracing herself for his answer, as if she’d expected it. Shadows settled, dark as bruises in those beautiful green eyes.
He tore his gaze away. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t witness the sense of rejection creasing her forehead and tightening her lips. He’d done his best. Given what he could. And he couldn’t give any more. Not without endangering his heart. And hers.
He glanced into the rearview mirror. The pickup truck had caught up to them and followed close behind. The hot sun beat off the truck’s tinted windshield and glared in his eyes. Damn truck was following too close. Much too close.
The palms of his hands broke out in a sweat. His pulse picked up its pace. He tried inhaling slowly in an attempt to ward off the fears. The memories of crushing metal. Of pain. Of loss.
First the excruciating desire to feel Sabina’s touch, to smell her scent, to get to know her much better. And now this. He couldn’t escape the memories. They were closing in on him. The sweetness he missed, and the tragedy that had stolen it all away.
Garner pulled well to the side of his lane to let the truck pass. But instead of swinging out into the oncoming lane, the pickup drew closer, its bumper nearly riding on the tail of Garner’s car.
“What the hell?” Garner stepped on the gas, putting a few inches between them.
The truck roared ahead. Its bumper connected with his.
Garner’s head snapped back against the seat. The steering wheel jumped in his hands. He clutched the wheel and struggled to regain control. “Hold on, Sabina.”
The truck loomed, filling the rearview mirror. It withdrew a few inches and then rammed them again.
The car jolted and swerved to the shoulder. Garner fought with the wheel. He stomped on the brake, but it was no use. Gravel skidded beneath the tires. The edge of the water-filled ditch rushed to meet them. Just like before. Just like—
Sabina’s gasp rent the air.
The car hit the water nose first, burying itself in mud and sharp stalks of cane. Garner’s head snapped forward and then back against the headrest. Then there was no sound but the lap of water seeping into the car. The smell of the swamp clogged Garner’s throat, thick as blood.
Chapter Three
“Sabina, please. Can you hear me?”
Sabina squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t want to open them. The light filtering through her lids was too bright, and her head hurt too much.
“Sabina, please. This can’t happen again. Please.” The voice cut through her foggy mind. A voice so full of desperation, so full of fear. Garner’s voice.
She forced her eyes to open and focus on his face.
Garner was leaning over her, cradling her head in his hands. He was worried. Upset.
Alarm grabbed at her stomach. “What’s wrong, Garner? Are you okay?”
A sound of relief whooshed from his lips. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” The pungent scent of swamp hung in the air. Water seeped into the front of the car and inched toward her feet. Stalks of cane and cattails speared the sky, and the gleam of water surrounded the car on every side. Fear flashed back. The truck that was following too close. The truck that rammed their car and pushed them off the road. Pushed them into the water-filled ditch.
“You were so still. I couldn’t tell if you were breathing at first.” He smoothed her hair back off her face, his fingers trembling. “I thought I’d lost you. Like Mary Ann. I thought you were dead.”
“I’m fine, Garner. Really.” She wasn’t sure if she was fine or not, but she needed to say something, anything to reassure him. “Nothing broken. Just a little headache.”
“Can you move?”
She sat forward in the seat. Her head spun as if she’d just spent the entire day on Andrei’s Tilt-a-Whirl. Forcing herself to stay steady, she looked at the encroaching water. “I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”
Clutching the dashboard with one hand, Garner pressed the seat-belt release and popped her belt free. “The ditch is deeper on your side, so you’ll have to crawl across the seat to my side. Do you think you can manage?”
Sabina forced a smile to her lips, despite the timpani thundering in her head. “No problem.”
He grasped her hand, helping her across the seat and out the driver’s door. The water rose nearly to her waist, making her long skirt cling and tangle with her legs as she tried to wade to shore. Mud sucked at her sandals with each step.
Garner slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. The heat of his body seeped into her like warm rain after a long drought. And with it came a sense of strength. Of safety. Safety she had no business feeling after just being run off the road. And especially while wading through a ditch that served as home to alligators and snakes. “Did you get a look at the driver of that truck?”
“No. I didn’t get the license, either.” He helped her up the bank to the shoulder of the road. “By the time I really paid attention to the truck, it was too close to our car to see the plate.”
A bad feeling swirled inside her. First the man who attacked Wyatt, then the fire in Alessandra’s trailer, and now this. Was the truck driver part of the pattern? Did someone know she was now pursuing Carlo’s case? And was that someone set on keeping the truth under wraps? As they stood on the side of the road, she began to fill Garner in on her worries.
The more she told him, the more his alarm grew. “Did you report the attack and the fire to the police?”
“Yes. They wrote reports and that’s about all that happened.”
He nodded as if he’d expected her answer. “I’ll see if I can give Les Baux’s finest a little jump start when I report this.” He nodded back in the direction of the car, now settled more deeply in the ditch. “My cell phone is sleeping with the gators. The carnival isn’t far. I’ll call from there. Do you think you can manage the walk?”
Sabina nodded, the movement sending pain shooting down her neck.
“I’m sure.”
“Lean on me. I’ll help you.”
She did as he ordered, reveling in the feel of his body against hers, his arm protectively around her shoulders. Ironically, even though he was taking care of her, she felt stronger than she’d felt in years. And more sure of herself. It was as if the touch of Garner’s hand, the warmth of his body, brought out strength hidden even from her.
She only wished she could bring out the same strength in him. Garner’s face was pinched with worry. And though his hands no longer trembled, Sabina could still see the anguish in his aura. The words he spoke after the crash echoed through her mind. “Who’s Mary Ann?”
His arm tightened around her shoulders.
“You said her name. You said you thought you’d lost me. Like Mary Ann.”
He didn’t reply, just kept walking, the soles of his shoes grinding on the gravel.
She persisted. “Is this what the D.A. referred to? What you’ve been through lately?” She searched his eyes, but he wouldn’t return her gaze. “It might help to talk.”
He walked on, his eyes weary, his face drawn. Finally he cleared his throat. “Mary Ann was my wife.”
Sabina nodded. A throb deep in her chest answered the pain in his eyes. “Did she die in a car accident?”
His gaze dropped to the gravel shoulder. “Yes.”
Sabina swallowed into a dry throat. He’d lost his wife. His wife whom he obviously loved. How could he bear it? “When did this happen?”
“Six years ago. I still dream about the accident sometimes. Still try to make it turn out differently. I was making a left turn into the funeral home and the semi driver behind us wasn’t paying attention. He never saw my signal. He never saw our car until he hit us and sent us across the road and into the drainage ditch.”
Gypsy Magic Page 10