Pirate's Persuasion (Sentinels of Savannah)

by Lisa Kessler

  “This ship doesn’t sail without all of us on deck.” Colton clapped his shoulder. “If you’re in danger, then we all are.”

  Drake nodded, a swell of gratitude washing over the rocks of his earlier concern. He was damned lucky to have ended up tossing his lot in with this crew centuries ago. They’d become family when he needed it most.

  “Thanks, Colton.” He slipped Heather’s card into his pocket. “How about a lift back to my truck?”

  …

  Heather hung her cape and engaged the deadbolt on her door. Exhaustion already dug its claws into her muscles, quick to remind her of the long night. But she was too wired to sleep. Beyond the vision of Drake without a scar, she couldn’t ignore the fact that the ghost boy had asked her to protect Drake, but when she found him, he seemed fine.

  At least he did until I got there.

  She hadn’t launched the psychic attack, but had she led the threat right to him? That didn’t make sense. If the boy’s spirit really did have a connection to Drake, he wouldn’t need her to locate Drake’s energy.

  With sage smoldering in the big abalone shell in the corner of the room, she cued up her ten-minute meditation music and picked up a pen. She opened the notebook, closed her eyes, and took a cleansing breath, lowering the tip of the pen to the blank pages.

  Automatic writing often gave her answers she never expected, sometimes before she understood the questions she should be asking. By clearing her mind and allowing her pen to move without her conscious awareness, her spirit guides could communicate messages to her. And having the notes on the page meant she wouldn’t forget any important details. Visions from meditations often faded away like the fog of dreams. Writing them down gave her a permanent record.

  Pages turned, and her pen never stopped moving. When the music ended, she allowed herself the time to finish a final message and then opened her eyes. Scanning the scribbled, messy pages, she searched for a lead, for a connection her conscious mind had missed.

  She tapped her finger over one crooked line of text. Why did the boy come to you instead of going directly to his uncle? He had no attachment to you or to the location at Oatland Island. So who did?

  Could that be the missing piece? She circled the final three words over and over.

  If the witches were after Drake and could somehow cage the spirit of the little boy like he’d alluded to, why involve Heather at all? Unless she was the bridge to lead them to their target. Drake hadn’t been attacked until she arrived. Could the witches have been following her? Instead of protecting Drake, warning him, she may have actually brought the danger to his doorstep.

  Her chest tightened. She didn’t have any connections to a coven.

  At least not that she was aware of…

  She reached for her cell phone and quickly fired off a text to David.

  If you’re still awake, call me.

  For the past two years, she hadn’t communicated with him unless he initiated the contact. She was a subcontractor, nothing more. It had taken months to accept it, but she finally did. These days she didn’t even think about reaching out to him. Tonight changed all that. Something was happening in Savannah, and she couldn’t fix it all on her own.

  Her phone rang, David’s name filling the screen.

  “Hey, David. Thanks for calling.”

  “Are you all right?” His voice didn’t seem foggy or tired even though it was well past midnight.

  “I’m fine. But I need a favor.”

  “I owe you many.” He cleared his throat, all business again. “What’s going on?”

  “I think one of the men we met in the Bonaventure Cemetery was attacked tonight. Psychically or magically, I’m not sure which yet.”

  “Those guys are trouble, Heather.” His tone was slow and direct. “Whatever they’re involved in, you don’t want to be a part of it.”

  She frowned, focusing on the dancing line of smoke rising from the sage bundle. “I’m already involved. The trouble came to me, and I may have led it right to him.”

  “Him?”

  “Drake Cole.”

  “Damn it. Stay away from him, Heather. You’ll get hurt.”

  She shook her head even though he couldn’t see it. “Like I did with you?”

  Okay, that was petty, but she couldn’t help it. Whenever David started trying to “protect” her from others, she never hesitated to remind him about the cold, heartless moment he walked away from her without looking back.

  David’s tone softened. “There’s more to Drake and his friends than you know.”

  “Like what?” she asked, although she was 99.9 percent sure she already knew what his answer would be.

  “I can’t tell you.” He sighed. “But you need to trust me.”

  “What I need is some information on the rise of paranormal activity in Savannah, and last time I checked, Department 13 keeps a finger on the metaphysical pulse around here.”

  “Shit.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Please, Heather. Let this go. I don’t want to see you caught in the crossfire.”

  “I can take care of myself.” She picked up her notebook, glancing over the notes. One word was repeated on almost every page. Coven. “And see if there’s a new coven in town.”

  “A coven?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “There are plenty of witches in Savannah. Want to let me know what I’m looking for?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but a ghost boy came to me tonight asking for my help. He claimed witches pulled him out of the ocean. He had a British accent and clothing that predated anything anyone would’ve worn on Oatland Island.” She stared down at her notebook. “He wanted me to protect Drake.”

  “Damn it.” David cursed through gritted teeth. “I’ll see what I can find, but I’m doing this for you, not them.” His voice took on a darker tone. “If he hurts you…”

  “No.” She interrupted. “You and I work together, that’s it. Your arrangement, not mine. So you don’t get to pretend to be my knight in shining armor.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your help. Call me if you find anything about a new coven in Savannah dabbling in black magic. Thanks, David.”

  She ended the call before he could respond. If there were any other way, she would have taken it, but Department 13 was her best bet for information. David had always been tight-lipped about his work, but she’d helped him solve a few cases over the past couple years by communicating with deceased agents and informants, and she’d gleaned enough from those contacts to understand that the mission of the top secret government agency was to protect Americans from paranormal threats. They did that by keeping tabs on all major metaphysical occurrences and collecting both intel and relics that the rest of the world believed were only fictional.

  Between the invoices David insisted she submit for reimbursement and her mediumship abilities, she was fairly certain there was a file deep in the bowels of Department 13 with her name on it.

  With any luck, this coven pulling ghosts out of the ocean would have one, too.

  …

  Drake woke in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. Thomas. He’d lied to Heather when he told her he was no one’s uncle, but there wasn’t a logical way to explain how he could be an uncle of a boy who took his last breath in 1795, and he couldn’t tell her he drank from the Holy Grail without exposing his entire crew.

  Unless the boy already told her. She said she could talk to the dead. Drake shook his head. She didn’t know. She would have said something or peppered him with questions to verify the boy’s claim. She didn’t know the truth, and he wasn’t going to try to explain it.

  Easier to deny any connection.

  But fuck, he was paying the price now. He hadn’t dreamed of that night in over fifty years. Foolishly, he thought that curse might be behind him.

  He didn’t deserve to be free of it.


  Will we see the angels, Uncle Drake?

  Aye, he’d whispered before water covered their faces.

  Drake pinched the bridge of his nose, denying the emotions threatening to flood him as the waters of a sinking ship did over two hundred years before.

  He pulled on a pair of sweats and a tank top then tied his blond hair back. He went into his shop area and got to work refinishing the hurricane shutters for the Pirate’s Inn. The sun wouldn’t be up for another three hours, and his muscles ached with fatigue, but he wasn’t about to lay his head back on the fucking pillow.

  The peeling paint flaked away under his sandpaper, and gradually the shadows from the dream lifted. And thoughts of Heather crept in. Odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been preoccupied with a woman. Not since he gave his heart to Lucy centuries ago. He had promised to love her until the day he died.

  He never dreamed death would be stolen from him.

  Sweat ran down his forehead as he sanded the next slats on the storm shutter. Work was his mistress now, his constant companion. But seeing the worry in Heather’s eyes awakened something inside him, something beyond the guilt that shadowed him. A yearning for…connection.

  With a mortal? No way. That path led to never-ending grief. He had enough of that already. Besides, he had his crew. They were all the connection he needed.

  Tonight had been different. Heather had been the safe port in the storm. Her touch had buoyed him when the shadows pulled him under. He sanded harder, reminding himself she was mortal. Off limits. Allowing himself to think about her would only prolong the torture.

  Colton’s words whispered through Drake’s mind.

  Eternity is a long time to be lost.

  Chapter Four

  Agent David Bale knocked on the doorframe of Kingsley Pratt’s office. He’d been making an effort to be more patient and friendly with his shamanic computer programmer after the alcoholic Brit spoke up during the review board and saved David’s job.

  He’d been doing a lot of things differently since the clusterfuck over Pandora’s Box that led to the review board.

  King looked up from his computer screen. “I’m afraid I don’t have answers for you yet. But feel free to hover if you’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Not that King made getting along easy.

  David cleared his throat and entered the office, taking the chair across from King’s desk. “Actually, I didn’t come over here to rush you, just thought of something that might help you narrow the search.”

  Kingsley Pratt had worked in Department 13 for over ten years now. David had found him haunting a barstool in Savannah, babbling about men being torn limb from limb. While the rest of the bar wrote him off as a drunk, when he mentioned men wearing serpent rings with red eyes, David recognized these weren’t alcohol-fueled ramblings. This man had witnessed a real paranormal phenomenon.

  By the end of the night, he’d convinced King to return to Department 13 for further review, and even though the Brit still drank too much, he’d become a valuable part of their small, overworked team.

  King took his glasses off and arched a brow. “I’m listening.”

  “Start with Heather Storrey.”

  “The medium in Savannah is involved in a coven?”

  “No.” David rested his elbows on his knees. “But she’s the one who tipped me off last night that a coven might be responsible for the recent increase in paranormal activity being reported in Savannah.”

  Until a few weeks ago, when David’s distant relative had been tempted to open Pandora’s Box and potentially end the world, David had kept his personal life close to the vest. Department 13 protocols were all that mattered to him, until he almost lost everything. He’d spent the past few weeks reevaluating his life, beginning with one truth. These people he worked with were the only real family he had left.

  King focused on his screen again, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “You believe this coven could be targeting her?”

  “Or someone she’s in contact with.” David straightened up. “I’m going back to Savannah to check things out on the ground. Keep me informed if you find a link.”

  “Wait. You’re going back to Savannah?” King slid his hands free of the keyboard, giving David his full attention. “I thought you cut ties with the Sea Dog crew. Why go back?”

  “I did.” David nodded, knowing full well King’s daughter was now a member of that same crew. “But if anything happens to Heather…” His voice trailed off as he shrugged. “I need to do this.”

  King glanced at his screen and back up to David. “You care about this woman.”

  “Yeah.” David turned and walked away, his single word admission being more personal information than he’d ever shared with a coworker. Time to get out of Dodge before he revealed more truth than he intended.

  …

  Heather looked up from her computer screen and frowned at the darkness outside her window. Her last mediumship client left at three o’clock. She hadn’t meant to lose four hours online playing Skull & Crossbones. The addictive seafaring multiplayer online game allowed her to virtually sail around the world, build up her crews and armories. Hearing her female virtual pirate captain shouting commands didn’t suck, either.

  Online multiplayer games gave her an escape during the daylight, when she avoided going out in the sun. Through Skull & Crossbones she’d also met Queenie. She was another rare female player, like Heather, and after a couple months of gaming and online chats, their friendship had blossomed. Heather found it easy to confide in her virtual friend, and the anonymity meant no staring and no explaining about her lack of pigment.

  Heather’s screen name, GrayGhost, blinked in the chat window.

  GrayGhost: I’ve got to log out and get some food.

  She waited for her friend and piratical crewmate to answer back.

  PirateQueen817: Okay. And I want pics next time you’re on that pirate ship!

  Heather chuckled. I’ll try. I’m not sure I’ll see Drake again so…

  Queenie sent a sad face emoji.

  PirateQueen817: Ooooooh you didn’t tell me his name was Drake. Sounds…old school? And his friend owns a pirate ship? I’m so jealous!

  Heather smiled, shaking her head as she leaned back against the sofa. If Queenie ever saw Drake, she’d forget all about the ship.

  The carpenter was handsome in a rugged, brooding, I-could-be-Thor kind of way. But pictures weren’t going to happen. If she started sending them, eventually she’d have to send one of herself. And she was enjoying the blind friendship. Queenie didn’t even know what Heather did for a living.

  GrayGhost: Don’t be jealous. I’ll probably never see him again anyway.

  PirateQueen817: You said he saved your life. Sounds like the start of an epic romance.

  Heather stared at the word on her screen. Romance had never been kind to her. Did she even want that anymore? Her life was plenty full without a man mucking it up.

  She stretched her fingers and replied.

  GrayGhost: I wouldn’t count on it. Okay, I’m off. Should be back online tomorrow around 3ish.

  PirateQueen817: I’ll be off work by then. See you soon!

  Heather closed her laptop and got up to stretch. Maybe she needed to start setting a timer. Skull & Crossbones had amazing graphics and adventures at sea that made it easy to imagine you were actually sailing, but chatting with Queenie was quickly becoming one of her favorite parts of the game. Having a friend to confide in who couldn’t ever spill your secrets because she didn’t know your real name was freeing.

  However, it was also addictive, and although she worked from home, she had plenty of things to do. Edgar wandered down the stairs, right on cue, his tail tracing the bannister railing. The black cat called out a half-hearted meow as she bent to pick him up.

  “Oh stop complaining,
Mr. Cacey.” She stroked behind his ears, enjoying the loud purr. “You’ll get your dinner.”

  She set Edgar on the floor and filled his dish. While he devoured his food, she went to the fridge and peered inside, even though she had already half decided on heading over to Bob’s again. Eating out was fiscally irresponsible, but cooking for one meant a lot of work before and after. The lure of no cleanup was a huge temptation, and the thought of Bob’s shrimp and hush puppies made the frozen dinners pale in comparison.

  “Enjoy your meal. I’ll be back soon.” She started to reach for her hooded cape but stopped herself.

  Unlike last night, she wasn’t in a hurry to find anyone. If people stared, let them. In the bathroom, she brushed her long silver hair into a ponytail and swiped a light, frosted-pink gloss over her lips, all while convincing herself it had nothing to do with knowing now that Drake and Bob were friends, or that maybe Drake might be visiting Bob’s Seafood tonight, too.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Thanks for planting that romance idea in my head, Queenie.

  …

  Drake finished his beer and set the empty mug on the bar.

  One-Eyed Bob wandered over with a white hand towel draped over his shoulder, concern lining his good eye. “You sure you don’t want to talk?”

  Drake lifted his gaze, shaking his head. “Nothing to talk about, just having trouble sleeping.”

  Bob placed a fresh mug in front of him. “Heard you got a call from a banshee last night.”

  “Colton has a big mouth.” Drake swiped the mug off the bar. He bit back the frustration building in his gut. He wanted to confide in someone, but even after more than two hundred years, the sick pit of guilt still ate at his insides. Speaking the words out loud was impossible.

  Maybe part of him welcomed the burden of his private hell.

  You don’t deserve forgiveness or mercy.

  The door opened behind him before he could examine the source of the statement. He glanced over his shoulder to find Heather coming inside. She wore a long purple crushed-velvet skirt, with a formfitting black top. Her hair was pulled back, exposing her long neck and the soft features of her face. This might’ve been the first time he’d ever seen her in such a well-lit place, but hell, she was beautiful no matter where she was or how her hair was styled.