by Lisa Kessler
“This is madness.” Flynn stepped back, muttering as Drake passed by. “You don’t have any friends.”
Drake spun around as the door closed. “Fuck you, Captain. I care about Heather, and I won’t allow you to steal her birthright and destroy the only family she has left.”
He hummed as he stared at Drake. “You do care. Interesting.” Flynn led him into a spacious library and took a seat on an ornate antique chair. More of a throne. The arms of the chair were gold-plated, ending in the shape of huge lion paws. Flynn drummed his fingers on the edge. “How well do you know these sisters?”
Drake sat across from him in a modest velvet side chair. “I only know Heather, but dangling that money in front of her sister was a dick move. If you pulled title information on the property, then you already know Ashley Storrey has no claim to the house.”
“Eventually, you’ll see it was necessary.” Flynn leaned back in the chair. “I don’t give a flying fuck about that house. It’s Ashley I’m interested in.”
Drake struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. “You offered twice what the place was worth, and you expect me to believe you don’t even want that property? You’ve been trying to build your new hotel in the heart of Savannah’s historic district for years. Stop lying to me. Swinging a hammer makes me strong, not slow-witted, Captain.”
“The hotel would be a perk, it’s true. But that’s not my reason for this deal.” Flynn cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His intense blue eyes pinned Drake to his seat. “This is a delicate matter, and until I have all the pieces in place, this needs to stay between us. I’ll alert the rest of the crew once I’ve negotiated an agreement.”
“I’m not keeping secrets for you, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you take her house.” Drake leaned forward his chair. “I don’t give a shit about your delicate matter.”
Flynn shot him a condescending glare. “Let me see if I can make you understand. After Agent Bale dissolved our agreement to assist Department 13 in recovering relics for the government, I made no secret to the crew that I would search out the leader of the Digi Robins for a similar deal and perhaps a cut of their action.”
Recovering relics was an interesting way to describe the service they provided to Agent Bale. When the government agent first approached them, he’d explained that his department still needed to abide by American laws. Because of their past history of piracy, they were more willing to bend the rules. Truth be told, being asked to steal under the flag of protecting his country from paranormal threats had left Drake feeling more alive than he had in a century. Maybe that was why Flynn seemed so determined to continue pirating for the highest bidder.
Flynn twisted the large ruby-eyed skull ring on his finger. “I believe Ashley Storrey is the illusive leader of the Digi Robins, but I needed to develop our relationship and earn her trust. So I made her a deal she couldn’t refuse.”
Drake frowned. “Heather told me her sister is the CEO of an internet security firm with multiple offices. Why would Ashley be a part of a dark web group that steals from the rich and pays for medical care for people in need? When would she have time for that, and why would a wealthy businesswoman risk breaking the law?”
“I’m not going to bore you with the details of my investigation, but my gut says it’s her, and she meets the profile. She’s savvy in programming, and her business already watches the dark web in order to protect their clients from virtual calamities.” He cleared his throat. “Forming her side company would be simple for a smart woman like that. I don’t care about her reasons for forming the Digi Robins, only that my crew can get an even share of the money.”
Flynn straightened, settling back into his throne chair again. “I realize you doubt my intentions, but I’m confident over our long history together you’ll find that my first concern is always for my crew. Finding the Holy Grail and Pandora’s Box were only the beginning. This is a chance to keep our piracy alive, to give our existence a purpose again. You should be thanking me.”
Drake mulled over the new information, his gaze wandering around the room filled with priceless antiques that sparkled under the state-of-the-art lighting system. “Heather told me Ashley was wearing a serpent ring.” Drake shifted his attention to Flynn. “Did you know about that?”
Flynn’s bewildered expression answered before he could speak. “She’s a woman. They’d never allow it.”
“That’s what I thought, too, and if she wasn’t initiated into the Serpent Society, the only way she could get one of their rings would be to pry it off their cold dead fingers.” Drake paused. “If you’re right, and she’s really ‘Robin,’ the leader of the Digi Robins, then she could’ve discovered one of her merry band had gotten involved with the Serpents.”
When the Digi Robins stole Pandora’s Box from Department 13, they inadvertently exposed Agent Bale’s distant nephew as a member of the underground thievery ring. Before the youth died, it also became clear he’d hired Dr. Trumain to open Pandora’s Box, entangling the Digi Robins with one of the oldest cults on the planet.
Flynn stroked his copper goatee. “You think she was at the Bonaventure Cemetery the night Dr. Trumain was killed.”
“If she’s who you think she is, then yes.”
“She’s wearing Trumain’s ring.” A crease lined the captain’s brow. “Agent Bale’s team closed the site and cleaned it. The locals don’t even know two people died that night. How could she have gotten past them to steal it?”
Drake crossed his arms, struggling over how much to share with the Captain about the psychic attacks he’d suffered over the past few days, but Flynn’s earlier words about his loyalty to his crew came back to haunt Drake. Ian Flynn had always been a greedy bastard, working all of them to the bone and eventually sending the Sea Dog to the bottom of the ocean, but his loyalty had never wavered.
“She may have had help.” Drake swallowed the lump in his throat and forced the words out. “A coven of witches has been attacking me. I hear a banshee’s wail. They mean to kill me, but we both know that’s impossible.” Drake pulled his hair back from his forehead. “I haven’t slept in days, and my nephew’s ghost torments me.”
Flynn tapped his index finger on the arm of the throne. “The stowaway?”
“Shit.” Drake shot out of his chair, scowling as the realization sank in. “All this time…you knew?”
“Aye.” Flynn met his eyes. “Did ye really believe I never walked the bowels of my ship? I could tell you how many bilge rats sank that night with the Sea Dog.”
The revelation erupted in his heart like a volcano spewing raw fury into his veins. “You knew there was a child belowdecks, and you ordered us to sail into that storm anyway? You fucking knew it was suicide.” He crossed to Flynn’s chair in two strides, pointing at his chest. “You murdered that boy!”
“You can’t place that blame on me.” Flynn shook his head slowly. “It was yours the moment you brought a child onto a pirate ship.”
Drake lunged forward, grabbing Flynn’s shirt in both fists and jerking him to his feet. “The Sea Dog wouldn’t have sunk if you hadn’t been so hell-bent on reaching Savannah that night. I’d kill you right now if that were even possible.” He released the man with a jerk, sending Flynn stumbling backward. “You’re not fucking worth it anyway.”
Drake turned to leave the room when a shriek pierced his inner ear, and the world blurred into a spiral of vertigo. His sea legs struggled to find their equilibrium as he clamped his hands over his ears. An anguished scream raked through his throat, and he dropped to his knees. Through his narrowed gaze, Thomas stepped out of the shadows with vengeance in his eyes.
…
After her meditation, Heather stretched and tried to take refuge in her bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. She grabbed her robe and went downstairs. If she could talk to Drake, maybe she could at least settle he
r mind, but in order to make that happen, she needed his phone number.
She opened the front door and peered out. Savannah’s historic district was usually bustling with ghost tours at night, but the silence on the square told her it was later than she realized. Was Greyson still patrolling?
As if he heard her internal question, he walked under the yellow glow of one of the streetlights. “Heather?”
He was shorter than Drake, but his build resonated strength even under his trench coat. “Agent Bale told me you’re the master gunner for the Sea Dog crew.”
“I am.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the darkness. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, pulling her robe a little tighter around herself. “I was wondering if you had Drake’s cell phone number.”
“Aye.” He started for the porch steps and stopped. “Mind if I come inside?”
Her lips curved at his manners. He was much older than he looked. “Sure.” She stepped back, leaving the door ajar for him.
Greyson entered, closing the door behind him. His gaze wandered over her, but she didn’t detect the usual fear and awe at her pale complexion. In the light, he was her polar opposite. His skin was a deep sun-kissed tan. This was a man who spent most of his time outdoors. He wore his brown hair in long, tight braids, and as he offered his hand in greeting, she noticed a tattoo on his forearm. It was a sword with two blades, joined together at the tip into one. She’d never seen anything like it.
“Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand, lifting her gaze from the tattoo. “Does the sword symbolize something?”
“My love of weaponry?” He chuckled and released her, glancing at his arm before meeting her eyes. “It’s a mythological blade. The Tyrfing is a cursed sword of legend that could cut through any material, metal, stone, flesh. Inspires me, I guess.”
He took his phone out of his pocket. “Drake’s not big on technology. Having his number doesn’t mean he’ll ever answer it.”
Heather smiled as she reached for hers and opened her contacts. “He mentioned something about that.”
Greyson lifted his head with a mischievous spark in his hazel eyes. “Yer not going to call my mate and bust his balls for having me watch yer place, right?”
Heather laughed, shaking her head. “Not exactly.” Unlike Drake, Greyson didn’t seem to try to hide his true accent. Maybe Drake had told him she knew their secret. What else had he shared about her? “Did Drake tell you what I do for a living?”
“Didn’t need to. I’ve heard your name before.” His smile dimmed. “Is it depressing to speak with the dead?”
“No. At least not to me.” She shrugged. “In fact, most of the time I get to pass on messages of love and hope to families, so it’s actually kind of inspiring to see that love never dies.”
He pondered her words for a moment before giving her Drake’s cell phone number. With his crooked grin in full force, he headed for the door. “You’ll be lucky if he answers. You have no idea how hard my mate fights technology.”
“Wait,” she said. “Are you just going to sit outside my house all night?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Drake’s pretty convinced you’re in danger, and watching people is what I do these days. Don’t worry. You’ll never know I’m lurking about.” He winked and exited before she could say anything else.
Heather chuckled and pressed the call button on her phone. She didn’t recognize the voice that answered.
“Drake needs help.”
Heather frowned. “Who is this? What happened?”
“He’s on the floor, hands over his ears.”
Drake let out a pained wail in the background. Oh, god, she recognized that sound. He was being attacked again.
“Salt.” Heather gripped her phone tighter. “Circle him with salt. Now.”
Whoever had answered set the phone aside, footsteps fading into the distance. He returned a few seconds later and Drake’s groans quieted. Heather breathed a sigh of relief, closing her eyes.
The other man picked up the phone again. “What the fuck was that?”
She ignored his question, opened her eyes again, and countered, “Who are you? Why do you have Drake’s phone?”
“This is Ian Flynn.”
Heather frowned, tightening her grip on the phone. “You’re the one who made an offer on my house.”
“Aye. Have you decided to accept my offer?”
Was he seriously trying to make a deal with her, while Drake was incapacitated on the floor? “Go to hell.” She sat on the couch. “How’s Drake?”
“Better. The salt helped.”
She rested back into the sofa, relief washing through her muscles.
“Good.” She rubbed out the tension in her forehead. “Can you give him the phone?”
Drake’s deep voice came through. “Are you all right?”
“Me?” She raised a brow even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re the one who just got targeted by a psychic attack again.”
“Aye, but I can’t die, remember?”
What would happen when those witches figured that out? Heather didn’t want to wander down that line of thought just yet.
“When will you be back in Savannah?”
“In a few hours,” he answered without hesitation.
Heather frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No way I’ll be sleeping tonight anyway after that banshee wail. Might as well go home.”
She cleared her throat, reminding herself why she’d called in the first place. “I guess you’re planning on replacing Greyson in front of my house?”
“How did you…” He cursed under his breath. “Look, I couldn’t leave you unprotected, and I needed to talk to Flynn.”
“That’s what the infernal cell phone is for, carpenter!” Flynn groaned in the background.
“Fuck off!” Drake growled.
Heather smiled in spite of herself. His mistrust of a cell phone was adorably old school. But he also asked an armed man to watch her house without even consulting her first. The smile vanished.
Drake’s voice softened. “I’ll come by in the morning and explain everything.”
“All right. I have an appointment at noon tomorrow. Can you be here by nine o’clock?”
“Aye.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to know you were safe.”
“I didn’t say your intention was bad, but the follow-through needs some work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She ended the call and settled back onto the couch, wishing she wasn’t excited at the prospect of seeing him in the morning. Getting attached to another unavailable man would only lead to more heartbreak. She was smarter than this.
But her heart didn’t seem to care.
Chapter Eleven
David awoke with a start, reaching for his cell phone in one fluid motion. An idea had crept into his dreams from his subconscious, and he needed to act before the thread faded into the ether.
He pressed Kingsley’s name and waited.
On the fourth ring, King answered, his words slurring together in spite of the accent. “The sun’s not even in the bloody sky yet. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A few days ago, you told me you had seen an invite to join a new coven in Savannah.” David sat up, placing his feet on the cool floor. “Can you find it again?”
“This couldn’t have waited until I got into the office?”
“No.” David raked his hand back through his hair. “Sorry, King, but this is really important. I need you to find the details for me. I’ll send Agent Henderson in undercover. If we can infiltrate the coven, we can collect the figurehead and maybe determine how they got it from the Serpents. This is our best shot to secure the relic and track down the remaining Serpent Society members.”
“I see.” Kingsley’s voice found
its usual clipped pace. “I’ll get dressed and I’ll let you know what I find once I get to the office.”
“Thanks, King.”
David ended the call and scrolled through his phone.
This case was eating him up from the inside. It was too personal, too close to feelings he didn’t want to inspect closely. He never should have dated Heather Storrey. She was a subcontractor for Department 13, and he knew better than mixing personal life with business. It was treacherous territory. After the fallout, he’d ghosted her because he’d been too chickenshit to face her, to see the pain in her eyes.
Now she was getting tangled up with the Sea Dog crew. His fault, too.
But maybe if he could find the figurehead and stop the threat to Heather, he could live with the past and move on. Actions were louder than words.
His finger hovered over Agent Henderson’s name. Aura had quickly moved up the ranks of Department 13 to become not only their best marksman, but a damned fine undercover agent. David had more years of experience undercover, and after decades working in Department 13, he was proficient when it came to wielding magic spells, but it would be easier for Aura to enter a coven of witches. Some covens welcomed males, but he didn’t have the time to discover if that would be the case here. It would be faster to place Agent Henderson.
First, King needed to get her an invite.
He pressed her name and waited.
“Agent Henderson,” she answered in a puff, her breathing labored.
David glanced at the clock. Five a.m. and she was already working out. All the agents in Department 13 had their own reasons for committing their lives to protecting Americans from paranormal threats. Aura had joined them after she survived a demon attack in a seedy club while running an undercover sting operation for the NYPD.
Whatever mental demons still chased her, she kept them to herself. Her work ethic was impeccable, and she was deadly, with countless weapons both traditional and mythical.