Pirate's Persuasion (Sentinels of Savannah)

by Lisa Kessler

  They sat next to each other at the antique dining table. He admired the woodworking while she spread butter and syrup over the waffle. He hadn’t built this furniture, but he could appreciate the craftsmanship.

  She peered over at him and plucked a fork from his hand. “Don’t tell me you made this table. It’s been in my family since the 1800s.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, but I bet I knew the bloke who did. Not many furniture makers in Savannah back then. I was working on cabinetry and doors back then. Not much for furniture in those days.”

  He took a bite of the waffle and groaned as the sweet buttery squares assaulted his taste buds. Meeting her eyes, he swallowed and grinned. “Thanks for making breakfast. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

  Her ice-blue eyes sparkled. “Oh, you were plenty of help…just maybe not with the bacon.”

  “I enjoy helping you.” He placed his free hand on her thigh under the table, stunned by the way she coaxed this playful side out of him. So often his thoughts wandered down dark paths, but she shined light into the shadows of his soul, showing him a new future.

  She bumped him with her shoulder. “I have clients coming soon, but I could use some more help…tonight.”

  Flirting. They were fucking flirting. Amazing he still knew how.

  He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “Until tonight, then.”

  A small shiver ran through her, and instantly blood was pumping far from his brain. She stabbed a piece of waffle and lifted it to his lips. “Tonight.”

  He took the bite into his mouth slowly, drinking in the desire in her eyes. He’d believed this part of himself to be long dead, but every second with her drew him back toward the light, toward life. She was a miracle.

  Something chimed from the living room, and Heather looked over her shoulder but didn’t move to fetch anything.

  He raised a brow. “Do you need to answer that?”

  “No, I mean, not right now.” She turned his way again. “It’s not my phone, that’s my chat box on my game. Over on the computer. I can reply later.”

  He could barely operate his cell phone and didn’t own a computer. Games were confined to cards and dice. He couldn’t imagine what someone might play on one of those machines.

  Her gaze wandered over his face. “Have you ever played a computer game?”

  “No.” He forked another piece of waffle as the iron beeped from the kitchen, saving him from embarrassing himself any further.

  Heather vanished into the kitchen and returned with a fresh steaming waffle. “Maybe sometime I could show you my game. It’s called Skull & Crossbones.” She paused like he might recognize the name. When he didn’t, she added, “It’s a multiplayer online pirate game. I could introduce you to my crew.”

  An unexpected smile curved his lips. “You pretend you’re a pirate?”

  She chuckled. “Well, I don’t personally, but I play pirate characters. It’s really fun.” Her hand settled on his leg and squeezed. “Plus, with a real pirate at my side, you might be able to help me kick some troll asses.”

  “I’m curious, I’ll give you that.”

  “Good.” She grinned. “It’ll be fun.”

  Strangely, he was beginning to believe her.

  …

  David drove the dark back alleys of Savannah like a local. Since the Holy Grail had turned up missing a few months ago, and the Serpent Society had reemerged a few months ago, he’d been spending plenty of time in the historic city.

  His passenger was uncharacteristically quiet. He glanced over at Aura and frowned. “Is there something about this assignment that bothers you? Usually you’re eager for undercover work.”

  She straightened her peasant blouse and sighed. “I’m eager when I can blend in, sir. I’m not sure I can manage that this time.”

  “I know we didn’t get much time for background work on this one, but infiltrating this new coven is our only chance to make a grab for the Flying Dutchman’s figurehead. If it really does give someone the power to control ghosts, we’ve got to contain it, and according to King’s intel, the coven has one spot left before the circle is complete. We need you to be in it.”

  Aura smirked, shaking her head. “I understand the importance of the mission. It’s my lack of prep time that’s bothering me.”

  “I’ll be close by for extraction. Petra gave you a crash course in witchcraft, right?”

  She nodded, but her expression was anything but confident. “I know the words to say, and the pecking order for a new initiate, but I don’t have any magic, sir. I’m a specialist with weapons, not magic. If they test me, my cover will be blown.”

  David pulled the car over behind a bookstore and turned off the engine. He twisted her way, his gaze locking on hers. “Kingsley took care of your background and your references. You know the jargon. They need you more than you need them. You’re going to complete their circle. They’re not going to give you a magic test.”

  She arched a brow. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

  He tipped his head her way. “You’re our best undercover agent. I have faith in you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We both know you’re the best.”

  “Not for this operation,” he chuckled.

  “I hope being female and knowing the words to a few spells will be enough.”

  He straightened behind the wheel. “You’re going to stay inside only long enough to find out where they’re keeping the figurehead. This is a quick mission. You’ll be out after one or two meetings.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “You’re right.”

  Aura slipped the micro wireless earpiece into her ear and patted her skirt, checking her hidden mini Ruger holstered on her thigh. When she opened the door, her green eyes shone with the determination David had come to associate with Agent Henderson. She tucked a lock of her long dark hair behind her ear and got out of the car.

  Keeping her voice low, she leaned inside the car. “Stay close. If things go south, I don’t want to have to shoot my way out.”

  “I’ve got your back.”

  She slammed the door and walked down the darkened alley. David waited until her form merged with the shadows before he exited the car and took off down an alternate route. He’d put forth a brave face for Agent Henderson, but something about seeing her hesitate worried him. What was he missing?

  Either way, this mission needed to be wrapped up quickly. Things were snowballing now. Not only was Heather in danger, but he’d also tangled Agent Henderson into the mess. He straightened his jacket, shaking off the dread.

  This would work. Nothing bad would happen to Agent Henderson. Not on his watch.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Drake turned on the barstool, tipping his head to Greyson as he entered Bob’s Seafood. “Thanks for coming.”

  “You knew I wasn’t going to pass up a free drink.” Greyson swung a leg up onto the next stool.

  One-Eyed Bob came out of the kitchen and grinned. His capped, dazzling white teeth still shocked Drake. In their mortal days on the Sea Dog, the cook had been missing a few teeth along with his eye. The new smile surprised Drake more than the glass eye Bob wore in this lifetime.

  “What can I get you, mates?” He wiped down the already clean bar.

  “Two rums, and leave the bottle,” Drake replied.

  “All right.”

  Bob busied himself collecting glass tumblers and the bottle while Drake glanced over at Greyson. “There’s a coven of witches after me.”

  Greyson’s eyes widened just before his grin. “No way. Why would a bunch of magic workers want a carpenter?”

  “Hell if I know, but they can control ghosts from your past. There’s a banshee wail that only I can hear, and the sound in my head lays me out.”

  Bob set the glasses and the bottle down o
n the bar, his good eye narrowing slightly. “Banshee means death is coming.”

  Drake nodded slowly. “I think they’re trying to kill me or drive me to kill myself.”

  “So they don’t know you couldn’t die even if you wanted to.” Greyson poured himself a finger of rum and knocked it back. “I’m back to my original question. Why you? If they wanted money, they’d go after Flynn or John Smyth.”

  Drake filled his glass and took a swig of the rum, enjoying the sting in his empty belly as the familiar warmth spread through him. “Maybe it was random. The ghost they torment me with is my nephew. He was lost at sea.”

  He gripped the glass tighter, holding back the rest of the story. The captain knew about the stowaway, but if the others didn’t, he wasn’t ready to put his guilt and pain on open display.

  Grayson lifted a brow. “Seems like a stretch, mate. Unless that’s the only spirit they can control, what good would killing you do for their coven?” He chuckled, lifting his glass again. “Maybe they want your woodworking tools.”

  Bob hustled into the kitchen and returned with a plate of steaming hush puppies. He put it between the three of them and locked eyes with Drake. “There used to be a legend about Davy Jones.”

  Drake bit into a hush puppy and barely held back a groan. No one made hush puppies like Bob. He’d had lifetimes to perfect his recipe. There wasn’t a better comfort food this side of heaven.

  “There are plenty of legends about Davy Jones.” Greyson leaned in closer to Bob. “I don’t recall one about helping witches control ghosts.”

  Bob shrugged and gave a halfhearted nod. “Maybe not helping them, but I remember tales of the figurehead of the Dutchman singing a song only the dead could hear. Her eyes would glow, hypnotizing and enslaving souls to become deck hands on the Dutchman.”

  The hush puppy hit Drake’s gut like a boulder. “Are you saying these witches learned the song?”

  Bob poured himself a glass of rum, his hand trembling. “All I’m saying is many of the old sea legends are truer than landlubbers would like to think.”

  Greyson rocked back on his stool. “Bullshit, Bob. Even if the legend were true, how the hell would a coven of witches get their hands on the figurehead of the legendary Flying Dutchman? A ship that big coming ashore without it hitting every paper across the country? No way. Maybe these witches have a medium…” His words faded as he turned toward Drake. “Are you sure you can trust Heather?”

  A bolt of rage shot through Drake’s belly. Lack of sleep had his temper jagged and raw. He clenched his fist, struggling to contain his emotions. “I’d trust her with my life.” He glanced at the cook. “Bob’s known her longer than me. He can vouch for her.”

  Bob raised his glass. “There’s not an evil bone in that woman’s body. She’s been nothing but kind even when the world didn’t show her any kindness in return.”

  Greyson’s gaze flicked between them. “Didn’t mean to offend anyone. I liked her well enough.” He focused on Drake. “You called me here tonight to tell me witches are after you. Why me?”

  “Because when the attacks come, I can’t protect Heather. I need a backup I can count on.” Drake poured another rum. “You own a security company. I want to hire you to look after Heather when I can’t.”

  Greyson smirked. “I’m happy to help, but it doesn’t sound like you can pull out your phone and call me once the witches attack.”

  “That’s why I want you to shadow her for now. Keep her safe if I’m not able to.”

  Silence descended on the three of them. Greyson swirled the last of the rum in his glass and lifted his eyes to Drake’s face. “Have you talked to her about this? She wasn’t pleased to find me lurking around with a gun last night.”

  “I will. I’m seeing her tonight. I’ll tell her then, but I want you nearby. Until we find these witches and stop them, I need to know she’ll be protected.” Drake held his breath. Heather wouldn’t like it, but she’d understand. He’d make sure she did.

  Greyson finished the rum, set the glass down, and nodded. “All right. I’ll do some digging into the covens around Savannah, too. Maybe I can find something about psychic attacks.”

  “Heather’s safety comes first.” Drake clasped his shoulder, relief flooding his bloodstream. “Thank you.” He placed a few bills on the bar and glanced over at One-Eyed Bob. “See you soon.”

  Bob folded the money and slid it into the pocket of his apron. “Be sure to tell Heather about hiring Greyson. She deserves the truth.”

  “I will.” Drake got up and headed for the door. He turned back to Greyson. “You’ll be watching her house tonight?”

  “Aye. I’ve got to get back to the office to collect my night scope, but I’ll be there within an hour.”

  “Good.” Drake stepped out into the dimly lit streets of the historic district and cracked his neck. The rum barely touched the anxiety brewing in his gut. He’d feel better once he got to Heather’s. Just the thought of seeing her smile lifted the dread weighing down his shoulders.

  …

  It was just after eight o’clock when Heather’s doorbell chimed. A small part of her heart had already been making excuses for his absence, that damaged part that whispered she was different, too different to deserve to be loved and wanted.

  She opened the door and gasped as Drake crossed the threshold and wrapped her in his arms. He kicked the door closed behind him, holding her tight. For a moment, she just breathed him deep into her lungs. His earthy scent with a hint of oak and rum combined with the feel of his chiseled body pressed tight to hers. Her legs wobbled like wet spaghetti noodles.

  He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I missed you.”

  She peered up at him, wishing his blue eyes weren’t so bloodshot. “I missed you, too.” Reaching up to cup his cheek, she added, “You didn’t sleep today, either, did you?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I told you they come for me when I sleep.”

  “They attack when you’re awake, too.” She took his hand. “Come sit down.”

  He pulled back a step, locking the door, before settling in beside her on the couch.

  She picked up her laptop and smiled. “You’re just in time to be my coach for Skull & Crossbones.”

  “I thought you were kidding about the game.”

  Truth be told, she’d been counting down the minutes until he arrived, envisioning dragging him directly up to her bedroom. She’d played through the scenario enough to convince herself she could enjoy him physically without endangering her heart. Live in the moment without any worry about the future.

  After their hot kiss that burned the bacon, she’d had a tough time focusing on anything else, but now that he was here, and she knew they both wanted each other, insecurity wound itself around her like a giant squid, squeezing out her self-confidence and dragging her into the depths of self-doubt, reminding her of every oddity that made her “different.”

  This morning she’d been certain of Drake’s desire for her, but now it all seemed…awkward. She wanted to smack herself.

  Instead, she opted for distraction. She angled her laptop so he could see the screen, and he lifted his arm so she could get in closer to him. The weight and warmth of his arm draped around her shoulders was like a bellows to the spark that ignited the second he walked through the door.

  She settled in to him, burrowing close to his side and almost purring like a cat, before she realized what she was doing.

  She’d never truly “belonged” anywhere. Ever. And maybe it was because she’d loved him in a past life, but being close to Drake felt like she was right where she belonged.

  It also meant her bravado about enjoying him in bed without allowing him into her heart was a pipe dream. She’d never been this comfortable with anyone.

  Enough thinking in circles.

  She showed him her ship an
d crew along with a brief rundown of the solo quest she was working on. Talking about her game was a million times safer than examining her feelings.

  “You chose a brig for your ship.” He raised a brow. “Seems small compared to the Sea Dog.”

  “Spanish galleons aren’t a choice in this game. You can have a brigantine or a frigate. The brigs don’t have as many cannons, but they’re much faster than the frigates.”

  He nodded slowly, his thumb tracing along her shoulder. “Show me how it works.”

  His simple touch sent tremors of desire through her that made it tough to concentrate. She cleared her throat and quickly demonstrated all the different angles and maneuvers.

  Drake chuckled, shaking his head. “If only real ships could turn so quickly.” He smirked. “And I don’t remember any rockets back in my day, either.”

  Heather grinned. “I never said this was historically accurate, just super fun.”

  White sails appeared on the horizon. She pointed them out. “Here we go.”

  He eyed the Spanish ship. “You aim to take that ship with this crew?”

  “Aye.” She answered, adding a playful, “Arrr!”

  The sound of Drake’s laughter made her melt into him. She’d never heard him laugh so hard. There was a playful spark in his gaze. “A true pirate says ‘fuck.’ The other is for buccaneer movies and theme parks.”

  Heather rolled her eyes and chuckled as she focused on the game again. Checking her sails and current speed, she clicked the command for the gunners to start loading the cannons. She’d tried this solo challenge twice so far and lost both times. The Spanish ship had larger sails, which equaled more speed, plus their crew outnumbered hers by almost double. Unless she could blow some big holes in the ship. She didn’t see another way to win.

  Drake leaned in close, his lips against her ear, and whispered, “Want some advice from a seasoned pirate?”

  She looked up at him, finding his lips too close to resist. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tipped her chin, kissing him long and slow. His thumb slid along her jawline as heat blossomed low in her belly. Damn. This pirate knew how to kiss.