Dark Confessions

by Angie Sandro

  I half rise from my seat. “Oh my God! He took Eva.”

  George sprints for the door. “I’m on it.” The mike on my shoulder crackles. Then his voice goes over the air, broadcasting the news to all allied agencies that Deputy Evangeline Winters has been captured. He’ll have dispatch contact the cell company and trace the phone.

  I fall back into my chair and rub my stinging eyes. The hits just keep coming. It’s too much. My Eva…bless her sweet soul. She’s my niece by marriage, not blood, but the girl reminds me of myself at her age. Eva’s never taken advantage of our relationship to advance her career. Ever the professional, she’s my Rock of Gibraltar. Solid and dependable.

  My voice cracks as I ask, “Why Eva?”

  Anders removes the phone from Landry’s shaking hand. “Revenge? She shot Victor multiple times, which kept him from kidnapping Dena.” His eyes flicker as he silently reads the text message. “He says we’ve got two days to make the exchange—the women for Estrada. He’ll text the location later for the drop.”

  Anders frowns. “Estrada said he gave his research to Victor. You heard that, too. Right, Dee?”

  She nods.

  I sweep the broken pencil into the trash and stand. “We need more intel. I can’t make any decisions until I know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

  My moment of weakness ends now. Time to bite the bullet.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ferdinand

  Sweet Honey Stirs the Pot

  The interrogation room stinks of old sweat and piss. It reminds me of the immigration detention center I stayed in as a child after fleeing from Haiti. The thick, humid air coats a filmy layer over my skin, slicking down the black hair on my exposed forearms. Sweat rolls down my brow, stinging my eyes. I shrug my shoulder to wipe the side of my face, but the metal cuff, attached by a chain to a ring on the table, digs into my wrist.

  Every few minutes, I glance from the glowing numbers on the digital wall clock down to the two-way mirrored window inserted into the wall below it. Is she behind there, staring back at me? What is she thinking? I shift, trying to find a comfortable position on the metal chair. The repositioning bangs my knees against the underside of the tiny table, and I grimace. The curse of being a tall man is bruised knees.

  How long does she plan to make me suffer? My sweet…Elizabeth. I shake my head with a snort. Best banish the thought. There’s no sympathy for the damned. In the world I exist in, mistakes get you and your men dead. The op, which should’ve been a quick snatch and grab, ended with my team walking out of the elevator with the target and straight into the waiting arms of the local cops. And the woman I still crave like the finest Bordeaux pointed a gun at my chest, like I had a bulls-eye painted on it.

  Elizabeth’s obsidian eyes held only cold contempt. Any residual warmth she might’ve felt for me didn’t shine through. Her narrowed stare sliced right to the bone.

  I’d sink into morass of self-pity if I didn’t find it hypocritical and a bloody waste of time. She hates me. Nothing I say will change this. Especially after Dena tells her about my betrayal. It’s the hole I willingly dug for myself. My only saving grace: they need my help. I’ll have one chance to convince her to do what’s right.

  Another twenty minutes drag by before the door opens. Elizabeth strides into the room with a stack of files in her arms. She pauses, haloed by the light shining from above. My fierce African queen. A smile twitches my lips, and I avert my face. She wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. Best to think of her as Lieutenant Caine. My adversary. It’s safer.

  She lines up the files in a row on the table, forming a barrier between us, then spends a few minutes flipping through the pages of one. A tiny knot forms on her mahogany brow, a slight frown I want to smooth away with my thumb. I focus on the file, barely able to see the words on the page. I’m familiar with interrogation techniques. Her act is a ruse designed to heighten the tension level in the target. This will be a mental battle—we’ll attack, block, and counterattack—in an attempt to find our enemy’s weaknesses to exploit. She’ll be a tough nut to crack, but I’m looking forward to the challenge.

  Lieutenant Caine opens with the first salvo. “Are you comfortable, Mr. Lafitte?” She makes eye contact, and I flinch like she struck a blow. One point for her. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Water? Or are you ready to begin?”

  The handcuffs clink as I shift in my seat. “I’ve had less restrictive accommodations, but I’m fine.”

  “Yes, I guess you would’ve, given your occupation. You’ve lived an exciting life.”

  “I’ve been blessed with good fortune.”

  She taps her pen on the folder. “Interesting how you phrased that. Blessed. As if your success was granted from a celestial source, when we both know the creature living inside Magnolia LaCroix was the exact opposite.”

  “One man’s heaven is another man’s hell.”

  “I don’t understand.” The slight furrow between her brows returns. “Which one was it? Because I certainly can’t fathom why you’d deliberately resign yourself to remaining in hell? You could’ve left, but instead you served Ms. LaCroix for” —she glances at the file—“nineteen years.”

  “Twenty.”

  “My mistake. Twenty.” She scribbles on a piece of paper. “Yet it proves my point. You could’ve left, but didn’t. You chose to remain in her employ.”

  I never had a choice. “Yes, for twenty years.”

  She heaves a harsh sigh. “What sort of work did you do for Ms. LaCroix?”

  “Whatever she asked. She was my queen.”

  A bark of laughter shoots out. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I smile and lean back in my chair. “Is devotion so hard to understand? You’re loyal to your officers, to your badge, to the people of Bertrand Parish. You would give your life for them.”

  “That’s different,” she snaps.

  “How? Magnolia LaCroix found me in the slums as a boy. She gave me a legitimate job. Encouraged me to finish my education and join the military. When I got out, she gave me the money to start my own security firm—”

  “And you sold her your soul in return?”

  “Yes.” I tap the handcuffs. “Why are we wasting time on this? Ask the important question: Who kidnapped Mala?”

  “Victor took her and my niece.” Her eyes shimmer, and a tear balances on her left eyelid. One blink and it would tip over the edge to slide down her cheek. She stares at me, eyes deliberately wide, until it vanishes.

  I shift my gaze to the table, pretending I didn’t see her moment of weakness. Or feel pain myself at her tears. “Victor is unimportant.” I shrug. “He’s a pawn. The man he works for is the one you need to worry about. Zakhar Ivanov cannot be trusted to trade Mala for the items he wants. He will kill her. And killing her will also destroy Dena and Anders. They’re all linked by magic.”

  “Magic, I hate magic.”

  She wears disgruntled so well that I’m tempted to pull her onto my lap and kiss away the pout plumping her lips. Her unique scent—honeysuckle and vanilla—tickles my nose. I lean forward, inhaling her essence, drawing her deep inside. All the blood in my brain rushes down to a fixed point, and I shift in the seat, trying to find a less constraining position.

  Mezanmi! How this woman affects me. Tension holds her body stiff and unnatural, not soft and pliant, like the sensual woman I danced with at the Dubois party. Every inch of her begs to be released from the restraints she’s placed on herself. My fingers itch to unbind her thick hair from the severe bun and free her breasts from the constricting vest. My mouth waters, imagining the taste of her plum-wine lips. If not for the shackles, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from reaching out to her, damn the consequences.

  I drag my gaze back to her eyes. “Let me go, and I’ll help you. I’m well versed in the use of magic. We both know you have no grounds to detain me. I’ve done nothing illegal. My men and I were at the hospital visiting our fallen comrade. All of my employees are licensed to ca
rry.”

  “What about Anders? He was in shackles.”

  “Did he tell you why?” I’m betting he didn’t share that he’s Death’s avatar, or that I’d taken him into custody to end his murder spree. “Go ask if he wants to press charges.”

  “Both he and Dena have declined to move forward with the investigation.” She slaps the folder closed. “Damn it! I remember what happened the night of the earthquake. I dream of blood and death every night. I wish to God I could banish those images from my head. Because of Magnolia, many of my friends died. But now she’s dead. So is her minion Sophia. You’re the only person I can hold responsible.”

  My own anger rises. “So, knocking me unconscious with a lamp and leaving me in the rubble wasn’t sufficient punishment? Ignoring my phone calls and messages for six months wasn’t enough of a revenge?” I lean forward, ignoring the bite of the cuffs into my wrists. “Once I would’ve laid the world at your feet, Elizabeth Caine, but I owe you nothing now. Not even an explanation if you bother to ask for one.” I jerk on the handcuffs. “Release me.”

  I regret my outburst the moment the words cross my lips. I didn’t know I had all this anger trapped inside. My shoulders tense in anticipation of her reaction. She stares at me for a long moment, with not a flicker of emotion passing through her eyes, then stands.

  “You’re right.” She pulls a key from her duty belt and unlocks the shackles from my wrists. “You’re free to go, Mr. Lafitte.”

  Before I can rise from my chair, she throws open the door and yells down the hall. “Deputy Dubois, escort Mr. Lafitte out of the building.”

  What the hell? “Wait!” I knock my leg against the table in my rush to catch her and end up limping from the room. “Elizabeth—”

  “Lieutenant Caine,” she snaps over her shoulder, and turns a corner. I move in her direction, but George blocks my way.

  “Whew, you pissed her off good.” He shakes his head. “I’ve got my orders. Let’s go.”

  “She’s not thinking straight.” I try to sidestep him, but without bodily shoving him out of my way, I can’t get past.

  Raised voices come from the corridor where Bessie disappeared, and Landry barrels from the entrance. He sees me and skids to a halt. “What’s he doing out of handcuffs?” He rocks forward on the balls of his feet, as if about to charge. I’ve been punched by Landry too many times not to prepare to defend myself. He’s got a powerful right hook.

  Anders steps in front of him, blocking his path, while Dena grabs his uninjured arm. “Don’t, Landry,” she begs. “He’s not worth it.”

  Damn. This keeps getting better and better.

  “Are you letting him go?” Landry asks. “After what he did?”

  “Not my choice,” George says. “Lieutenant Caine made the call. Legally, we can’t hold him any longer.”

  “He knows where Mala is. Make him talk.”

  “How? I don’t torture prisoners.”

  “I don’t have a problem with it. He did worse to us the night of the party. Whatever happens, it wouldn’t be enough.” Landry’s unfocused gaze shifts in my direction, but I don’t think he sees me. He seems too overwhelmed by his fear and anger to think straight.

  I try to get through to him anyway. “I don’t know where Victor’s taken her, but I can find out. A locator spell—”

  “Like I trust you enough to fix a trick.” Landry twists his arm, trying to break free of Dena’s hold. “Fuck magic, asshole.”

  “My tea protected you and Mala from Magnolia’s spell.”

  “That came from Sophia.”

  “No. It did not. I helped you then. And it’s my duty to help you now.” An icy spot settles against my chest, and I shiver.

  Landry frowns at the empty air on my left side. “Don’t listen to him, Ms. Jasmine. Doesn’t matter that you think he’s a fine hunk-of-manhood. He betrayed us. Almost got Mala killed, multiple times.”

  The chill runs down my chest, and I step back when my zipper gets real cold. I don’t want Jasmine’s ghost hands down my pants. Any grabbing of my crotch is reserved for Elizabeth, if she’ll ever want me again. “What’s Ms. LaCroix doing?”

  Landry’s smile shows dark amusement. “She says I should put aside my hatred and use you to find Mala. If you betray us again, she says she’ll take care of you. Permanently.” His gaze drops to my crotch.

  A snort-laugh bursts from George. He turns his back, but his shoulders shake. Even Dena smiles. Our eyes meet, and she shrugs. “Tell me you don’t deserve this mistrust?”

  “I know. But rescuing Mala is as important to me as it is to you. Trust me.”

  Dena releases Landry. “Been there, done that,” she says. “I won’t trust you again. But I’ll leave the decision up to everyone else. I’m not exactly impartial after what went down at the hospital.”

  “He wasn’t wrong in what he did,” Anders tells her. “I’m also willing to bet he’s our best shot at getting Estrada to talk.” He lays a hand on Dena’s shoulder. “Estrada is terrified of him. I say give them five minutes alone together and we’ll have the information we need.”

  * * *

  When I enter the interview room, I find Dr. Estrada hunched in his seat. His head rests on the table, and soft snores fill the air. He doesn’t stir. I glance toward the two-way mirrored window and tip two fingers to the audience. The weight of their expectations press on my shoulders. Their trust, undeserving.

  Anders made the executive decision to allow me to interview the man since he has seniority. He didn’t bother asking Elizabeth for permission. George went along with the idea because he’d risk anything to find Mala and Deputy Winters.

  I met Eva Winters when I went to pick Elizabeth up for the party. She’d been in the bathroom getting ready, and Eva answered the door. She grilled me like a suspect. Then ended the conversation with a warning: break her aunt’s heart and I’d find myself entombed in a shallow grave. Since I had no plans to ever hurt Elizabeth, I agreed. I didn’t realize my words would bite me on the ass only a few hours later.

  The stakes on this mission keep growing. “Estrada!” I slam the door behind me. The man jumps with a squeal, but his shackles keep him from running. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Liar.” He squints in my direction. “So, they sent in the guard dog to interrogate me.” He glares at the mirror. “Fools. I gave Dena all the clues she needs in my laboratory. Why are you wasting time on me?”

  “Cryptic monologues are wasted on the ignorant.” A bang comes from the window. “No offense intended. Just stating a fact. Let’s get this over with. Tell me what we need to know.”

  Estrada shrugs. “Ask the right questions.”

  I will. Like me, he’s blood-bonded. The spell prevents him from divulging his employer’s plans. If he tries, his throat will begin to swell. The more he struggles to speak, the worse the swelling will become. He’ll choke, suffocating, until he stops trying or dies.

  I find keeping my mouth shut to be more conducive to a long life. Elizabeth asked if I lived in heaven or hell. The answer is very simple. For twenty years, I existed knowing I had no control over my own body. One false word could lead to my death. Magnolia LaCroix owned my soul, and I had no hope for escape. Hell, I most definitely lived in hell.

  I thought I’d be free when Magnolia died. I celebrated the crone’s death. Only over the course of months did I realize the spell didn’t dissipate; it shifted. I’m bound to the bloodline, not the individual. My allegiance now belongs to Mala. Every single person employed by Magnolia LaCroix now owes fealty to Mala. We’re trapped. Tied to a queen who doesn’t want us.

  Since the First and Second in command couldn’t order Mala’s death, they put a hit on Dena instead. If Dena died, so did the woman holding their slave chains. But I know the secret they don’t. Mala’s not the last in the LaCroix bloodline. If I ever want to be free, Mala has to sever the bond between us. I need her alive.

  Plus, I like her. Dena, too.

 
I pull out the chair. “Let’s begin.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Bessie

  If Your Lips Are Movin’, You’re Lyin’

  My interview with Ferdinand remains a bitter taste on the back of my tongue. Instead of pumping him for information that might help us, I kept fantasizing about his soft lips sliding along my jawline, nibbling down my neck, to the sensitive spot where it meets my shoulder.

  As far as distractions go, his lips are hard to ignore. I’ve been dreaming about them nightly for the last six months, and I’m tired. Why can’t I scrub the jerk from my mind, like I’d do to a dirty ring around the tub? It’s not like I don’t know every word he speaks is a lie.

  After losing my cool and ordering George to remove Ferdinand from the premises—rookie move, Bess—I act even more cowardly by hiding in my office until I can gather my shredded self-control. It’s not easy. Being trapped in that tiny, poorly ventilated room with him overpowered my senses. His scent, a woodsy blend of musk and earth, lingered in each breath. Pheromones oozed out of him, wreaking havoc on my system, filling me with unwanted lust. And his voice! I swear to all that’s holy, his seductive accent made each word a note of a fluid melody. If I didn’t despise Ferdinand with a burning passion, I’d let him whisper sweet honey in my ear all day.

  Shivering, I briskly rub my arms to dispel the tingles traveling across my sensitive skin. It’s been too long since I’ve craved a man this intensely. I’m as moody as a teenage girl with her first crush. Problem is I don’t know how to deal with myself short of a lobotomy.

  I slam my hand on my desk. “Stop wasting time on that man!”

  “What man?”

  My heart leaps up to my throat, and I spin my chair toward the door. “Sana Lane! Girl, how many times have I told you to knock before entering my office? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”