by Jana DeLeon
WICKED
A SHAYE ARCHER NOVEL
Jana DeLeon
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Copyright © 2017 by Jana DeLeon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-940270-43-2
Created with Vellum
1
Sunday, October 18, 2015
* * *
Amber Olivier awakened in a cold sweat, the bitter taste of blood in her mouth and her head throbbing. The nightmare that had launched her into consciousness turned quickly to fear when she opened her eyes to pitch black. She reached to the right to turn on the lamp on her nightstand, but her hand bumped into something solid just inches from her body. She pushed herself up, but her head struck something above her and she winced and dropped back to a lying position.
She reached to her left and above her, but everywhere, her hands touched a solid structure covered with satin. Her heart pounded so hard that it echoed in her head, almost drowning out the sounds of her rapid breathing. She kicked her feet up and out, but they met with the same resistance as her hands.
Where was she? How did she get here?
Forcing the panic back a tiny bit, she focused her frantic mind to recall the last thing it had recorded, but everything was a blur. She remembered putting on her favorite blue blouse…the party! She was going to a party at the university. Bits of the event rolled through her mind. A big green vase. Crab dip. Dancing with someone. She couldn’t see his face.
The punch!
She’d asked for the one with no alcohol but the last thing she remembered was downing the rest of her plastic cup and throwing it in the trash can near the hedges.
Were her sorority sisters playing a joke on her? Had they locked her in a closet? No, that couldn’t be. She was lying down. So something else. Were they standing around, waiting to see how long she’d last before yelling? Well, they were going to be really happy because she had no intention of staying quietly in whatever structure this was.
She banged on the top of the enclosure she was in, but the cushioned fabric only created a dull thud. Striking the sides of the structure with her hands and the bottom with her feet didn’t increase the noise level. So she screamed. Screamed so loudly that her throat burned and she started to gag. Screamed until she didn’t have a breath of air left in her.
When she stopped, she drew in a breath so quickly that it made her chest hurt. And she listened. She listened for any sign that her sorority sisters were standing outside this box, waiting to let her out and laugh at her, even though she didn’t want to believe they could be that mean.
And that’s when it hit her…the rectangular box, the satin padded sides.
It was a coffin.
She started screaming again.
2
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana
* * *
Shaye Archer tossed her backpack on the bed and looked around the room that she’d spent the second half of her life in. The better half. Her adoptive mother, Corrine, hadn’t relocated so much as a comb since Shaye had moved out of the Garden District estate and into her own apartment in the French Quarter, still holding out hope that Shaye would change her mind and move back home.
Corrine had gotten her wish, but the price had been far too high.
It had been two months since they’d fled the country, trying to get away from the media that hounded them, hoping they could find a time and a place to heal.
Hoping healing was even possible.
Shaye’s third case as a private investigator had been her biggest, the most explosive, and the most devastating. The memories that she’d kept locked inside her mind for almost ten years had flooded back in like a tidal wave. Every moment of abuse, every tear shed, every cry for help…all of them rushing through her mind as if on instant replay.
It was so bad it physically crippled her, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
Her grandfather’s suicide was the worst part.
Pierce Archer had been a victim in a blackmail scheme that had traced back to his plantation-owning ancestors. He’d recognized the pentagram brand on Shaye’s back as belonging to his blackmailer, but since he had no way to identify the man, he’d chosen to go the silent route, hiding his family’s shameful past. In the end, he saw a future of ridicule for Corrine and Shaye and opted out of life in order to give them a clean slate.
But that slate wasn’t so clean.
Corrine had inherited her father’s empire and had to make decisions about corporate business that she had no interest in and never had. She’d claimed she would sell it all, but even liquidating was a long road with a lot of work along the way. And all of it would be conducted under the watchful eye of the media, who were frantic to best one another and get an inside scoop on the shame that had befallen the Archer family.
Corrine’s best friend, Eleonore, had informed them that camera crews had camped outside Corrine’s house for over a month, waiting for them to return, so Corrine had delayed their return to New Orleans, determined to wait until the media had given up. But that didn’t mean they’d completely gone away. All it meant was that when they returned, they could drive through the front gate without having microphones and cameras shoved in their faces. At least once.
Shaye wasn’t looking forward to the media storm that would follow their return. Given her sensational past, she was already used to being under scrutiny by most everyone whose path she crossed, but things were much bigger now. Reporters would hound her, trying to get her story. All Shaye wanted was to return to her work, but that would be difficult if she was being followed. She’d considered doing an interview just to get it over with, but she knew it wouldn’t work. One interview would lead to a request for another and another until her life was nothing more than one of those reality shows she saw on television. She had no idea how long it would take for people to stop caring.
The other alternative was to move. Shaye’s trust fund was already more money than she’d ever need in a lifetime. Money was not and never would be a concern, and that was a huge blessing, but where would she go? Shaye had been to a lot of different places, but none like New Orleans. She loved the culture, the architecture, the people, and the food. More importantly, it felt like where she belonged.
“At least it’s quiet.” Corrine’s voice sounded from her bedroom door.
Shaye turned around. “You did have us land at two a.m.”
“Well, it worked.”
Corrine hadn’t wanted the first thing they encountered to be a three-ring circus, so she’d forgone use of her father’s Learjet, now hers, and instead chartered a private jet to fly them back to the US. In a second bid for momentary privacy, she’d chosen to land in the middle of the night, the hope being that they could at least get inside Corrine’s house without disruption.
Shaye knew all of this dancing around was simply stalling the inevitable, but
if her mother wanted to have a few hours of peace in her own home before facing the never-ending questions and whispering that were coming, Shaye wasn’t about to complain.
“Eleonore is on her way over,” Corrine said.
“Now?”
“I don’t think she believes we’re really here.”
Eleonore Blanchet was Corrine’s oldest and dearest friend and a renowned psychiatrist. She’d played a huge part in Shaye’s therapy and had helped her adjust to and accept a normal life, or as normal as one’s life could be given Shaye’s previously unknown past. Shaye had no doubt that Eleonore would be first in line to volunteer to help her deal with her returning memory.
If Shaye was being honest, she was looking forward to talking to Eleonore. Shaye loved her mother like no one else, but because of that, she would never tell her everything she’d remembered about her past. The kindhearted Corrine was also tough, but Shaye didn’t think she was strong enough to handle more than she already had on her plate. It spoke loads that Corrine hadn’t pressed Shaye to talk about her memory returning. For the first time since she’d known her, Shaye had seen Corrine at her limit.
“I guess I better put off undressing and climbing into bed,” Shaye said, even though that’s exactly what she’d been planning to do. She’d even forgone a shower in her mind, deciding to let everything slide until she got some decent sleep. No matter how hard she tried, she’d never been able to sleep on a plane, even a luxurious, quiet private jet.
“At this point,” Corrine said, “I don’t think Eleonore would care if we were both naked, but I’d rather we all hug clothed. I’m going downstairs to fix some decaffeinated coffee.”
Shaye nodded and Corrine left the room. She lifted the blinds on her window and peered out into the beautifully landscaped backyard. Every hedge was perfect. The patio furniture was all aligned with not a single leaf or stitch of grass upon it. It was as if they’d never left. All the people paid to keep up the property had done their jobs whether Corrine had been here to oversee them or not.
Life had gone on.
And that was the crux of it. Life would be different now—that went without saying—but it could still be great. There would always be that dark place in her mind where she carried the memories of her so-called childhood, and the grief and sadness she felt over the loss of her grandfather, but she still had her mother, Eleonore, and her work.
And maybe someone else.
She went into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water, trying not to notice the dark circles under her eyes. She was too young to look so old, but then, if experience counted, she was far older than her twenty-four years. Short of putting on makeup, which she rarely did, nothing could be done about it tonight, but eventually, she’d get back into a routine. She’d sleep normally and without the nightmares that plagued her. She’d smile again and mean it, and her skin would return to that of a twentysomething.
Eventually.
She blew out a breath and headed downstairs.
Eleonore was in the kitchen with Corrine when she walked in. Shaye paused for a moment, somewhat shocked at the older woman’s appearance. Her slacks and shirt, usually neatly pressed, looked as if she’d spent the last day sleeping in them. Her hair, which was always cut in a neat bob that came to her neck, was pulled back into a ponytail, escaped pieces of silver sticking out in different directions. Her face looked haggard, the lines deeper, the circles under her eyes more pronounced.
Shaye glanced at Corrine and could tell her mother was concerned about Eleonore’s appearance as well, but now wasn’t the time to ask. Shaye moved across the floor and hugged her friend and therapist. Eleonore clutched her hard and kissed her cheek.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you,” Eleonore said and released her. “Both of you. It seems like forever.”
“How are things here?” Corrine asked and placed a cup of coffee for each of them on the kitchen counter.
They all slid onto barstools and Eleonore poured a packet of sweetener in her coffee.
“Things are…odd,” Eleonore said. “That’s really the only way I can describe them. Not a day goes by that Pierce’s name isn’t mentioned on the news. Who will fill his state senate position—which, of course, allows the segue into everything else. I’m afraid it’s all still very much the story.”
Corrine sighed. “We didn’t expect anything else. I kept hoping a bigger scandal would break loose, but I suppose that was too much to ask.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered,” Eleonore said. “The Archer family is practically New Orleans royalty. I’m not certain what kind of scandal would deflect attention from you.”
“Nothing,” Shaye said. “It’s too sensational and there’s all that ‘human element’ with my backstory. It is what it is. They’ll go away when they realize they’re not going to get anything from us.”
Eleonore nodded. “The silent road is definitely the route I recommend taking. Let everyone think whatever they want. They will whether you talk or not.”
Shaye clutched her coffee mug, trying to figure out a way to bring up the next topic without sounding desperate or anxious. Finally, she just blurted out the question she’d wanted to ask ever since she set eyes on Eleonore.
“Have you talked to Jackson?” Shaye asked.
Eleonore’s expression softened, and she smiled. “Often. We have a standing drink date every other Wednesday evening.”
Corrine’s eyes widened and Shaye could feel her mother’s anxiety all the way across the counter.
“Not that kind of drink,” Eleonore said, cluing in to their worry. “We have fancy coffees at a café in the French Quarter. They give us the same table in a back corner where the press can’t hear us when we talk. It drives them crazy.” She looked at Shaye. “He always asks about you. It’s the first thing out of his mouth every time I see him. He’s a good man. I thought so before but I’m certain of it now.”
The worry that had been niggling in the back of Shaye’s mind for two months started to melt away. She’d worried that Jackson would wash his hands of her. Helping her look into her past had put him in a bad position with the New Orleans Police Department and his partner, Senior Detective Grayson. Even worse, the events uncovered that Chief of Police Bernard had been blackmailed by Shaye’s captor and had also hidden things about her past. Unable to live with what he’d done and the fallout that was coming, Bernard had taken the same way out as Shaye’s grandfather.
“How is he doing…with the department?” Shaye asked. “Is he having trouble?”
“There’s a lot of tension,” Eleonore said. “The city got a retired police chief from Baton Rouge to fill in until they can figure out who to replace Bernard with. Jackson says there are several qualified for the position, but they’ve all been there for decades…”
“And they’re being investigated along with everyone else who worked for Bernard for any length of time,” Shaye finished. “And I guess Jackson is caught up in that mess.”
Eleonore nodded. “They grill him on a regular basis, but we all know Jackson has already given them everything he had, which wasn’t much in the big scheme of things. It’s my opinion that Jonal’s journals contained the most information we’re ever going to see. Everything else is a witch hunt.”
Jonal Deremeau was the man who’d started the blackmail of Pierce’s grandfather years ago. He was also the man who’d figured out who held Shaye captive and had freed her, trying to make up for the sordid things he’d done in the past, including his guilt over the monster that held Shaye. He’d died shortly after rescuing Shaye, and no one had ever known about his involvement until Shaye had followed the old trail of clues and had been given Jonal’s journals by his longtime housekeeper. Those journals had unraveled decades of deceit and lies.
“The police department won’t let it go, regardless of whether or not there’s more to glean from continuing the investigation,” Corrine said. “They feel they have a damaged reputation to
repair. Chief Bernard saved them the embarrassment of having to bring one of their own to trial, but he left the rest of his men with a cloud of uncertainty hanging over them.”
“In so many ways, it’s a no-win situation,” Eleonore said. “Jackson says opinion seems to be split down the middle. Half place some blame on him for what happened and the other half are smart enough to know the truth, but they all wish he hadn’t been in the thick of it.”
Guilt washed over Shaye like a slow drizzle. Everything Jackson was dealing with was her fault. One hundred percent. If she’d never asked for his help, then he wouldn’t be facing any of this. Of course, if she hadn’t asked for his help, she might not even be here to feel guilty, but that was a thought to ponder on another day. Right now, the only thing that mattered was seeing if she could help alleviate any of the burden she’d brought on the only man she’d ever cared a lot about besides her grandfather.
“I didn’t tell him you were coming back,” Eleonore said. “I knew you’d want to do that yourself and on your own time. But I wouldn’t delay very long or he’ll find out another way.”
Shaye nodded. The last thing she wanted was for Jackson to hear about her homecoming on the news, and it wasn’t the sort of thing she felt she should do by phone, either. First thing tomorrow morning, before the sun was even up, she’d go to his apartment and see him in person. It was the very least she owed him after everything he’d done. And if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to see him.
She just hoped Eleonore was right and Jackson wanted to see her.
3
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
* * *
Tara Chatry stormed out of the New Orleans Police Department, angry at the so-called detective she’d spoken to but even more angry at herself. It wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning, and she’d already put herself into the red. It had to be some kind of record. Normally it took months of condescension before she lost it, but Detective Vincent had managed to send her straight into the stratosphere in a matter of minutes.