Heart of Lies

by Jill Marie Landis

  IRISH ANGEL SERIES

  HEART

  of

  LIES

  A Novel

  Book Two

  JILL MARIE LANDIS

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  To the people of Louisiana —past, present, and future.

  The LORD will guide you always;

  he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

  and will strengthen your frame.

  Isaiah 58:11

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  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

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  Free Preview

  Also by Jill Marie Landis

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  CHAPTER 1

  LOUISIANA 1875

  Beneath a crescent moon, a crudely built cabin rested on crooked cypress stilts planted in the chocolate-brown water of the bayou. A dock lined the front. The back of the cabin touched the edge of marshland that was illusive at best, a muddy bog at worst. A thousand eyes watched from the slowly moving water, tall reeds, and rises — alligators, muskrats, mink, rats, deer, an occasional bear. Silent denizens of the swamp, they existed here at the whim of the water and the storms that blew in without warning.

  Fall had arrived. The muggy heat of summer was gone, gentled by cool air that drifted down from the north. Soon hundreds of thousands of birds would flock south to the marsh to escape winter’s cold.

  The bayou was a place of refuge for more than winged fowl. Humans, too, easily hid where back roads curled through dense overgrowth and miles of shallow, narrow waterways crisscrossed the swamp.

  The cabin held one such human. Inside walls made of rough-hewn cypress planks lined with old newspapers, silence was broken by tormented sounds as Maddie Grande whimpered her way through a recurring nightmare. It was always the same, always terrifying. Maddie was a child again, running frantically. Her bare feet slapped the cobblestoned streets of New Orleans as she fought to keep up with the lanky man in the lead. A blonde girl, not much taller than Maddie, tugged her by the wrist.

  All she could see of the man was his back. His greasy dark hair hung beneath his wide-brimmed black hat and over his hunched shoulders. His coat was well-worn, threadbare around cuffs that didn’t reach his wrists. It swayed loosely from his shoulders, flapping as the three of them ran.

  The other child, an inch taller, tightened her grip on Maddie’s wrist and whispered a warning. “Keep up. You can do it.”

  Somehow Maddie knew that if she fell behind, a beating would be her swift reward. Like Mercury, fear fashioned wings on her feet.

  The nightmare unfolded through a fog of forgotten memories, the edges of the vision blurred and tattered like the stained pages of a book left too long in the rain. The streets they traversed were cool and damp, the air close and warm. The sounds and smells around them familiar: New Orleans in early morning. Street lamps were extinguished as vendors at the French Market set up their wares and shouted to customers and each other in a patois of languages. Indians sold furs and herbs; farmers hawked fruits, vegetables, and spices. Hunters and butchers offered meats of every kind. Fishmongers promised a fresh catch and a bounty of seafood. People of every hue crowded the stalls.

  Behind the scene, slaves hauled hogsheads loaded with tobacco, cotton, indigo, and cane to nearby warehouses. Refreshment stands lined the blocks near the market. The smell of gumbo and fresh-brewed coffee tainted the heavy, humid air.

  No one noticed the ragtag trio fleeing past. Maddie, urged by the blonde, ran on.

  Eventually they reached an area where homes stood alongside businesses. Now and again she glimpsed cool, shaded courtyards through gateway grilles. She longed to stop and dip her hand into one of the trickling fountains, to take a sip of water. But she was not allowed to tarry. Air burned her lungs as she fought to keep up the breakneck pace. She had no doubt that the blonde girl would drag her body down the street if she stumbled and fell.

  When the man suddenly halted, Maddie clasped her free hand to her side where a stitch ached like fire. She stared up at the wooden planks in a huge door before them. It was anchored to a thick stucco wall.

  The older girl turned, but the face of the blonde child who so protectively clung to her hand never fully materialized. In its place was nothing but a pale oval, a wavering, shadowy void where a face should be.

  That faded, faceless image filled Maggie — not only with terror, but with feelings of intense sorrow and loss.

  The faceless girl slicked down Maddie’s hair and whispered, “I’ll watch out for you. No matter what.”

  Maddie had suffered through the same nightmare countless times. Who was this child she mourned? Why did the nightmare haunt her, even in the best of times?

  The skeletal man, just as unidentifiable, gave a phlegmy cough before he raised his hand and lifted the wrought-iron ring on the door knocker. It hit the wooden door with the hollow, ominous clang of a final heartbeat.

  As the door swung open, the man faded from the nightmare. Maddie’s hand tightened; she clung to the older girl’s, and together they stepped over the threshold. The space around them narrowed to become a blood-red hallway. Flames licked the amber globes of flickering gas lamps along the walls. The girls’ shadows wavered and danced over a decadently expensive textured wall covering.

  Maddie’s heart began to pound frantically. Scented perfume weighed heavily on the close air in the hall. She heard the sound of a door open and close. Now and again there came a throaty laugh, a moan, a cry.

  Another man, different from the first but just as indistinguishable, suddenly appeared and came slowly toward the girls. Maddie’s blood ran cold. He was as tall as the first but not as lanky. His crooked hat reminded her of a bent and broken stovepipe. The tails of his black coat flapped behind him as he strode forward.

  Maddie was ever aware of the child beside her. She felt the other girl’s panic, felt her stiffen, heard her cry out. Suddenly the older girl’s hand was torn away, their hold broken.

  The faceless child shouted, “No!” and tried to grab Maddie. Her cries were abruptly ended by the sound of a slap that cracked on the air between them.

  Without warning, the man in the black coat hoisted Maddie to his shoulder. Handled with no more reverence than a bag of rice, she dangled head down, staring down at the whirling patterns of the red and gold carpeted floor. Her head began to swim. As the stranger scuttled along the crimson-lined hallway carrying her away, the other girl started screaming again and so did Maddie.

  She kept on screaming as darkness closed around her. She screamed until shadows choked out the light. Everything faded away but the sound of her own voice.

  Now her muffled cries broke the stillness on the bayou and filled the small cabin.
Startled awake, no longer a child, Maddie Grande sat up drenched in perspiration and stared into the dark void around her. With the screams echoing in her head, she swung her legs over the edge of her moss-stuffed mattress and set her bare feet on the rough floorboards. She rose and stood for a moment beside her narrow cot listening to the creaks and groans of the cabin as the water lapped around the pilings. It was a comforting, familiar sound.

  She padded across the room to where a tall pottery crock stood on a crooked shelf. Staring out a window above the shelf, she reached for a ladle, dipped fresh water from the crock, and brought the cool liquid to her lips.

  Outside the window, a scant spoonful of moonlight filtered down through tall cypress trees, a wall of deep green that appeared jet-black in the darkness. Draped with gray Spanish moss, the ghost forest towered over the swamp. Maddie stared past her reflection in the wavering glass and out into the darkness, acutely aware that she was alone in the cabin, alone in the swamp. Yet she had no fear. She had survived the streets of New Orleans. Out here on the bayou, most of what she feared was of nature, not of men.

  Besides, she was not frightened of death. She had already lost those she held most dear. She had nothing left to lose.

  She sighed, listened to the barely audible sound of slow-moving water, then reached out to press her palm against the cool glass. Her own image stared back at her, elusive in the muted light. Thick, dark-brown hair with barely a hint of a wave tumbled past her shoulders. Eyes of nearly the same color but for a hint of green stared back. There was not enough moonlight to reveal the nearly faded scar near the end of her right brow. Of how it came to be there, she had no memory.

  As she turned, intent on returning to her cot, she heard the scrape of a wooden pirogue against one of the piers. Relieved, she let go another sigh. The twins were back.

  She fumbled with the temperamental oil lamp on the table. The golden glow illuminated the interior, revealing the side of the room where Maddie slept. It was neatly kept, in stark contrast to the jumbled lair where the twins piled their nests of clothing, old pieces of traps, and things they were “due to fix” heaped around.

  She heard heavy footfalls against the dock outside and turned as the door opened. Red-headed Lawrence, burly and broad shouldered, walked in first. The freckles that spattered his face melded together in the lamplight. His eyes were blue, shadowed by heavy lids that gave him the appearance of perpetual drowsiness. Lawrence appeared slow-witted only because he was accustomed to letting his twin brother, Terrance, think for him. He was so adept at sleepwalking through life, Lawrence rarely needed to think at all.

  He nodded to Maddie and headed straight for a brown-and-white jug full of white lightening. Hooking his forefinger through the ring on the neck, he lifted the cork and took a swig. Only then did he turn and smile at her.

  But when he glanced back toward the open doorway, he wore a look of concern.

  “What are you doing up, Maddie?” As if it were an afterthought, he took another swig and then set the jug in the middle of the table where Terrance would find it waiting.

  She shrugged. She never talked about her nightmare, never showed any sign of weakness. Cowardice had always been ridiculed. Fears were not to be mentioned aloud, as if silence could wither them in their tracks.

  She’d thought of the twins as her brothers for almost as long as she could remember. Impoverished urchins, they had grown up working the streets and back alleys of New Orleans. They knew how to pick pockets, to beg, to create a diversion while the others worked a crowd. They stole anything that wasn’t nailed down. They’d been taught how to bite and scratch and escape the law, and they embraced their lives of thievery even as they matured.

  When Terrance finally decided they should move to the bayou, Maddie welcomed the change. There was nothing left for her in the city. Nowhere she called home.

  No one cared what she did or where she lived.

  Lawrence shifted and turned for his cot. He brushed off a pile of clothes, ignoring them as they fell to the floor. The bed sagged as he sat.

  “Where’s Terrance?” She glanced toward the open door.

  He shrugged. “Tying up the pirogue. He’ll be along any minute.”

  She knew better than to ask where they’d been or what they’d been doing for the past three days. Even if they told her, the less she knew the better.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I can hold till mornin'.”

  He was looking ready to bed down for the night when they heard Terrance’s footsteps. Maddie turned and watched the second twin walk in. Equally tall and bulky, he moved stealthily for such a large man.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  Shock hit her in a mighty wave when she saw the figure cradled in his arms. Two small feet shod in ankle-high black leather shoes dangled from beneath the frayed hem of a gray Confederate Army-issue blanket.

  “What have you done?” she whispered, tearing her gaze away from the bundled child to meet Terrance’s eyes.

  His eyes, identical to his brothers except that they were cool and emotionless, narrowed in defiance. He silently dared her to criticize him. “I’m lookin’ out for our future, that’s what.” He shot a glance at his brother seated on the edge of his sagging cot. “That’s more than I can say for some around here.”

  He carried his burden over to Maddie’s cot and gently laid it down near the wall. As he gave the blanket a slight tug downward, Maddie found herself staring at a beautiful little girl with a head full of coiled black ringlets. She was sound asleep, wearing a fur-lined red cape worth more than everything in the ramshackle cabin put together.

  A twinge squeezed Maddie’s heart. Unable to speak, she ached to reach out and touch the child’s porcelain cheek so badly that she had to fist her hands in the folds of her skirt.

  “Why?” She turned on Terrance, afraid there was only one explanation for the child’s presence. “You’re not thinking of starting a new tribe —”

  Across the room, Lawrence laughed. Maddie and Terrance, locked in a battle of wills, ignored him.

  “Those days are over, Terrance. They died with Dexter,” she whispered.

  Dexter Grande had been their leader, their father, keeper, mentor, and judge. He was the visionary, the glue who had held their tribe together, the one who “recruited” his band of children, the one who taught them to steal and to survive on the streets.

  Two years ago, apoplexy had brought him down at the ripe old age of sixty-five, and without him, what was left of their tribe quickly scattered.

  “It worked for Dexter; why not me?” Terrance speculated. “He’s dead but that don’t mean we can’t start a new tribe — not just children, but men too. We can run the same games.”

  Maddie turned on him. “Look around. We don’t live in New Orleans anymore.”

  She didn’t want to think about moving back to the city. For the most part the twins were never here and she was alone, which suited her just fine. On the bayou there were no reminders of her own losses, only the gentle, healing sound of the water lapping against the dock and the hush of the wind through the lacy cypress.

  He was at the table now, lifting the jug. He took a couple of deep draughts, set the jug down, and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “All I need is the chance to make a few connections. For now, I’m thinking bigger than Dexter. I’m thinking we use her for a bankroll.” He nodded at the sleeping child on the cot. “Why should we waste time havin’ her dance for a dollar or two or picking pockets on the street when there’s real money to be had?”

  “You tell me,” Lawrence said. It was one of his favorite sayings. Terrance always obliged.

  Lit by greed, Terrance’s eyes glittered. “One word: reward. Easy money, and lots of it, from the looks of her. We can get any orphan to run the scams, but this one …”

  Maddie didn’t know which would be worse: hiding the child until they could collect a reward or the idea that Terrance wanted to start a new
tribe. One thing she knew for certain: the girl on the bed was no orphaned street urchin. This child belonged to someone wealthy. This child would be missed.

  Her family would leave no stone unturned until she was found.

  “What if there is no reward?” A pronounced belch followed Lawrence’s query. He rolled onto his side and folded his arm beneath his head.

  Terrance shrugged and headed toward his own bed. “There will be. If not, we’ll demand a ransom.” He looked at Maddie. “If no one wants her, then I guess our new tribe will start sooner than we thought.” His gaze pinned Maddie with an intensity that belied his twenty-two years. “You still know what to do in that case, don’t you, Mad?”

  A shiver ran down her spine. She knew exactly what to do. She’d done it often enough to know it would work and enough to know she never wanted to do it again.

  “No.” She raised her chin defiantly.

  “What do you mean no?” Terrance took a step closer.

  She didn’t back down. “I won’t do it. Not anymore.”

  He grabbed her arm and twisted. “You’ll do as I say. I’m in charge now.”

  “In charge of what?” She pulled out of his grasp, marched across the cabin to put space between them while Lawrence watched from his cot. “You’re not Dexter. Besides, you’re never here. It’s me that puts food on the table and me that keeps this place going while you two run off to New Orleans to drink and whore and gamble and steal. I’ll not do your dirty work, Terrance. I’ll not do anyone’s dirty work anymore.”

  “You’re a big talker, Maddie, but I know you’ll do whatever I say because we’re family. We’re all that’s left of the tribe.” He softened his tone, held out his hand, almost pleading. “Come on, Mad. You took the same oath we did. You pledged your loyalty.”

  She knew he was just using the past to try to move her. He was loyal only to himself. She was just a means to an end.

  “Those days are gone, Terrance. The tribe I pledged loyalty to has disbanded. All that’s left is the three of us. I won’t be part of that again.”