by Nina Bruhns
She watched with interest as Priestess Didi did a tarot spread for Grandmère, one that boded continued good health and more great-grandchildren. That last one was a nobrainer, but left Madame Beaulieux with a broad smile nevertheless.
Then it was Muse's turn.
"I see much change in your life," Didi said solemnly, turning over the first two cards—a tower and something else. She looked up. "It is in complete chaos now, n'est-ce pas?"
"You could say that." Not too hard to guess, either, based on their earlier conversation.
Didi turned over two more cards. A moon and a hideous devil. "There is much secrecy. Something in the past you've been hiding. You have been alone because of it, and afraid and confused. Limiting yourself."
That could describe any number of things about her life. Or anyone else's. "I suppose that's true."
Two more cards. "I see much strength within you and around you. It is your loved ones who help give you this strength." Muse nodded. "There is a man," Didi continued. "This man is also strong. Very strong."
Madame Beaulieux gave her a little wink. "He is handsome, this strong man? Tall and black-haired?"
Didi looked imperiously at Grandmère and said something to her in French that Muse didn't catch. Madame Beaulieux just grinned.
"This man is your passion, your protector, and he is your future," the priestess said, and turned two more cards, to the right of the others. "But he could overwhelm you. You must not let that happen." Didi considered. "There is something you want very badly, but you are afraid for some reason." She looked into Muse's eyes. "Why are you afraid?"
But Muse hardly heard her. She was stuck way back at the words he is your future. Remi? Her protector, yes. Her passion, certainly. But…
"He's not my future," she said.
"The cards say otherwise," the priestess replied.
"Maybe it means my future depends on him. That would make more sense."
The priestess regarded her carefully. "It is possible. But that is not what I am sensing. Is it him you fear?"
Just nonsense, Muse reminded herself. There was no way cards could tell the past or the future or who she was afraid of.
"No. It's my sister I'm afraid for," she evaded. "She could be in danger."
Didi nodded sagely and turned over another card. The Lovers! Muse held her breath.
"You feel responsible," Didi said.
Her breath whooshed out. What did that have to do with lovers? "Yes."
"And there is some kind of choice involved?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"Well, let's see the outcome of this choice."
Didi carefully turned over the last card in the spread, hesitated and placed it on the table.
Muse gasped.
Death!
Both old women took Muse's shaking hands and patted them, making assuring noises.
"Who is it?" Muse cried. "Who will die? My sister?"
"The card doesn't mean someone will die," the priestess said more than once, trying to calm her down. "Almost never. It means a new beginning. Transformation. Severance with the past."
"Are you sure?"
Nonsense or no, Muse was just superstitious enough to be more than upset by the card's prediction.
Didi stood, walking purposefully to a roomy carpetbag that Muse hadn't noticed before. She opened it onto Grandmère's coffee table, revealing a jumble of tied herbs and jars of mysterious substances.
"I will prepare for you two gris-gris bags. A powerful one to ward off death. And another to make sure this strong man stays in your future."
"How?" she asked, thinking of the first.
"By making him fall in love with you," Didi answered.
Muse looked up in alarm. "No! I didn't mean— That's not necessary."
"You'll need one of his hairs," the priestess explained, not paying any attention to Muse's protests as she chose and added ingredients. "Plucked. Put it inside the gris-gris bag, then place the bag under your pillow when you sleep tonight."
Muse made a mental note not to let it get anywhere near the bed without careful consideration.
"Every day you must hold it in your hand and think of him. Think of your future together, how you would like it to be."
"We have no future together," Muse said softly, more to herself than the priestess.
"Then that is how it will be. As for the other," Didi said firmly, "have it with you always. Always. If you do not," she warned, "it cannot keep you safe."
"What about my sister?"
"Hold it and visualize her. It will work for her, too."
Muse gratefully accepted the second gris-gris bag, and reluctantly took the first, as well, a small red satin pouch, emanating the scents of sweet spices and pungent herbs. Then she took her leave of the two old ladies, pleading fatigue from the long day.
But instead of going to her room, she made a detour out through the gardens.
She wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway. No time like the present to do her thinking.
* * *
Muse wandered the beautiful moonlit paths not seeing anything but the darkness ahead nor feeling anything but the fear of making the wrong decision.
This time it wasn't about her sister. By now Grace was surely back in Carolina.
No, this decision was about Remi.
Did she dare do the spell, resolve in her mind and her heart to try to win him for always? Get him to change his stance on commitment, persuade him to quit his wild and woolly life undercover to settle down with a woman who was, ultimately, unsure she could do the same?
Seemed like a long shot.
The whole idea of them being together was crazy insane.
And yet, her heart told her she'd regret it till the day she died if she didn't try.
She wanted him so much, with a need that took her breath away.
But how could she prove to him—and, more importantly, to herself—that she was ready to take on the responsibilities of a real relationship?
In front of her a twig snapped.
"How'd it go?" Remi asked from the darkness. Her heart stopped. He was sitting on a black wrought-iron bench, blending in perfectly with the shadowed green skeletons of the night garden.
She kept her voice steady, despite the pounding of her heart. "Interesting."
She stood there squeezing the two gris-gris bags, torn by uncertainty.
He spotted them and leaned back on the bench in a relaxed sprawl. "Didi fix you up with some good spells to ward off the evil eye?"
"I thought you didn't believe in voodoo?"
"Hell, I'm Créole pur, born an' bred, and have seen Didi's work all my life. I'd be the last one to scoff."
"Really."
He shrugged, crossing his ankles. "Strange things happen in the bayous of Louisiana. Call it what you will."
She held out the gray bag in her hand. "So you think I should keep this with me as protection?"
His grin glowed white in the darkness. "Surely can't hurt." He nodded toward the other bag she clutched. "What's that one for?"
She shifted on her feet. She knew damn well he knew what it was for. The red satin was unmistakable and, as he said, he'd grown up with this stuff.
"Just some silly love thing," she mumbled.
He hummed a few notes, caught the tune and sang, "'Just an old silly love song…"
He got to his feet, all six-foot-plus of him, and strolled over to her. Casually. As though he weren't about to blast her universe out of the water.
"Here." He reached up and plucked a single black hair from his head. "This is what you need, non?"
He pried the red bag from her fingers and with deliberate cool deposited the hair inside it, then handed it back to her.
She was speechless.
Luckily he didn't wait for an answer but leaned down and kissed her. Short. Unadorned. Straight to the point, then over.
But she'd never experienced a more intense kiss. "Dream of me," he whispered, and then he was gone
, too.
* * *
He was following her. Again.
The fine hairs on the back of Muse's neck stood on end. For a split second she slowed her pace, confused. She was back in the French Quarter.
She glanced behind her along the midnight street, feeling evil lurking in the shadows. Davies? Had he finally caught up with her?
Where was Remi?
Above, the clouded moon from the tarot card glowed down menacingly. Suddenly something leaped out of nowhere and grabbed her. She screamed. "No!"
"Your future! Your future!" Didi cried shrilly. Her bony fingers dug painfully into Muse's arms.
"No!"
Ahead of her, Grace appeared, caught by the hideous tarot devil, who laughed hysterically as Grace screamed for help. Muse tried to run to her but was held by a grip of iron.
"Your future! Your future!"
"Remi!" she screamed. Where was he? He'd promised to protect her. He'd promised.
The devil danced with Grace up to the top of the tarot tower, ready to push her from the parapet.
"No-o-o-o!"
Then he looked straight at Muse. "It's you I want!" And just that fast he was on her, grabbing her, holding down her leaden limbs with hands of fire. "You, Muse!"
Memories of that horrible night so long ago flooded through her like a tidal wave. She fought for her life, for her sanity, kicking, clawing, screaming.
"Muse!"
She forced her eyes open. A dark shape loomed over her, holding her down. Shaking her. Just as he had that night.
"Muse!"
No. Not like that night. This man held her in a totally different way. Gently, soothingly.
This man's body didn't threaten. It offered safe harbor.
"Remi?"
"It's me, chère. You're having a bad dream."
She threw her arms around him. "Oh, Remi."
"I'm here now, darlin'."
"I was so frightened."
He kissed her, took her deeper into his calming embrace, weaving his own special, magical spell around her. "I'll always be here for you," he promised.
Deep in her soul she felt something shift within her. A hard, dark kernel thawed, softened and soaked up his nurturing like a thirsty seed.
"Will you?" she asked, wanting, needing to hear the words she so longed for.
"As long as you want me."
"I want you now," she whispered. "Please, Remi. Make love to me."
He didn't hesitate but slid in next to her, filling the bed with his body, his scent, his calming presence. She sat up, tossed off the nightshirt Kit had loaned her and waited impatiently the two seconds it took for him to shed whatever he was wearing.
And then she was in his arms again. Held close as skin to his powerful, muscular body.
She felt no fear. Nothing but sweet desire.
He moaned and canted over her, whispering her name, murmuring endearments in a sultry patois of French and English as he lowered himself between her legs and slid home.
"Muse," he said again and again, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids. "Mon doux amour."
He moved over her, firmly, steadily, not holding back. She was amazed, stunned by the pleasure she felt. No panic, no fear, nothing to mar the incredible bliss of being completely his.
She wanted to whoop and ring bells and shout to the world how wonderful he made her feel!
"Wrap your legs around me," he ordered softly.
She did. He rolled, and suddenly she was on top of him. She laughed, covering his face with kisses, and rolled them back so she was on the bottom again. Over and over, back and forth they rolled on the bed, laughing and kissing and moaning with pleasure, until she didn't know where she was or who she was. All she knew was she was with him, part of him, and she never, ever, ever wanted it to end.
"Mine," he whispered, "You're mine. Just mine."
"Yes," she answered. "I'm yours."
Her body tightened around him possessively, making him tip back his head and groan. "Ah, chère."
She felt his hands glide over her, touching, sending ribbons of desire spiraling through her body.
He drew out, plunged home. She cried out, drowning in the sensation of him. "Yes," she moaned. "Yes."
His fingers found her breast, squeezed, rolled the yearning tip between them, shattering her with sharp, splintering pleasure.
Her breath caught, the world froze, he moved, hard and thick, filling every inch of her. She sobbed once. And surrendered to the sweet power of his love.
It came like waves, the pleasure sweeping over her, robbing the air from her lungs, making her cling to his arms, his back, his heart and soul. When she heard his answering roar, she knew she'd never be the same again.
* * *
It was midmorning and they'd made love for ages. Now Remi lay there in bed, Muse sleeping contentedly in his arms. He wasn't sure what magic had happened between them during those incredible hours. But whatever it was, it had been monumental.
He'd made love before, many times. But it had never been like that.
He felt the hands of fate, sealing his. To her.
There was no way he would let her go, could let her go. Not now. Not after this.
She stirred, and he held her tighter, awed and humbled by the change in her. By the courage and ability she'd found to let the past go, to allow herself to trust again to this degree.
Could he muster that same courage?
Somehow he had to find it. For her. So they could be together. Always.
Today he'd tell her. He would quit his undercover work. Move to Carolina with her if that's what she wanted. Buy her a big house on the beach, with a darkroom, pamper her for the rest of her life. And let her pamper him.
But first a nap. Neither of them had gotten much sleep last night, and none since dawn.
With a happy smile he cuddled closer to his woman and let his eyelids shut out the bright light of morning.
And told himself Davies would never find her. Between Beau and himself, they'd keep her safe. Nothing would stand in the way of his future with Muse.
Nothing.
* * *
When he woke she was gone.
Gone from the bed, gone from the house, gone from Terrebeau.
And so was his extra gun.
"How?" he demanded of Beau when he found his cousin helping Kit prepare Sunday dinner in the kitchen.
"The Porsche," Beau replied, pointing out the window at the empty spot where the car had been parked. "I saw it pull out about half an hour ago."
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"I assumed you were with her. How was I to know you'd turned into such a slug?" He glanced pointedly at the clock. It was well after noon.
Remi ignored the gibe and narrowed his eyes at Kit. "Do you know anything about this?" He waved the note he'd found on Muse's pillow, reciting, "'Forgive me, Remi. You were right about responsibility. I'm sorry. I have to go. Love, Muse.'"
Kit shook her head as she washed carrots from the garden. "No, but I'm not surprised."
"That she left me? Why? Am I that terrible?"
Kit's mouth dropped open. "Remi, no! She didn't leave you. She went to Grace."
"Same thing," he muttered, crumpling the note in his fist.
His heart felt like a knife had been thrust into it. Once again a woman had put her feelings for another above him, betraying his love and the trust he'd begun to have in her. He should have known it would happen.
"It's not the same thing at all," Kit said patiently, drying her hands. "Though I can see how it might feel that way right now." She came over and gave him a hug.
"You were perhaps a bit … rigid … about her sister," Beau offered. "Now, I'm not saying you were wrong. But maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to take a quick trip to N'Orleans to see Grace. Before Muse set off by herself."
Remi clenched his teeth. His own cousin… He jetted out a breath, taming the urge to smash plates.
"Go to her," Kit s
aid. "She's crazy in love with you, Remi. Any fool can see that."
He snorted. "She has a strange way of showing it."
Beau looked over at him and smiled.
Remi slammed his eyes shut. He knew just what the annoying bastard was thinking. Beau had said those exact same words four years ago when Remi'd given him the exact same advice about Kit.
Saloperie! Damn it, didn't he see the circumstances were completely different?
"Admit it," Beau quoted further, irritating him even more, "You're miserable without her. Tell her so. Get down on your knees and beg if you have to."
"Very funny." Remi set his jaw, but turned and stalked upstairs to get his things.
He'd go after her, all right. And he'd find her, too. Aside from anything else, this was his job she was messing with by defying his orders to stay put. No way was he losing a FBI witness. If Davies hadn't already killed her by now, Remi might just do the deed himself. After she'd testified.
* * *
When he got the phone call from Dev twenty minutes out of New Orleans, Remi thought he'd been prepared for anything. But he wasn't.
"Davies has her," Dev announced grimly. "Morris just called."
Remi almost drove Beau's Mercedes off the road. "What? How? Where?" he demanded, grabbing hold of the wheel to keep from pulling his hair out.
"Snatched from Muse's apartment just a few minutes ago."
He forced himself to calm down. "How the hell did that happen?"
"Davies's goon, Gary Fox, showed up this morning and took back that videotape Muse stole."
"Grace removed it from the safety-deposit box at the bank?"
"Apparently so. Anyway, since Fox didn't kill her then, Morris didn't think she was in any danger so he pulled off the two men guarding her."
Remi's mind whirled in confusion, then realized with a snap that Dev wasn't talking about Muse. "You mean Grace? Davies kidnapped Grace?"
"Who did you think I meant? Yeah, that cop, Levalois, called Morris just as he was charging to the rescue."
"Was Muse there?"
"Muse? No. Why? Hell, Remi. Are you telling me you lost Muse?"
"I didn't lose her. She bolted."
There was a short pause. "Jeezus. How long?"
"Thank God not long enough. Where did they take Grace?"
"Unknown. Hang on. It's Morris on the other line. I'll patch us."