by Opal Carew
“If I don’t know where she is, how can I send her the divorce papers?”
He had a point. Still—
“It was never a real marriage,” he insisted.
“You got a license?”
“Yeah.”
“Then it was real.”
“I never loved her. She never loved me. We got married because... “ He shrugged and I understood.
“You couldn’t keep it in your pants. What a shock.” Silence settled over the interior of the car. But I was unable to remain quiet for long. “Why did you tell me you couldn’t have children?”
“I can’t. Not anymore. After Luc I—” He fell silent, as if he could no longer find the words.
I had no such trouble. “You were in an accident? Caught the mumps? What?”
“I had a vasectomy.”
My mouth fell open. I seemed to have that problem a lot lately. “Why?”
“I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“What if you met someone? Wanted more children?”
“I won’t.”
My chest hurt, as if someone were pounding on it with a lead pipe, trying to break my heart.
“You can’t know that,” I managed.
“I will never marry again. Never have another child. It’s the way things are.”
I never planned to marry again, either, knew with utter certainty I’d never love anyone the way I’d loved Simon. I hadn’t wanted a baby with him; I definitely didn’t want one with anyone else. So why did Adam’s words bother me so much?
Because I smelled a lie in there somewhere; I just wasn’t sure where. Perhaps it was the lie of omission. He had another life, a family I didn’t even know about. And if he’d lied about that, he’d probably lied about something else.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Luc?”
“My life in the swamp is different from my life with my son.”
“And I’m part of your life in the swamp? How flattering.”
“Diana, you don’t understand—”
“I think I do. You don’t want your precious son being contaminated by the trampy woman you’re screwing.”
His jaw tightened. “That isn’t what I said.”
“You don’t have to.” I crossed my arms and stared out the window.
“I’ll do anything to keep Luc from being hurt.”
I shot him a glare. “You think I’d hurt him?”
“Not on purpose. But—” He lifted his hand from the steering wheel, then lowered it. “He wants a mother. I can’t give him one.”
“You could.”
“You plan on stayin’, cher? You want a ready-made family? A little cabin in the swamp? Drive a car pool? Make bag lunches? Soccer games and Little League?”
When I hesitated, he nodded. “That’s what I thought. So I keep him away. Why get his hopes up? He’s gonna have a hard enough life as it is.”
“Why is his life going to be hard?”
“That’s just the way life is.”
“You know the future?”
“Sometimes I think I do.”
I stared at him as he stared out the windshield. “You say the strangest things.”
“I don’t want you to tell anyone about him.”
I spread my hands wide. “Who would I tell?”
“No one knows he’s my son. I want to keep it that way. People around here, they think I’m nuts.”
“I wonder why.”
He ignored me. “Luc should have as normal of a life as possible.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“My life isn’t normal.”
“It could be.”
“I have responsibilities. Things I have to do—”
A thought broke through my confusion. “Are you still in the army? Some super secret agent crap?”
“No,” he said shortly.
“What, exactly, do you do?”
He didn’t bother to answer, which only made me more suspicious. But his next words hurt so much, I forgot all about that
“I don’t want you to see Luc again.”
“Fine.”
I didn’t plan on seeing Adam again, either. Just because I didn’t want children didn’t mean I was going to take kindly to being told I wasn’t allowed near one. Adam was making me feel bad, and I already felt bad enough.
He turned off the main road and slowed at the sight of a car parked in front of the mansion. Cassandra sat on the porch. As we pulled up she stood, hand raised to shield her eyes from the bright morning sunlight.
I glanced at my watch. Seven forty-five. Damn. I’d told her I’d call by 7:00 a.m. and let her know I was okay. I was surprised Detective Sullivan wasn’t here, too.
“Who is that?” Adam murmured.
“Cassandra.”
“She don’t look like a voodoo priestess.”
“Exactly what does a voodoo priestess look like?”
“Hell if I know.”
Cassandra’s face flooded with relief when she saw me. Her gaze went to Adam, and her eyebrows shot up. I’m sure he had that effect on all the women.
I climbed out of the car. “I forgot to call.”
“I can see why.”
I turned to introduce Adam, and he drove away. I was left gaping at the taillights of his Chevy. Sure, I’d planned to blow him off, but he hadn’t even given me the chance.
“Antisocial much?” Cassandra murmured.
“You have no idea.”
“What happened last night?”
“He isn’t the loup-garou.”
Cassandra’s only reaction was a slight lifting of her dark eyebrows. “How do you know?”
“I touched him with your knife, and he didn’t explode.”
“Not into flames anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She smirked. “You had sex.”
“See that in your crystal ball?”
“Didn’t have to. I can tell by the way you watched him go. Where were you?”
I almost told her, then I remembered Adam’s admonition about Luc. Not that I’d promised anything. Not that I owed Adam anything. Not that Cassandra was any type of threat. Then again I had no idea whom I could trust and whom I couldn’t. I’d thought Adam and I had something—if not love, well, at least lust and extreme like.
Discovering he had a son, that he was, technically, married, had shaken my confidence. Go figure. Having him say he didn’t want me near his child hurt. But I wasn’t going to make myself feel any better by telling Cassandra. I didn’t think anything would make me feel better.
“Diana? Where were you?”
“His place.”
“In the swamp.”
I nodded. We had been, most of the time.
I remembered something else about Luc—he wasn’t supposed to exist. I’d found no record of his birth. Had I missed it? Had it been lost, stolen, misplaced?
The sound of vehicles turning off the main highway made both Cassandra and I glance up. A delivery truck and an unmarked police car rattled down the driveway.
“Sullivan.” Cassandra didn’t sound pleased.
“Ms. Malone.” Sullivan approached, nodded at me, then Cassandra. “Priestess.”
He put a sarcastic twist on the title and Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.
“You better watch it or she’ll turn you into a toad,” I said.
“Wish I could.”
Sullivan didn’t appear worried. “I’d be happy to call you Miss, Mrs., or Ms. if I knew your last name.”
“You mean you haven’t been able to uncover that information with your superior detecting skills?” Cassandra asked.
“I’ve been a little busy.”
“What is your last name?” I asked.
“I don’t need one. ‘Priestess Cassandra’ sets me apart. It isn’t as if there are two in town.”
She didn’t want to tell me. How interesting. I never would have thought Cassandra had something to hide. Maybe everyone did.
“Which o
ne of you is Malone?” the deliveryman asked.
“Me.” I took the clipboard he offered and signed next to my name.
The stuff from Frank had arrived. Thank goodness. In less than a week the crescent moon would rise and I’d be ready.
“What’s that?” Sullivan asked as the delivery guy unloaded a cart with a long, thin box atop two shorter fatter ones.
“Cage, tree stands, tranquilizer gun.”
“You got a permit for that?”
I stopped in the middle of opening the box on the top. “I was told the gun laws in Louisiana are lenient.”
“They are. But trapping an animal and transporting it across state lines is a different matter.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Luckily Frank had. On top of the dart gun lay documents, all made out and stamped nice and legal, signed by the governor and giving me the right to take pretty much anything anywhere I wanted to. Frank might be an annoying pain, but he was an organized, think-ahead, rich annoying pain with a lot of connections.
I handed the papers to Sullivan. Frustration washed over his face. He handed them back to me with a scowl. “Did you ever tell Adam Ruelle I wanted to talk to him?”
“We already had this conversation.”
“He still hasn’t contacted me.”
I shrugged. Adam wasn’t going to call the detective in this lifetime.
“Why did you call me if it wasn’t about Ruelle?” he demanded.
I’d forgotten about the call I’d placed, the message I’d left, but I remembered the question I’d had. “Did you ever identify the man who was strangled in the swamp?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that strange?” Cassandra asked. “Shouldn’t someone be searching for him?”
“Eventually. Maybe.” Sullivan shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many John Does there are in the world. Especially around here. Speaking of which, we never found Charlie Wagner’s body.”
I tried hard not to look at Cassandra. Probably as hard as she was trying not to look at me. The detective glanced back and forth between us.
Before be could ask us questions we wouldn’t answer, I asked one of my own. “The St. Tammany police thought there was a rabies problem in the swamp.”
“There’s something. My boss called in a specialist.”
“What kind of specialist?”
“There’s been a problem in several states with a new strain of rabies.”
“Really?” Cassandra murmured. “Funny we didn’t hear about it.”
“They try to keep information of that nature quiet. People panic.”
“Can’t imagine why,” I said.
“Guy should be here in a couple days. He’ll do his thing, and then we can concentrate on our other problems.”
“Which are?”
“Who strangled a stranger and who’s stealing dead bodies?” He squinted at Cassandra as he said the latter. She just rolled her eyes and turned away.
“Maybe you should wait to do your trapping until our rabies expert is finished,” he said.
“What if my wolf is the one with the rabies problem?” And I kind of thought he was—if you considered rabies was a euphemism for the curse of the crescent moon.
“Then you’d definitely better back off. You don’t want rabies, Ms. Malone. Even with the new medicines, it isn’t pretty.”
As I didn’t want to be baying at the moon, either, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
“You’ll wait until I give the go-ahead before you move forward with… ?” Sullivan made a vague motion toward the cage and the dart gun.
“Of course.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch.” The detective climbed into his car and rumbled down the drive toward the highway.
Cassandra cleared her throat. When I glanced at her, she lifted a dark brow. “You really plan to wait?”
“Hell, no.”
Chapter 29
Cassandra left after I assured her I wasn’t going to set a trap in the swamp. What would be the point? There wasn’t a crescent moon tonight.
However, I did want to scout the area and figure out the best location for the cage when the time was right. I should be safe in the sunshine, at least from a loup-garou. If there were rabid wild dogs, coyotes, or even a real wolf, I might be in trouble.
Except I didn’t believe that. Not anymore.
I loaded the tranquilizer gun before I took a walk. I also had the pistol Adam had given me, but the thing made me nervous. What if I shot someone accidentally? Heck, what if I shot them on purpose?
As jumpy as I was, that could easily happen. There’d been enough death in the Honey Island Swamp. I preferred not to cause more. The tranquilizer gun would only put someone to sleep for a few hours instead of permanently.
I was so close to proving what Simon had always known. Werewolves existed right under our very noses. How they managed to do so and not be found was a mystery. One I wanted to unravel.
I understood now what had obsessed my husband. My guilt at not supporting him while he was alive returned, but I refused to let depression take hold. I could atone for my lack of foresight if I proved his theory. If I found a loup-garou and presented the beast to the world, Simon’s reputation would be saved. No one would ever dare speak his name and laugh again.
I hadn’t realized in what direction I was walking until I reached the top of a small rise and saw Adam’s shack in the narrow valley below. I was not going in there. I was not talking to him again; I was definitely not going to get close enough for him to seduce me.
I made a derisive sound. As if.
I wasn’t going to jump into bed with a man who didn’t think I was fit to share airspace with his son.
“Asshole.” There. I felt better now.
So why didn’t I leave? I stood on the ridge and stared at the shack, watching a shadow move beyond the window. I remembered what we’d shared there.
I glanced at the yard. And there. Not to mention several other places.
My sigh was pathetic. I forced myself to turn away. It wasn’t as if I’d loved him. I’d wanted him. I’d had him. We were done. Then why did I feel as if I’d buried my best friend?
Because you did. You just forgot about him while you were boning a stranger.
“Nice,” I murmured. “With a conscience like that, who needs enemies?”
Still, my conscience was right. I’d let myself be distracted by bulging biceps, rippling abs, and an excellent dick. Which just might be an oxymoron.
While I was having this conversation with myself I’d kept walking and managed to get all turned around. The swamp was tricky; a section could appear similar or very different depending on the time of day, the direction of the sun, the slant of the shadows.
I nearly slipped into a tributary that was far too wide to cross without an airboat, even without the alligators bobbing in the center. One splashed at the edge of the water and slunk onto the bank. I patted my pocket, relieved to find the gris-gris still there.
Pulling the bag free, I rolled it in my hand, as much for courage as magic. My heart rate returned to normal when the gator did an about-face and slid noiselessly into the water.
Backtracking to a familiar path, I glanced at the sky, then took off down the trail double time. The sun was fading fast. I heard a rustle, then the thud of pursuit—something that possessed more feet than two.
I would not glance over my shoulder. How many times has the idiot heroine in a horror movie tried to catch a glimpse of what was chasing her? Then she trips over her feet, goes to her knees, and we’ve got snarling and screaming and blood. Basically, she’s too stupid to live, so she’s dead.
Not me. I heard the pitter-patter of multiple feet and I ran. I’d thought I was within shouting distance of the mansion, not that there was anyone to shout to. Minutes later I still hadn’t burst out of the tall grass and into the overgrown yard. I wished like hell I hadn’t run. I’d have been better off facing the predator than making myself the prey. Alt
hough I had a feeling I’d been the prey since that fire iris had made an appearance on my bed.
A body hit me between the shoulder blades and I fell. My hands took the brunt of the impact, but still my forehead banged into the ground, and I saw stars. Whatever had knocked me down ran right over my back and kept going.
Definitely not a person—a little too quadrupedal.
I lifted my head as the tip of a tail disappeared into the foliage. With a groan I rolled onto my back and stared at the night sky. Three-quarters of the way up, a full moon shone. How could the loup-garou be out now?
According to legend, it couldn’t. However, according to legend, and Mrs. Favreau, wolves made wolves. Which explained the howls I’d heard in the night. I thought about Charlie, Mrs. Beasly, the other missing persons, and the missing bodies.
There might not be wolves in New Orleans, but if there were werewolves, there were probably a lot of them.
I dragged myself to my feet, sore and scraped but thrilled to be alive. My dart gun had flown into the weeds when I’d fallen, and I bent stiffly to pick it up.
The only person who’d been of any use in this mystery was Marie Favreau. Well, Arianna Beasly had been helpful, too, but she was dead. Twice. If I ever got back to the mansion, I’d call Mrs. Favreau and ask if she knew anything else worth knowing.
I continued down the path, skittering into a semi-run when the howl of a wolf from the east was answered by another from the west. Then a whole chorus began, making the hair on my arms stand up almost as high as that on the back of my neck.
When the howls died away, I could have sworn the grass swished in my direction, from several locations. I tried not to run, but it was hard. I wanted to be inside the mansion, right now. Why hadn’t I stayed there in the first place?
After what seemed hours, I caught a glimpse of the Ruelle residence between the dripping branches of the cypress trees. I hesitated at the edge of the swamp, concerned any number of beasts could be waiting for me once I left the cover of the greenery.
More howls commenced, much farther away, and I stepped into the yard. Nothing attacked me.
I popped the trunk of the car and retrieved Adam’s pistol; then I went into the house and shut the door, not bothering with the lock, since all the windows were broken anyway.
There was no way I was sleeping here tonight, but first things first I called information and moments later the phone was picked up in the French Quarter. “Hello?”