He caressed her cheek with his warm hand and then tucked her heaps of rich, wavy brown hair behind her ears. “You need to stop. I’m not pushing you away. I’ll be here when you get back. You and me, Marcie—I’m still interested. I have a lot on my plate right now. You’re it to me. You got in when no one else ever has.” He pressed his hand against his heart. “Come on. Your plane’s leaving.” The next instant, his eyes softened, and that slightly crooked smile he flashed did what it always did—it sucked her right back in to where she believed she could somehow grasp some tiny morsel of caring from him.
Dan popped open his car door and stepped out. He didn’t come around to her side to open hers. She knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t do all that mushy stuff. She told herself it didn’t matter, and she smiled away the hurt that stung beyond belief. He carried a lot of pain from a hungry childhood; forced to eat out of garbage cans after his father walked out, leaving his mother to raise and feed him and his five brothers and sisters alone. Marcie supposed that was what had shaped him into who he was, and why, at times, he became distant; unable to be the perfect man. He needed love and lots of it. Then he’d stop making her feel less of a woman—then he’d genuinely love her, or so she told herself. After all, in her entire life, all she ever wanted was to be loved deeply, as every woman had a right to.
Marcie climbed out of his early model Olds. He pulled out a backpack and handed her two tickets, along with her passport. She flicked open the passport and frowned at the name.
“It’s fine, Marcie. With what you’re doing—you don’t use your real name.”
“What if I get caught?” she whispered when alarm turned to nausea in the pit of her stomach.
“Come here, give me a hug.” Just like that, she was in his arms. His tall, lean body pressed against hers. His wide-palmed hands, with the fingers of a carpenter, slid firmly up her back. His voice whispered like silky rum: “I love you, too.”
When she let go, he held tighter, so she slid her hands back around his neck and nearly wept from their connection and from what he couldn’t say with words. When he finally let go, she felt foolish for doubting him and offered an honest, dimple-creased smile.
“Go, Marcie. Your plane leaves in fifteen minutes.”
So she did, all the while grasping some artificial hope that she remained, very much, Dan’s one and only.
Her cellphone buzzed while she hurried through the enormous Sea-Tac Airport, bustling with travelers. She glanced down at the number that flashed across the screen. “Ah, crap,” she said, but she answered it anyway. “Sally, I’m in a hurry. I can’t talk right now.”
“I’ve sat by the sidelines for too long, Marcie. As one of your granny’s oldest friends, and your teacher, I’m going to speak.”
Marcie glanced upward for help while hurrying toward the ticket counter. “Sally, let me call you back in a few hours.” Some lines she wouldn’t cross, and one would be to disrespect Sally and hang up.
“No, girl, you listen to me. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re crossing over to something dark, and it’s going to kill you. There are dark entities around you, and I’ve been fighting, for over a year, to keep them away, but you keep letting them in. Walk away from him. Whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re going, don’t do it, girl. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep saving you. Come home, back to Las Seta. Let me finish teaching you. You’ve only just started.”
She stopped at a bench before the ticket agent, blew out a breath, scooped back her hair, and then rested the backpack on the cushioned seat. She could almost picture Sally, the short, plump, white-haired and very English good little witch, with her wheezy voice, standing in front of her. Instead of a cat, she had a fluffy golden retriever. Instead of a black cape, she wore a white or cream sweater over her shoulders.
“You mean Dan, the fantastic man I’ve been asking for my entire life? I think you’re confused, Sally. I’m just going on a trip. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Marcie knew she had let the old woman down. She could feel her hurt in the soft sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Marcie, girl, I love you. You don’t know what that guy is. You can’t believe anything he tells you. You know you’ve never healed from that cesspool into which you were born. Your granny, my best friend, yanked you from your no-good parents when you were twelve, but you’re still a magnet for that abuse. You’ve been snared good; caught in a trap. You don’t understand. This guy’s a wizard. He came into this world with dark entities attached to him. His karma came with him. He knows how to get past your weak aura. You’re vulnerable, and you see him how he wants you to—not how he really is. Please, I’m begging you, if you go and do what I think you’re doing for him; I may not be able to help you.”
The last call for her flight was announced.
“Shit, I’ve got to go, Sally. I promise I’ll call you.” Marcie hung up and slid her cellphone in the front pocket of her backpack. “I’m sorry, Sally. Please forgive me.”
For a second, uncertainty made her pause. After all, Sally was the wisest woman she knew. She’d always been brutally honest—she’d always been right with whatever she shared with Marcie, and she never spoke lightly. In fact, Sally wouldn’t go out on a limb like this, unless there was a dire need. That stoked a chill up Marcie’s spine, but just as quickly, an image of Dan flashed in her mind, along with the ultimate love she felt for him.
“She doesn’t know him like I do. She doesn’t understand how badly he’s been hurt. She’s wrong this time,” she whispered under her breath, convincing herself that the nagging hesitation was merely Sally’s doubt. She shrugged the nylon backpack over her shoulder, well aware that what she carried, if caught, could put her in prison for years to come. But she wouldn’t get caught. Dan had promised her that the package of bud would never be detected by security; and, right now, she needed to trust and believe in her red-haired prince with the dreamy hazel eyes. So, she ran, stuffing her burning confliction away in the same hidden place that she’d buried the heartache and rejection of growing up with an alcoholic mother, who had drowned her sorrows and been drunk by noon, and a father who flaunted all of his dirty secrets, including how much he liked young girls.
Chapter Two
Marcie trailed the other passengers off flight 918 into the main terminal of the New Orleans airport. Her eyes were lowered, shutting out everyone around her. She strode at a steady clip, dressed in her favorite Levi’s, the jeans that attracted a man’s eye to her rounded bottom. Her tan blouse shimmered over her pert, shapely breasts; the size a guy could fit nicely into the palms of his hands. She rubbed her forehead, reminding herself that she had no need to paint her face as other ladies chose to. Marcie rarely shed the healthy glow from her days spent outdoors, but that was where her comfort ended. She claimed a spot in the middle of the pack, behind a wide lady sporting a navy suit, doing her damnedest to blend in.
How low have you sunk? Marcie cut off the cruel, persistent voice prodding her conscience. During the cramped four-hour flight from Seattle, her face had heated each time her toe touched the backpack she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d refused a drink, but her tightly wound nerves could have used a stiff shot. Instead, she’d suffered in misery, wondering how she’d made it this far. Dan told her it’d be easy—so far, so good.
She needed to shake off her anxiety to enjoy her first visit to this vibrant city, one she’d dreamed of experiencing for years. New Orleans was famous for its mouth-watering cuisine, jazz musicians, and Creole culture. Marcie was, more than a little, intrigued with the voodoo legends that had sparked the imaginations of many a writer, with the unexplained chills and the auras in graveyards and buildings; this was the most spellbinding haunted city. Marcie remained determined to experience all of it firsthand.
How much farther? The drop-off had to be close.
Heaviness weighed down her heart when Dan’s face entered her thoughts again. If only he’d come, this trip wou
ld have been perfect. She knew he’d share her excitement for the gifts and mysterious secrets New Orleans was famous for. But he hadn’t come, and this wasn’t the first, or even the second, time he’d gone off and left her alone.
This roller coaster of emotions, one that she experienced only with him, had now left her on the downswing, as was usual when distanced from Dan. She shook her stubborn head to get him out of her thoughts. He wasn’t here, but he had a way of slipping in to disrupt her peace of mind at least twenty or thirty times a day. He was an addiction that consumed her, making her want to do anything for him, and she did. But the one thing she wouldn’t do was give him Granny’s place on Las Seta.
Her days had shifted down a steady slope of turmoil—just so she could have him in her life. This was crazy.
Nevertheless, there were boundaries, and, right now, she knew deep down that she needed to establish them. She could no longer ignore the volatility of this relationship, nor how she had willingly gotten on the plane for him. “Let it go, let it go,” she whispered under her breath, keeping her head down while walking with the other passengers through the terminal.
Her heart pounded in excitement when she rounded the bend. She could see the silver luggage conveyance contraption and the back wall of baggage claim. Was anyone watching? She needed to look closer but feared being too obvious. Think of something else … Emeril’s restaurant! She gave herself a discreet high five, and a weight lifted inside her. For the first time since leaving Seattle, she felt lighter. Should she call Dan? No. Why did he continue to slip into her head?
Almost done. Peace, blessed peace, blossomed in her heart. Marcie offered thanks to her angels for guiding her safely through.
She glanced at a magical, jazz mural exploding with vibrant color. It drew her into the rhythm and music that pulsed to life in the vivacity of the art. Marcie loved art, but then, she had grown up around the artists who sojourned on Las Seta.
Overhead, a saucy Cajun lilt announced incoming and outgoing flights, and it melted the tension in her stomach a little more.
Then everything went into slow motion. One moment, she clutched the black and red knapsack over one shoulder, and the next, she felt a cut, a snag and a pull at the same time that a large, rough hand shoved her. Unable to stop the momentum and regain footing, she went down in a hazy blur. Her ears roared. Her blood pounded through her veins. She felt nothing when she smacked her head on the hard concrete floor.
Her ears rang and her vision blurred. She struggled to focus on the maze of faces wreaking havoc on her overloaded senses, but she couldn’t think. As she pushed herself up, she started to sway to some indistinguishable hum buzzing in her head. She shifted her bottom on the cool floor and balanced on a shaky arm to keep from tipping over.
What happened? She couldn’t think. The downy hairs on the back of her neck spiked with icy unease, adding to her discomfort. Something remained vaguely out of reach, an ache. When it hit, it became a ripe sting burning the side of her head. She couldn’t understand what she was looking at—her hand, and it was streaked with blood.
Voices, sounds, chaos existed in slow motion, like a puzzle in her brain. A strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Another touched the side of her face. At first, she gazed unseeing, then blinked. A crowd gathered close behind the rough, unshaven face of a stranger who resembled a fallen angel. He peered into her eyes. His full, firm lips moved, but she couldn’t make sense of the rumbling sound. He turned away. This time, she heard his smooth, smoky voice shout out to the crowd of bodies behind him.
What was it about this man with his shabby, light hair? Even his intense blue eyes appeared tired, with lines of life that deepened his godlike appearance. Did she know him? There was something familiar about him. She wanted to trust him.
“Ouch.” She flinched when he touched her head. Her brain blanked out. “There’s blood on my hand.” She hadn’t meant to speak, but her voice cleared away the fog and piercing ring buzzing in her ears.
“Your head’s bleeding. You’ve got a big gash. It’s going to need some stitches. What’s your name, sugar?”
She liked the honeyed richness in his voice, except something worried her, and she didn’t know why. “Marcie, ah … what happened?”
“Don’t you remember?” He watched her again in a way that made her want to reach out and touch him. He seemed nice. She liked him. Maybe it was his husky southern drawl, or maybe the concern this good-looking stranger had showered over her.
Marcie reached up to touch her head. The stranger quickly grabbed her hand.
“No, Marcie, don’t touch.”
“Oh.”
He pressed something against her head, bringing on a wave of dizziness. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes, but when the room tilted out of control, she grabbed his shirt instead.
Chapter Three
Sam Carre pressed a napkin to the oozing cut on Marcie’s forehead. Her face turned a pasty white, and she grabbed his shirt. He knew that look. She was about to pass out.
“Marcie, sweet thing, take a breath and look at me. You going to be sick?” She said nothing. Her arms shook as she held tight. “Marcie, come on. How you doing? I need you to answer me.”
Slowly, her cornflower blue eyes met his. They appeared dazed, confused, and, for a moment, unseeing. “I’m dizzy.”
He pushed back her long, curly locks. Each strand was like silk against his fingers, and all that full, wavy hair enhanced the plump roundness of her cheeks. He looked around to see if someone claimed her. No one stepped forward.
He lifted the soaked napkin and studied the gash on the left side of her forehead. Blood seeped and dripped in a steady stream over her brow. Sam glanced up when an elderly woman dangled a linen scarf in front of him.
A large, mocha-skinned, out of shape security guard pushed through the crowd. His name tag said “Stoffer,” and he leaned into Sam’s space. “Wow, that’s a gusher. She sure knocked it good. So what happened here?”
His colorful manners snapped Sam back like a time warp.
“Snatch and grab. Kid took off, got her bag and sent her for a tumble. Did anyone call an ambulance?”
“Hmm, ambulance is coming,” Stoffer replied roughly. He squinted his dark eyes to get a better look and then shook his head. Grimacing, he glanced at Sam and leaned closer with his hands balanced on his knees. “She with you?”
“Nope, just on my way home.”
“Lucky guy.” He patted Sam on the shoulder and then stepped back to reach for the radio fastened to his belt. He uttered something incoherent into it and wandered off.
Sam forgot his own misery when he focused on Marcie. It felt good, in this whole convoluted mess called life, to help someone else. When had he last done that?
“My name’s Sam. Where’d you come from, Marcie?”
Her face shifted through a mirage of emotions, as if struggling with the simple question. Long, dark lashes and pale eyelids blinked when she glanced up to the left over his shoulder.
Sam followed her dreamy gaze but saw nothing except a bunch of gawkers with luggage passing by. Marcie stiffened; her eyes widened, and color infused her cheeks. Did she know someone? Should he jump up and ask the crowd if anyone knew her? Before he could, her arms trembled again.
“Are you looking for someone? Is there someone with you?”
Her eyes leapt to his, startled like a deer. He’d seen that wild-eyed plea many times on victim’s faces. Maybe she knew her attacker. This was a complication; one he didn’t need in his screwed-up life.
A gurney squeaked behind him.
“Move aside.” Stoffer waved his hands, shooing back the crowd.
The pretty lady tightened her hold on his cotton shirt. Sam held her shoulders. “Calm down. It’s going to be all right.”
She was such a small woman, with curves in all the right places; a body the right man could scoop up with one arm to protect from whatever frightened her. Her mouth gaped wide. She tried to speak. She gasped for
breath once, twice, until her sweet, clear voice pulled him further to her plight. “I don’t know.… I can’t remember.”
Sam blinked. Holy shit, what a long response time.
She had a strong grip for a woman with such tiny, delicate hands. She wasn’t going to let go. Sam swore under his breath because he was no more able to leave her, at this moment, to fend for herself than he could a wounded puppy. “Ah, shit.”
Sam rubbed her hands to calm her down and then pried them gently away. “It’s okay. The paramedics are here, and they need to have a look at you.” Sam didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he stepped back, allowing the paramedics room to move in.
Sam turned and eyeballed the throng of travelers. Who did she see? That fear in her eyes—it must be someone. With a cold eye, he scanned the area, looking for anyone who paid that extra bit of attention, but nothing unusual stood out. Or maybe it was just him—maybe he needed to stop at the first bar for a shot of whiskey. Could he trust his instincts? He didn’t know anymore.
“Well, well, look what the cat drug in.” Sam swung around toward the familiar husky drawl.
A tall, charismatic Cajun made his way through the crowds, looking a little worn and rough around the edges. Jesse Crawford was an old friend, rival, and a detective with the New Orleans Police Department. He was dressed the same way Sam remembered: a cheap, rumpled blue suit, spotted red and white tie, and a faded white dress shirt. His nose was long and slightly crooked from where Sam had planted his fist six years ago when he’d ended their friendship because of Elise. Jesse looked older. The tired, craggy lines had deepened around his eyes and mouth, a result of the long, underpaid hours of being a cop.
“Jesse, what the hell are you doing here?” He reached out and gripped Jesse’s large proffered hand, squeezing tight and sizing up his old friend. Did he remember the scandal, the hard feelings? Of course he did, except now was not the time.
Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts Page 72