by Sharon Wray
Zack stared at her for a long moment. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then went back to her book. He studied photographs she’d taken of tombs around Charleston. “This is an unusual topic.”
“You don’t have to look interested. I started the research because I was looking for clues about Mercy’s disappearance. And it just morphed into this thing about funerary symbolism and the stories it told.”
He glanced at her. “A thing that got you a job offer from UVA?”
“Yes.” She pulled a few books off the shelf and read the spines.
“Allison? Were you considering leaving Stuart?”
She placed the books onto another shelf. There wasn’t anything here related to their search. “No…” She swallowed a few times. “I don’t know.”
Instead of asking her more questions, he shut her book and shoved it into the tote bag. “Allison, why have you been so intent on finding Mercy?”
She went back to reading the book spines. “Besides wanting to know for my own sense of personal history, I believe there’s a story there worth telling. Mercy was—is—the only unnamed accused witch in the history of the United States. The unnamed accused witch who disappeared and is now a ghost hunted by tourists. And tenure at the college is extremely hard to get. If I can find Mercy and tell her story—in a peer-reviewed journal—it would go a long way toward helping me achieve that goal.”
One by one, Zack pulled out each book from the shelves, shook the pages, and placed it back. “In all of these years, have you found any clues?”
“One. A broken daisy. It stands for the loss of youth, innocence, and hope. There were broken daisies on the pages of Mercy’s witch’s examination. I know from a jailor’s letter that she carved broken daisies, along with other graffiti, into the wall of her cell while she was awaiting her trial. And there are broken daisies carved in one of the original wooden bed frames in Pirate House.”
“How old was Mercy when she disappeared?”
“Twenty-four.” Allison took an untitled book off the shelf only to find it was a leather journal. The front was embossed with a sword piercing a heart. “Henry was forty-five.”
Zack moved quickly through the books, shaking and reshelving. “Are there any broken daisies on any of the tombs in Charleston?”
“No.” She turned the journal pages filled with intensely neat scribbles and notes. “I’ve been through every public cemetery in the Low Country, and I didn’t find any from Mercy’s time. Although there are private colonial-era cemeteries I didn’t see because it’s hard to get permission to search them.”
Zack glanced at her. “Could Henry and Mercy have run away together?”
“It’s possible, but I don’t believe she’d leave her son behind. Although he was raised by relatives, I still have a tough time believing a mother would abandon her child.”
Except for mothers like Rue, of course.
Zack went back to the bookshelves. “What do you know about this treasure?”
“It’s still the largest score ever taken by a pirate.” She scanned the pages and her heart rate kicked up. The handwriting was familiar. “In 1700, when Henry moved to Charleston under an assumed name, his treasure consisted of six hundred pounds of gold and silver and precious gems. In today’s market, over sixty million dollars.”
“Whoa.”
Allison bit her lower lip. She understood the tremor beneath his voice. His sister’s life was now worth sixty million dollars—which they had to find in four days. “Look at this.”
Zack stood behind her and held the light over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“A planner.” She turned to the first page, where the owner had written his name. “It belonged to Stuart.”
“Why would Hezekiah hide Stuart’s planner in a hidden vault?”
“That’s a good question.” She turned the pages until stopping on a calendar layout. Above the calendar, Stuart had written a quotation.
“‘When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions,’” Zack read aloud. “Where is that from?”
“Hamlet. It was my brother Danny’s favorite and is on his tomb.” She turned another page and gasped.
Zack took the book out of her hands and flipped through pages. From January until the end of May, at least three days per week had an I marked in the upper corner. “We don’t know the I stands for Isabel.”
“Of course the I stands for Isabel. They were sleeping together multiple times every week for two years.”
Zack pulled out something that’d been stuck in the back of the book—a photo of Isabel in between two men wearing tuxedoes. Stuart was on her right; another man he didn’t recognize stood on her left.
“I don’t remember this night.” Which meant she hadn’t been there. “And I don’t know the other man.”
Zack shoved the photo into the planner. “They might have been meeting every week, but you don’t know what they were doing.”
She put a finger against Zack’s lips. “You don’t need to protect me. I’ve been living a lie for so long, I need to know the truth regardless of how much it hurts.”
“I hate to see you sad.”
She closed her eyes. “I need to be sad. I need to feel something.”
“We both felt something earlier, in Pirates Courtyard.”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. She had felt something. More than something. She just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “Seven years ago, you were right about me breaking all of our hearts.” She took the planner out of his hands and held it against her chest, like a shield. “This book proves it.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She stared at Zack for a long time, watching the light reflecting off his brown eyes. “Zachariah Tremaine. Do you know one of the things I’ve always loved about you?”
“No idea.” He smiled wide. “But you could tell me.”
“Your fearlessness. You always say exactly what’s in your mind.” She touched his lips. “Even when you’re completely wrong.”
* * *
Zack kissed her fingers and moved them to press against his heart. He hated seeing Allison sad. But that wasn’t the only thing, at this moment, that he hated. His righteous rage was focused on Stuart.
Because of Stuart’s stupidity in getting involved with Remiel Marigny, Zack’s sister was in danger and Allison was struggling with all these new truths. No one could learn the things she’d learned about her husband and be okay. That emotional storm was coming, and he hoped it’d hit quickly so the air between them would clear.
While she read the planner, Zack went back to the shelves. So far none of the books seemed to be anything other than old novels one would find at a garage sale.
“Zack? Look at this.”
She’d pulled a piece of tracing paper out of the planner. Someone had used a charcoal pencil to do a rubbing of three long ovals that touched in the center. The design resembled half of a flower. Faint, random lines appeared on the side of the half-flower.
“I know these petal-like designs. They’re carved in the wood around the fireplace on the second floor of Pirate House, in the same room as the bed with the carved broken daisies. Why would Stuart sketch them?”
“No idea.” Zack turned the paper over and found the words Finding Mercy Chastain. Below that title, Stuart had listed three places: Pirate House, Pink House, Fenwick Hall. The Pirate House was crossed out. “If these sketches came from Pirate House, maybe Stuart didn’t have a chance to check the other two locations.”
She sniffled from the dust overload. “Do you think these markings will help us find Mercy?”
“I don’t know. But it’s the only new clue we have.”
“Which means we need to check the other two places out.” She shoved the planner in the tote bag. “Awesome.”
He held her elbow until she faced him. “That wasn’t a happy awesome. That sounded more…resigned.”
“That’s because both places are owned by my mother.”
He kissed her forehead. “It’ll be—”
The lights suddenly turned on, blinding Zack. At the same time, a male voice said, “This is unexpected.”
A man in dark jeans and black hoodie aimed a gun at Zack’s chest. The man stood six feet away, and Zack had no space to make any quick moves. They were trapped.
“Allison.” Zack raised his hands and used his steadiest voice. “Move behind me.”
Allison did as he said, and he felt her take his weapon out of his back waistband.
The man laughed and leered. “Don’t bother, sweetheart. This won’t take long. Then you and I will have some alone time to get…acquainted.”
“Never going to happen,” Allison said in a surprisingly calm voice. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
The man pushed back his hood to expose his bald head and blue eyes. “Aren’t you the bossy one. Not that I mind. I mean, I like it when women take control.”
Allison snorted.
The man used his gun to wave them toward the anteroom. “Toss me that bag and come out of the closet.”
Zack kicked the bag toward the man and moved slowly, making sure that Allison and the gun stayed behind him. The other weapon, unfortunately, was in the tote bag he’d kicked across the floor.
Once they were out, and with the lights now on in the room, Zack had a better view of the situation. One man with a gun pointed at Zack. Tote bag near the man’s feet. Allison behind him, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding his weapon. Zack’s arms still raised.
The man, shorter than Zack and of slighter build, moved with a sureness that proved he worked out regularly. The man also bounced from foot to foot, like a kid having to go to the bathroom. And his pupils were dilated. Was he both strong and high?
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Now it’s my turn to ask the questions.” The man nodded toward Allison. “What are you looking for in that closet?”
Allison shifted so her hand holding the gun pressed into his back and her body came alongside his. “A place to have sex.”
The man coughed on his own spit and Zack moved fast. He grabbed the man’s wrist and disarmed him, but not before a bullet fired into the floor. Zack slammed his fist into the guy’s stomach and followed that up with a few right and left hooks to the jaw. He ended with a kick in the groin.
Now the man lay on the floor. Zack, meanwhile, felt heat rush through this body. His heart pounded against his ribs and his hands ached.
“Allison.” Zack shook out his hands and flexed his fingers before they swelled. “Grab the tote bag and toss me the tape. While I secure him, keep my weapon on him.”
She did, and within two minutes, he had the man trussed up with silver duct tape. When he was finished, he wiped the sweat off his forehead and took the gun out of her shaking hands. He had no idea what to the do with the man, but right now, he was more worried about Allison. “Grab our things. We have to leave.”
“Pray tell, what has happened here?”
They both turned to see Horatio in the doorway leading to the hall. In jeans and baseball cap, he entered with that strangely graceful gait that ID’d him as a Fianna warrior.
Allison pointed to the man on the floor. “He held us at gunpoint.”
Horatio raised one eyebrow and looked at Zack. “You lowered your guard?”
Since that was the truth, all Zack could do was say, “Yes.”
He wasn’t going to qualify it with the fact that they were in a closet, it was dark, or that he’d thought they were alone. The truth was he’d let the man sneak up on them, leaving Zack in a position where he’d given up his weapon to Allison. He’d no doubt she could’ve shot the man, but that did nothing for his pride.
After a long moment, Horatio nodded. “’Tis time you left. The officers will seek the source of the gunshot.”
“And this asshole?” Zack kicked the man on the floor.
“He works for the Fiend. Marcellus and I will care for him.” Horatio pulled out his cell phone. “The hours are passing. Lady Emilie awaits.”
Chapter 18
Zack and Allison left the Usher Society and were walking briskly through the pouring rain when a string of police cars—complete with sirens and lights—descended on the alley.
Zack kept the umbrella over their heads. “Don’t look back.”
Allison glanced back anyway, watching as another police car rounded the corner. Once they reached the Cooper River, Zack pulled Allison against his chest, making sure the umbrella protected them. As the cruiser passed, he kissed her. It was supposed to be a soft, gentle kiss, meant to soothe. Instead, it became a fierce, needful demand. He tilted his head, and she threw her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. A random whistle broke them apart, and they rested their foreheads together. His breath roared in his head, and Allison’s breasts heaved with exertion.
After he counted to ten, he kissed her forehead and they started walking again. Neither of them spoke, but they held hands as they headed for the car.
Once they were both buckled in, Zack checked his texts. No message from Alex or call from Rafe. But there was a text from Nate.
What the hell is going on in Charleston? Call me ASAP.
Zack shut down his phone and tossed it into the back seat. He knew he had to deal with Nate soon, just not now.
“That warrior.” She closed her eyes and leaned against the headrest. “I saw him earlier today at Pirate House.”
“That’s Horatio.” He turned on the ignition and then the wipers. “We met him last night. Now what do we do?”
She checked the dashboard’s clock. “The Pink House is closed and it’s too late to go to Fenwick Hall. So we can’t check out what Stuart might have been looking for at either place. The only thing we can do is go home and sort through the papers we took from Hezekiah’s office.”
Zack pulled into traffic and slammed on the brakes before he hit a horse-drawn carriage that had stopped for no apparent reason in the middle of the road.
Allison touched his hand. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find the treasure and save Emilie.”
He nodded, although he had doubts. They had few clues and time was slipping away.
Two hours later, after he’d stopped by Vivienne’s to get his duffel bag and returned to Pinckney House to make them a snack of tea and egg sandwiches, he pressed his fists on the kitchen table. It was covered with the papers from Hezekiah’s office they’d finished sorting through. “There’s nothing here.”
Allison checked the dog’s food and water bowls and began loading the plates into the dishwasher. “I think we should go to bed and start with Pink House tomorrow morning.”
He dumped the papers into a cardboard box waiting to be recycled. “That was a giant waste of time.”
Allison touched his arm. “We found Stuart’s tracing paper with those rubbings. They have to mean something.”
“What if they don’t?”
Before she could answer, one of Zack’s phones rang. It was his Charleston mission phone and he answered with a brusque, “What?”
“I’m here at Vivienne’s,” Alex said. “The housekeeper made dinner, in case you’re interested.”
“I’m not.” Zack left the kitchen and headed out into the garden. The rain had paused and everything around him was too wet and overly green. He really needed to pull himself together. “I’m sorry,” he said to Alex. “How’d it go with Isabel?”
“She knows nothing more about Emilie. I’m working a deal with her to get the Pirate’s Grille. What about you? Find anything at the Usher Society?”
After filling Alex in, Zack admitted in a defeated voice, “I have this awful feeling we
’re going to fail.”
“We still have time. The best thing we can do now is get some sleep.” Alex paused to eat something crunchy. “Have you talked to Nate? He’s been texting me and I’ve been ignoring him.”
“I’ll call him.” Zack watched Allison through the kitchen window. She was cleaning the kitchen. “You’re right. The best thing we can do is sleep and start again in the morning.”
“I’m all set here. There’s even a game system in my room. I assume you’re spending the night with Allison?”
“Yes.” Although he’d be on the floor with the dog again, and this time probably all night. “If anything happens, call me.”
“Will do.”
After Alex hung up, Zack went inside to find Allison folding a dish towel.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “Just filling Alex in on what we didn’t find.”
Allison took his hand, led him and the dog through the hallway and into the foyer, then up the stairs. She paused near a door next to hers. “While you made dinner, I put your duffel bag in this guest room. It has an adjoining door to my room and a private bath.”
She refused to meet his gaze and bit her lower lip.
“Right.” He opened the door and went into a room decorated in dark blue with white trim and heavy mahogany furniture. The aesthetic reminded him of a china pattern he’d never be able to name.
Nicholas Trott bounced in and found his bed near the fireplace.
“I hope you don’t mind.” Allison pressed her hands against her stomach. Her black linen dress had dried and wrinkled, and her blond hair had fallen around her shoulders in soft curls. She was even more beautiful in her disarray. “I knew Nicholas Trott would want to sleep here. He likes you.”
“Thanks.” He sighed heavily because there was nothing else to say.
She reached out to touch his arm, then dropped her hand and said, “Good night.”