Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited

by Heather Graham

* * *

  Kelsey couldn’t decide where to go.

  Her mind was spinning. She should get back to the Longhorn, log on to her computer and look up everything she could find on Jackson Crow and Adam Harrison and the Krewe of Hunters. But she wasn’t ready to go back yet; she wasn’t ready for questions or even for Corey Simmons and the ghosts of a century gone.

  She needed to mull over the meeting.

  She parked her rental car by the Alamo. She’d taken the tour several days ago. But there was something special about the place, an aura of a certain time, the acts of men who’d changed history.

  And she couldn’t forget the recording she’d just heard. Chelsea Martin at the Alamo, laughing at first, happy as she talked to a friend. Then…gone.

  And now…

  Dead.

  She wandered aimlessly for a while, watching as a group worked with schoolchildren, reenacting what had occurred at the fort. She gathered that one man was playing the role of Davy Crockett, and another, that of twenty-six-year-old Lieutenant Colonel Travis, who’d run the battle—since his co-commander, Jim Bowie, was in bed, probably dying, and probably of tuberculosis. A few men were playing other defenders, those who hadn’t gone down in history with such giant names and reputations, but who had died there nonetheless.

  She listened to them, impressed. The actors were doing a brilliant job, bringing the situation to life. The men they portrayed were tired. They spoke of day-to-day things—their meals, scouting expeditions, their exhaustion, their desire for more comfortable beds.

  She was so busy watching them that she hardly noticed when a man sat next to her. Then she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, and became instantly aware. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.

  There was no mistaking Logan Raintree. The best of many cultures had mixed in his face, a face as cleanly sculpted as a marble bust, with high broad cheekbones and a determined chin. He wasn’t beautiful, but he was one of the most imposing men she’d ever met. The ever-simmering energy within him added a vitality and heat that made him even more intriguing, more attractive.

  Seductive. She immediately tried to wipe that thought from her mind.

  She didn’t speak but gazed at him solemnly. He’d known she was there. He hadn’t walked away when he saw her. Quite the opposite—he’d joined her.

  She was almost shocked when he smiled at her. “I’d like to apologize, Marshal O’Brien. I’ve been an ass.”

  She smiled in response. “Um, apology accepted. Except…you weren’t that bad,” she said with a laugh.

  “What made you come here?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “It’s not that far from the Longhorn, where I’m staying. I wasn’t ready to go back and answer a bunch of questions about the meeting. I needed time.”

  He nodded, looking toward the chapel. “I wondered if you’d come here because this is where Chelsea Martin was last seen.”

  “It might’ve had something to do with that.”

  “You going to accept Jackson Crow’s offer?” he asked her.

  “I…don’t know. Maybe. You?”

  “This morning, I would’ve given him a definite no. Now…I’m not sure. Either way, I want to find out what there is to see at the morgue tomorrow.”

  She felt a tightening inside. Yes. The morgue.

  They were both silent for a minute. Then he began to speak, his tone relaxed.

  “The Alamo’s a shrine,” he said softly. “Of course, it’s different than it was at the time of the battle. The chapel and this area—including the long barracks—was just a small part of the original Alamo,” Logan explained. “The walls extended for a quarter of a mile. In fact, that was one of the problems for the defenders once Santa Anna’s men breeched the walls—the place was too big to protect easily. The men who fought here fought hard, and they fought knowing they were likely to die.” He glanced at her. “Courage is being afraid—and going ahead, anyway.”

  Kelsey nodded in agreement.

  “Santa Anna had his men raise a red flag in a nearby church tower, and that bloodred flag indicated there’d be no quarter given. But, of course, the Alamo was part of a bigger story, and like most history, it depends on who is doing the telling. The Spanish had been in control. They’d signed a treaty ceding Florida to the U.S. and creating a boundary between the United States and Spanish America. But before that, men called impresarios, Stephen Austin among them, had been luring Americans into Texas with land grants that required no down payment. Then the Mexicans fought the Spanish for independence and won. Santa Anna became president, or more accurately, dictator. Texians or Anglo-Americans, and Tejanos, Mexican-Texans, had been living under the Constitution of 1824 until Santa Anna rescinded it and pretty much pissed them all off.”

  “Which led to what happened here,” she said, absorbed in what he was telling her.

  “Right. But a lot of movies about the Alamo forgot to depict the Tejanos who were part of the effort—and part of the effort to create an independent Texas. Some of the early books and movies about the Alamo were downright racist. The good old Anglo-Americans were the heroes, while the Tejanos who fought just as hard were ignored. I’m glad to say we’re moving past that.” He smiled slightly. “But it’s also true that regardless of background, these men weren’t on some idealistic mission for freedom and honor. They were like most of us—looking for a way to make a better life for themselves.”

  “And there would’ve been no Texas without both groups,” Kelsey remarked.

  His smile deepened. “Santa Anna miscalculated. He thought that his ‘no quarter given’ policy would scare off the revolutionaries. Instead, ‘Remember the Alamo!’ became a battle cry. Soon after, the massacre at Goliad occurred. Santa Anna had everyone there executed, and the war became one of revenge as well as Texan independence. Of course, if they’d lost, the whole thing would’ve been described as the Mexicans putting down an uprising by a group of rebels.”

  “But Texas did gain its independence and then became part of the United States,” Kelsey said. “I appreciate what you’ve told me. I’m really interested in history.”

  “Me, too. I just want it to be history and not fiction.”

  “You’re a Ranger and obviously Native American,” she said. “What’s your history?”

  “Very typical of Texas—a real mix. My father’s a quarter Apache and three-fourths Anglo. My mother’s half Norwegian and half Comanche. They’re both all-Texan. And all-American. And they’re alive and well and living happily in Montana now.”

  “Didn’t the Texas Rangers spend a lot of years battling the Comanches?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “But they also learned from them.” He eased back a little as he spoke, leaning against the bench as he watched the young people around him seek to learn about the past. “A Comanche warrior could ride at breakneck speed—while clinging to the side of his horse with his shield, bow and quiver. He could fire off twelve arrows while a Ranger was trying to reload his rifle. To fight the Comanche, the Rangers had to learn how to do the same—or something equivalent and their fights led to some real renovations in weapons.” He turned to face her. “I like to think I’ve learned from all my ancestors, including the Vikings,” he added with a grin.

  “Why not?” she said, shrugging comically.

  “O’Brien. Are you Irish?” he asked.

  “Like you, I’m mostly all-American mutt, but yes, my dad’s family immigrated from Ireland.”

  “And you come from the Sunshine State. Do you miss it?”

  “No,” she said. “Okay, a little. But I’m at the Longhorn, as you know, and Sandy’s an old friend. I have a cousin here, too. Sean Cameron. But he’s—”

  He straightened. “Sean Cameron is your cousin?” he asked.

  “Well, a Sean Cameron is my cousin.”

  “He works for a company called Magic on Demand?”

  “Yes. You know him?”

  He nodded, staring at her.


  “How?”

  “He’s been a consultant for us a few times. I haven’t seen him in quite a while, but one Halloween we had a murder in a haunted house, and he was brought in. He helped the crime-scene people dig through the fake gore and get down to the real evidence.” Logan was quiet for a minute.

  “Oh,” she murmured. “Did you always want to be a Texas Ranger?” she asked, changing the subject.

  He nodded. “My dad was a Ranger,” he said. “What about you?”

  “I always wanted to be a Marshal,” she told him. “I knew it from when I was in high school.”

  He slouched down on the bench, thoughtful as he studied the tourists coming and going. “Most people would say you don’t look the part,” he said.

  “What am I supposed to look like?”

  “John Wayne, maybe.”

  She laughed. “Didn’t he play a Texas Ranger once? He was definitely here at the Alamo in one of his movies.”

  He turned to her, but as he did, he saw someone behind her and frowned.

  She turned around, as well, and saw a man. He was the only person in their vicinity and he was dressed in costume, a big wide-brimmed hat, buckskins and boots. She assumed he had to be a member of the little group who’d just reenacted the scene between the men at the Alamo. He obviously knew Logan Raintree and wanted to speak to him, while Raintree looked as if he wanted the man to disappear.

  What was his problem? Logan Raintree was being downright rude, and in her opinion, there was no excuse for that kind of behavior.

  “Hello.” She smiled, hoping to compensate for her companion’s lack of courtesy.

  She was startled when Raintree stood abruptly and even the costumed stranger took a step back.

  “Who are you talking to?” Raintree asked suspiciously.

  Kelsey stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. She stood, too, and said pointedly, “The gentleman you’re ignoring.” She turned back to look at the man in costume, but he was gone.

  When she turned toward Logan Raintree again, his expression had hardened, and he seemed to have withdrawn from her.

  “You saw a man?” he demanded.

  “Of course I saw him,” she said. “He wanted to talk to you, and you acted like he was a martian or something.”

  As she frowned at him, both of them standing near the chapel of the Alamo, she heard an intense whirring sound.

  Birds.

  Black birds…crows. Settling down, all around them.

  “I’ll see you at the morgue tomorrow,” Logan Raintree said, and he began to walk away, his footsteps moving through the sudden sea of birds, scattering them in all directions.

  Chapter 4

  A murder could be easier to solve than the case of a missing person, Kelsey reflected. When a body was discovered, there was a chance to collect evidence and—usually—a trail to follow. When a person had simply disappeared, you had to assume someone must have seen something, but finding that someone was often next to impossible.

  The files they’d been given contained all the known information about Vanessa Johnston, who was last seen purchasing gas at a station near the county line.

  She’d spoken briefly with a young cashier when she had gone in to buy coffee, saying she was excited about going to San Antonio, and then she’d gotten back into her Honda and driven off. Neither she nor the car had been seen since.

  Her cell phone records indicated that she’d made no calls. Nor had she used her charge card again.

  “A car has to show up somewhere,” Kelsey murmured aloud to herself.

  There was a tap on her door. She was in bed—having moved into Room 207—and she rose up, leaning against her pillow.

  “Kelsey?” Sandy called.

  “Come on in,” Kelsey said.

  She hadn’t had a chance to speak with Sandy since she’d gotten back; the inn was now full, and there’d been a number of bartenders and waitresses in the busy downstairs area, along with the singer who was reprising old tunes with a piano player. The saloon had been bustling. She’d been glad, since she wasn’t ready to share anything about her day. Yet.

  When she’d returned, however, Corey Simmons had been waiting for her, hoping to buy her a drink. She’d declined. Sandy had packed up his belongings, brought them to Kelsey’s room, then packed up Kelsey’s stuff. He wanted to thank her, he’d said rather sheepishly, for moving into Room 207.

  “Hey, just wanted to make sure you’re okay in here,” Sandy told her, stepping inside. Sandy was wearing an apron, since she’d pitched in with the serving downstairs.

  Kelsey smiled. “I’m fine, absolutely fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me in this room,” she assured Sandy.

  Sandy let out a soft sigh. “Well, thank you. You were wonderful. I can hardly believe Corey decided to stay here.”

  “Well, you know, if the inn’s filling up and someone else wants this room, I can always go to another hotel,” Kelsey told her.

  “No! You’re staying right here. I’m not renting this room to macho men, cowboys or hunters. I’m keeping things calm. I have to make a living on this place!”

  “Okay, then, not to worry. I’ll stay, and I’ll be just fine,” Kelsey said again.

  “So, how did your day go? What’s up? What was the big meeting about?”

  “Well…I’ve been asked to join the FBI,” Kelsey said.

  “Really? Wow! I didn’t know the FBI went out and asked people to join it! Don’t they have an application process and training, and all that?”

  “I imagine that’s the usual case.”

  “Wow. You must be special!”

  Kelsey shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Why you? I mean, honestly, I think that’s amazing!” Sandy said.

  “I am a United States Marshal,” Kelsey reminded her. “I have all the training that went along with that, and they’re both federal agencies.”

  Even with Sandy, she didn’t want to talk about the reasons. And, in fact, those reasons hadn’t actually been discussed. Oddly enough, it hadn’t been necessary. They’d all understood.

  “I don’t really know,” she lied.

  Sandy came in and perched on the foot of her bed. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said evasively. “Sandy, forgive me, but I’m not at liberty to discuss any of this yet.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Of course not. I’d just love it, though, if you moved to Texas. I mean, I know you love your home and all, but Texas is a great state.”

  Kelsey made a point of casually closing the folder she’d been reading, then sat up straighter in bed. “I’ll make a decision by tomorrow.”

  “And you can live right here!” Sandy said excitedly.

  Kelsey laughed. “Don’t worry, the scuttlebutt about the room will die out. Or you can bring in one of those ghost expedition groups. Either way, you’ll get lots of business. But I’ll probably stay for a while. So, thank you.”

  “This is great,” Sandy said happily, as if it was all settled. “I know Sean is off working now, but you have a cousin here. And you have me. It’ll be like home.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Despite herself, Kelsey yawned.

  Sandy stood quickly. “Okay, well, I’ll let you get some sleep. But I’m so thrilled you’re going to be here! Yay!” She walked to the door. “Good night.”

  “Good night. Thanks, Sandy.”

  When Sandy had gone, Kelsey got out of bed and went to the door. She hadn’t thought to lock it earlier; now she did.

  She looked at the files again, but she really was tired. Facts, figures and faces were beginning to swim before her eyes. She left the bathroom light on, but turned off the others, set the files on the bedside table and slipped back into bed.

  She should’ve realized she wasn’t going to sleep well that night….

  At first she felt as if she’d been disturbed by the sound
of someone whispering. It was annoying, but not enough to completely wake her. Then she began to see it all again. The room changing, ever so slightly. The Oriental divider by the bathroom door.

  She noticed something different about the darkness with the glow of just the bathroom light.

  No, there was a gas lamp burning.

  Kelsey saw the two people in the room, the man and the woman. She, so beautiful with her dark curling hair piled atop her head and tumbling around her face with a few stray dark locks. The dress lay on the floor, and the woman wore old-fashioned stockings and garters. The man stood in his dark suit.

  As he’d done in her earlier vision, he strode across the room and grabbed the woman. “You won’t hold out on me!” he shouted. “I want it, and I want it now.”

  “I don’t have it,” she said.

  “You’re a liar! I know what happened in Galveston that night, and I know that your pretty-boy lover won it. I want it, and I want it now!”

  “No, it’s mine,” she responded.

  The rest of the scene played itself out, just as it had earlier that day.

  When the man squeezed the life out of the woman, she went limp. He picked her up and threw her down, the same way he had before.

  Then they both disappeared into the darkness. Seconds later, light began to show from the bathroom and the room resumed its earlier appearance. She’d been unable to move; she’d really never wakened.

  A tiny light seemed to hover directly in front of her. She realized she was seeing a woman’s face. In dream, in vision, in half sleep, in the tormented corners of her mind, she saw a face. She thought it would be Rose Langley, the pathetic creature murdered in this room.

  But it wasn’t. It was a face she’d seen in a picture that day.

  The face of the missing girl, Vanessa Johnston. She wasn’t smiling now. She was sad. She looked at Kelsey and whispered, “Too late.”

  Too late, too late, too late…

  There was a whir of flapping black wings in the room, and the sound they made seemed to mock the words that had been spoken.

  Too late, too late, too late…

  The flapping stopped, and the wings seemed to merge and create a shape.