by Sharon Sala
“Day after tomorrow.”
Bernie frowned and then cursed. “What’s the holdup? I thought them people had plenty of money.”
Lash glanced down the hall at the closed door and then grinned. “Oh, they do, but I intend to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Why put her out of her misery—until she knows what real misery is like?”
There was an expression on Lash Marlow’s face that made Bernie Pike shudder. He shifted his gun to his other hand, thankful that he was working for this man, not running from him.
“So, what do you want me to do?” Bernie asked.
Lash took a deep breath, his pulse quickening as he glanced at the closed door. “Get out. Get out and don’t come back inside until I tell you to.”
Bernie looked startled and then a slow grin spread across his face as he did what he was told.
When the house was quiet, and Lash could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, he gave his rabbit’s foot a last quick rub, and started down the hall.
* * *
Casey’s hands were numb and her throat was dry. She needed a drink in the very worst way, but calling attention to herself was the last thing she wanted to do. As long as her abductor thought she was asleep, he pretty much left her alone.
Something was crawling on the floor beside the bed and she prayed it stayed there. But the scritch-scratch of toenails on hardwood flooring was impossible to ignore. She kept telling herself that as long as she couldn’t see what was making the noise, then she couldn’t be afraid.
And then the air shifted, and another sound blended with those in her head and she tensed. That was the door! Someone was inside the room. Casey had learned a trick from Delaney early on in her life to take control of a situation by being the first to speak. She saw no reason to change her strategy now.
“I would like a drink of water.”
A low, ugly chuckle centered itself within the waiting silence and Casey gasped. That didn’t sound like her abductor. Someone else had entered the picture.
“Casey, Casey, ever the prima donna, aren’t you? Tied up like a sow going to market and still giving orders. Now what do you suppose it would take to bring you to your knees?”
“Lash?”
The blindfold was yanked from her face.
Casey blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision as her eyes adjusted to the change in light. Lash leaned down and pinched the sides of her cheeks with his thumbs and fingers, squeezing and squeezing until speech was impossible and tears sprang to her eyes.
“That’s it. Cry for me, honey. Show me you care.”
Casey jerked, trying to free herself from his grasp, and then to her surprise, he turned her loose and shoved her, sending her sprawling. Before she could think, he had untied her ankles and straddled her legs.
Panic shafted through Casey’s mind. Lash’s intentions were all too plain. And when he leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the swell of her breasts, she groaned and wrestled with the ties still binding her wrists. They wouldn’t give.
“Lash, for God’s sake, don’t.”
His slap ricocheted off the side of her jaw. “You don’t tell me what to do. I’m the one in control. I’m the one who calls the plays, princess, and right now, I’m going to take a little of what was rightfully mine.”
His fingers curled in the top of her blouse, and when he yanked, buttons flew, hitting the wall and scattering across the floor. Something scurried out from under the bed and Casey knew that one good thing had come from Lash’s arrival. At least that creature was gone. If she only knew how to get rid of this one for good, she would never ask for anything again.
He laughed, and then grabbed at the hem of her skirt as adrenaline surged through him. This was power. He wished he’d thought of it sooner. At last he felt like a man.
Casey kicked and bit and screamed until her throat was hoarse. It served no purpose other than to arouse him more. His hands were at the juncture of her legs when the room began to grow dark before her eyes. A fresh sheen of perspiration broke out on Casey’s skin as the sensation of fainting became imminent. Horrified at what he would do if she was unconscious and helpless, Casey thought of a prayer that didn’t make it aloud. The darkness in the room was growing, and it was beginning to pull her in.
Her submission was so unexpected that Lash also paused, wondering what trick she was trying to pull. But she was far too limp and far too still for a joke. Frustrated that she would not be awake to suffer his touch, he thrust a knee between her legs, readying to shove himself in as well. And then Casey began to speak.
Surprised, he looked down. Her, eyes were still closed. She was still limp—almost lifeless. And he would have sworn the voice that he heard was not her own.
Her breathing had slowed, and at first glance, she seemed to be asleep. But the words pouring out of her mouth were fluent in cadence, foreign in sound and speech, universal in intent. One brief, staccato sentence after another, she was invoking a curse of such magnitude upon Lash Marlow’s head that he couldn’t do anything but stare. Word after word, the curse continued, pouring upon every living person hereafter who might carry an ounce of his blood in their veins. Spoken in the old patois of French-speaking slaves, the threat became even more insidious as the promises continued.
Lash jerked his hand back from her legs as if he’d been burned. Pale and sickening, a cold sweat suddenly beaded upon his face. Lash was a true son of the south. He’d been born and bred in the ways of the past. He, too, spoke French like a native, and although he was a well-read, highly educated man, there was that part of him that had grown up believing in curses and superstitions and extremely bad luck.
“Shut up! Shut up!” His scream rent the air as he drew back and slapped her in the face.
It was after Casey tasted her own blood that she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Horror crawled up the back of Lash’s spine. The woman looking out at him from Casey’s face wasn’t the green-eyed woman he’d known and coveted. This woman’s eyes were back, and she was staring at him from hell.
He grabbed at his clothes, scrambling to get off of her legs and away from her body like a man gone crazy. When he was on the other side of the room, he pointed a finger toward where she lay and told himself it didn’t matter. Words were just words. She couldn’t stop the success of what he’d set in place. But everywhere he moved, her eyes followed him, staring—blaming—reminding him of what she’d just said.
“Say what you will, you stupid bitch,” he growled. Then he laughed. But it was a nervous, jerky sort of bark. “Day after tomorrow it will all be over. I’ll be rich, and you’ll be dead.”
And then he was gone, and while she lay on the bed, she came to an acceptance she didn’t understand. Even though she was locked in this room and helpless in the face of her abductors, for a while, she had not been alone. Instead of being afraid, she took comfort in the knowledge. All she could remember was feeling sick and then falling into a deep, black hole. What had transpired after that, she could only guess, but she knew she had not been raped. And in the face of all that, it still wasn’t the biggest horror of all.
Lash Marlow had purposefully let her see his face. She closed her eyes. She would never see Ryder again.
* * *
It was 3:00 a.m. when the knock sounded on Ryder’s front door. Half in and half out of a weary doze, he staggered to his feet and made his way through the darkened rooms, turning on lights as he went. He grabbed the doorknob and jerked.
Roman walked inside, tossed a suitcase on the sofa and kicked the door shut behind him. Brother to brother, the two men looked at each other, judging the changes in each that the last few months had made. Finally, it was Roman who broke the silence.
“You look like hell.”
Ryder walked into his brother’s outstretched arms. Their embrace was brief, but it served its purpose. It was proof to Ryder that the connection he’d tried to sever with his fam
ily was still as strong as it had ever been.
“You got here fast,” he said.
Roman glanced around the room. “I figured I’d better.”
Ryder hadn’t expected to be so overwhelmed by the sight of his brother’s face. It was all he could do to speak without breaking down. “Help me, Roman. Help me find her and get her back.”
Roman’s grasp was strong on Ryder’s arm. “That’s why I came, brother. That’s why I came.”
Like the sleuth that he was, Roman began to move about the room, picking up things and laying them down again, feeling, judging, absorbing the world in which his brother had been living. A photograph sat on a nearby table. Roman picked it up.
“Is this her?”
Ryder nodded. It had been taken the night of Libertine Delacroix’s party. It hurt to look at it and remember how happy they’d been. “Yeah, minus the ears and tail,” Ryder said.
One of Roman’s rare grins slid into place. “Leave it up to you to run away from home and come out smelling like a rose.”
* * *
“Well, I do declare!”
Eudora’s ladylike gasp that accompanied her remark was in reaction to seeing the Justice brothers coming through the front door of the main house.
From the cold, handsome faces to the dark straight hair and those square, stubborn chins, they were alike as two peas in a pod. Their blue jeans were pressed and starched and their long-sleeved white shirts were a perfect contrast to the tan of their skin. The tilt of their Stetsons rode at the same cocky slant, and their steps synchronized as they stepped off space on the pale, marble floor.
“Dora, this is my brother, Roman Justice. Roman—Casey’s grandmother, Eudora Deathridge.”
Roman’s expression never changed as he tilted his hat. “Ma’am.”
A shiver moved through her as she looked into Roman’s eyes. They were dark, and the expression seemed hard and flat. And she knew if he hadn’t looked so much like Ryder, she would have been afraid of this man.
Ryder touched her arm. “We’re going to use the library for a while, okay?”
“Why, yes, dear. Whatever you need,” she said, and then made as graceful an exit as she could manage.
“There it is,” Ryder said, pointing to the computer system in the far corner of the room.
Roman headed for it with unerring intent. Within moments, he was into the system and had it on-line.
“How did you do that?” Ryder asked. “I can never make those things do what I want them to do.”
Roman looked up. “You just don’t use the right kind of persuasion,” he replied, then moved his eyes back to the screen.
Ryder found himself a chair and sat down. This morning, Roman had asked him for a list of names of people with whom Casey most closely associated. The question had surprised him. All this time he’d been thinking in terms of faceless strangers, not a betrayal from family or friend.
He’d asked why and was still shaken by his brother’s cold answer. “Because trust will betray you every time.”
It hurt him to know the depth of Roman’s bitterness toward the human race. But his own life was in such a mess, he couldn’t argue the point. All he could do was trust the fact that Roman had been in this business long enough to know what he was doing.
* * *
“Well, now, this is interesting.”
Ryder came out of his chair like a shot. They were the first words that Roman had spoken since he’d sat down at the computer over an hour ago.
“What?” Ryder asked.
Roman leaned back in his chair. “Besides being the family lawyer, what is Lash Marlow to Casey?”
Ryder frowned. “Nothing, although I think her grandfather would have wished it otherwise. Remember what I told you about the will, and how we met?”
Roman nodded.
“Casey once mentioned that when Lash Marlow read that clause in the will, he was almost gloating. You know, like an I’ve-got-you-now look.”
Roman stared at the screen. “He’s broke.”
Startled, Ryder moved to look over Roman’s shoulder. “You must be mistaken. His family is old money. That’s what everyone says.”
“He has been served with a foreclosure notice, and up until two weeks ago, his accounts were all overdrawn.”
Ryder frowned. “How the hell did you get that computer to do that?”
“That’s privileged info, brother.”
“Did you hack into the bank’s computers?”
Roman spun his chair around as one of his rare smiles slowly broke across his face. “Now, Ryder, why would I do a thing like that? It’s illegal.”
Ryder started to pace. “Okay, so Lash Marlow is hard up for money. I’d venture to say at least half the people in Ruban Crossing could say the same.”
He paused to look out the window overlooking the grounds. His gaze fell on the gardener’s shed. Despair surfaced as he thought of holding Casey in his arms, and what they’d done that night in the name of love. It was all he could do to focus on what had to be done.
“Look Roman, there’s no guarantee that whoever has Casey is even a local. In the business world, the Ruban name is known worldwide. Their holdings are vast. Casey’s inheritance has recently been in all the papers…twice. Once when Delaney died. Again when that plane she was supposed to be on crashed and burned with all aboard.”
Roman listened without comment, but when he turned back to the computer, his gaze was fixed, his thoughts whirling. He kept thinking of what his C.O. used to say just before they’d go out on a mission. Never overlook the obvious. It will get you killed every time. In Roman’s opinion, Lash Marlow had an obvious axe to grind. What remained to be seen was if he was the kind of man who could betray a client… or a friend.
* * *
The family was gathering in the main salon, and while they whispered among themselves as to the possible reason Detective Gant might have for calling them all together again, Ryder’s thoughts were on something else. A few moments ago, he’d glanced up at the clock. Forty-eight hours ago to the minute, he’d walked into Casey’s office a happy man. Within the space of time it took to spill papers from a desk, his world had come to an end. All last night he’d kept hearing the sound of her voice as she’d begged him to come back inside her office. If only he had.
A few moments later, the doorbell chimed and they heard Joshua directing Mason Gant into the room.
“Thanks for being so prompt,” Gant said, waving away Joshua’s offer of coffee. He glanced around the room. “I have some news,” he announced, and when Ryder took a step forward, he held up his hand. “Sorry, I phrased that wrong. It is news, but not of Casey.”
The doorbell pealed again and Joshua hurried from the room. Moments later, Lash Marlow followed him back.
“Sorry I’m late,” Lash said, smoothing his hand over his windblown hair. “Had to be in court first thing this morning.”
Gant nodded. “I just got here myself.” He looked around. “Is everyone here?”
“Everyone but Bea. Today’s her day off,” Tilly said.
Gant pulled out his notebook. “I have her address. I’ll catch up with her later.”
“Detective Gant, before you start, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Gant looked up, surprised by Ryder’s remark. He thought he’d met everyone when he was here before. Suddenly a man walked into his line of vision and he realized that the fellow had been standing in plain sight all along, but had been so quiet and so still that he’d completely overlooked his presence.
His first impression was that the man was military. His second was special forces. And then he focused on his face and Gant knew before he spoke that this man was Ryder’s brother… if not his twin.
“I’d wager your last name is Justice,” Gant said.
Roman held out his hand. “Roman Justice, private investigator out of Dallas. I won’t get in your way if you don’t get in mine.”
Gant grinned as they shook h
ands. He liked a man who said what he thought.
A coffee cup shattered, breaking the brief silence as everyone turned toward the sound. Lash was against the wall. He was pale and shaking and staring down at the floor.
“It slipped out of my hands.”
Joshua ran to get a broom as Tilly fussed with the splatters that dappled the edge of a soft, moss-green rug.
Ryder stared at Lash, as if seeing him for the very first time. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that anyone who knew Casey would want to cause her harm. And Marlow was, as usual, every inch the gentleman—from the cut of his clothes to the style of his hair. But why was Lash so upset over a spilled cup of coffee? Ryder kept staring and staring, remembering his brother’s words and trying to see past the obvious to the man beneath. Suddenly, something about Lash’s appearance struck a sour note.
“Hey, Marlow.”
At the sound of Ryder’s voice, Lash jerked as if he’d been slapped. He looked up. “Yes?”
“What the hell happened to your hand?”
He didn’t have to look down to know they were referring to the row of skinned knuckles on his right hand and the long red gash that ran from one edge of his wrist to the other. Gorge rose in his throat as he struggled with an answer they all might believe. He could hardly tell them it was the remnants of his bout with Casey.
He managed a laugh. “I locked myself out of the house last night. Graystone may be past her prime, but like the lady she is, she does not easily part with her virtue. I broke a window trying to get inside. Lucky for me I didn’t cut my own wrist, right?”
The answer was plausible enough. Ryder shrugged. If the man had cut his own throat, he couldn’t have cared less. If there was news that pertained to Casey, he wanted to know now.
“Look, Gant, let’s get down to business. Why did you call us all together?”
Lash was counting his blessings that the subject of his wounds had been changed. But his relief was short-lived when Gant started to talk.
“Forensics came up with a print on Casey’s car that doesn’t match anyone else in the family.”