As if. This was her house, after all, and she needed to know how far this violation of her space extended. Lily followed.
He jerked open the shower curtain and the top rings screeched and clanged against the metal rail. At eye level, the baby-pink tile was visible and she uncurled her fists, relieved not to find...someone...a monster in hiding. A loud machine-gun rattle erupted and bounced around the tiled room. She’d never heard a rattlesnake, but its dry buzz of warning sent an instinctual chill down her spine. Her scalp prickled with awareness. Despite the heavy dread thickening her threat, Lily inched closer.
A diamondback rattler wriggled inside a large black mesh bag attached to the faucet head. Coiled into an S shape and fangs bared, it signaled attack mode. She bit back the high-pitched scream burning inside her lungs. “That’s one pissed-off snake,” she said, voice thin and reedy.
“More terrified of us than we are of him.”
“I doubt that,” Lily muttered.
Nash leaned in closer to the tub and she tugged the back of his T-shirt. “Don’t get in striking range.”
“I’m not stupid. What’s it doing in that bag?”
“Whoever left it didn’t want it crawling off. They wanted to make sure you saw it.”
Nash chanted words unintelligible to her. Probably Choctaw, she guessed. His deep baritone underpinned the snake rattle like a bass in a macabre war song. The rattler retracted its fangs and the striped tail lowered fractionally.
Lily gave a shaky laugh. “What are you—a snake charmer?”
He didn’t bother answering but continued chanting until the snake uncoiled and lay flat. Lily didn’t let go of her grip on his T-shirt. Nash would keep her safe. He was solid as the earth itself. Dependable. Even at age twelve when he’d found her in the woods. She’d heard his voice first, calling her name, and had known immediately that all was well. As long as she held on to him, no striking snake could sink its fangs into her, no evil could befall her. Nash wouldn’t allow it. She let the knowledge sink in deep, let it warm her chilled body and stay the shivering and chattering teeth.
“Get me a bedsheet,” Nash said, eyes never leaving the snake.
Reluctantly, Lily released her hold on his shirt and raced to her bed. She hesitated. What if another snake was coiled beneath the bedspread? She kept her body as far from the mattress as possible, leaned over and yanked off the bedspread. So much for not touching anything. Thankfully, there was no nasty hidden surprise. An exterminator would have to do a thorough sweep of the house before she ever set foot in it again. She quickly stripped off the cover linen and rushed back to the adjoining bathroom.
Nash grabbed the sheet and spread it on the tile floor. He resumed chanting, lifted the mesh bag with its deadly bundle and placed it in the middle of the sheet. He gathered the cloth and tied it at the ends. “This is only for a little while,” Nash said, addressing the bagged snake. “You’ll be released in the woods later.” He set the bag by the door and Lily backed away, giving the wriggling bundle a wide berth.
She went to the bedroom and stared again at the ruined paintings. All that work, all that painstaking detail she’d created with such hope and pride—gone. She barely listened as Nash placed the emergency call.
Nash came by her side and placed the heavy weight of an arm across her shoulders. “All your beautiful paintings,” he whispered.
Her chances of entering and winning the prestigious art competition lay destroyed among the slashed watercolors. Her hopes and dreams were destroyed, too, detonated by some anonymous bomb of fury. A few more days and she’d have had them packaged and in the mail. The sharp edges and harsh lines of ripped paintings blurred.
“I’ll never win that competition now.” She raised her hands to her eyes, trying to staunch the ridiculous tears. Her nonexistent art career should be the least of her worries.
“What competition?”
“Some dumb event that I hoped would get my art noticed.” No doubt he’d think her twice as vain as when he’d first come back to the bayou. “It’s not like I had a real chance of winning anyway.”
Nash studied what remained of her work. “Sure, you had a shot at winning. These are amazing.”
“Were amazing.”
He enveloped her in his strong arms.
It undid her. Lily sobbed into his chest, mourning the loss of her dream.
“There’ll be other contests,” he whispered into the top of her scalp, his breath warm and comforting. “Other paintings.”
“I know,” she agreed, crying all the harder. Stupid to let the paintings matter more than the threat to her life. More than Nash’s feelings. She swallowed hard and gazed up. “You’re right. We need to focus on what’s really wrong, on discovering this enemy.”
He disentangled from her arms and lifted her chin. “I need to figure it out. Not you.”
“No.” She couldn’t let him pull away from her now. Not when they’d drawn so close. “We’ll do it together.”
“I should have known this would follow me.” Nash slammed a fisted hand into the palm of the other. “The past hounds me. I’ll never be free.”
His wounded fury hurt worse than anything else that had happened. He’d suffered more than anyone should have to endure. Regret and guilt pricked her conscience. She hadn’t used Sam’s sage for days. If she’d smudged the house like he’d instructed, maybe none of this would have happened. “It isn’t your fault. Some crazy, obsessed woman is to blame.”
“Why the hell would you say that?”
“I went to see a woman who...sees things, knows things. You met her a few times when you were little. Tia Henrietta?” she questioned.
Nash folded his arms, unresponsive and withdrawn.
“Tia told me I’m being harassed by a woman motivated by love and that she’s killed more than once.”
He paced the bedroom, consumed with his own thoughts, working out the facts.
“Don’t shut me out, Nash,” Lily implored. “I know this is hard for you to accept. But deep down, haven’t you always suspected Rebecca’s and Connie’s deaths weren’t accidents? Even without evidence?”
He stopped pacing and faced her. “Of course I have. Makes the guilt a million times worse.”
She moved to him, wanting to cross the distance between them, to comfort him. “There’s no reason for you—”
Nash held up his hands, blocking her advance, stopping her words. “Tia give you a name?”
“No.”
A siren blared in the distance. Lily glanced out the lace-curtained window, where flashing red-and-blue lights strobed through oak and cypress limbs. “I should probably warn you about my brothers-in-law. They’re the sheriff and deputy sheriff in this county. I spoke with them this morning about my...situation.”
Nash nodded. “Good.”
“I told them because there’ve been more calls.”
His eyes hardened. “And you had no intention of telling me, did you?”
She’d promised him and now he took her omission as a betrayal. “I didn’t want you to worry. I—I was afraid you’d leave me.”
Headlights beamed through the window, casting his face in sharp focus, luminous against the darkness.
He was in no mood for apologies.
But she at least had to warn him of what was about to burst upon them. “There’s something you should know,” Lily continued miserably. “Tillman and Landry—my brothers-in-law—immediately jumped to the wrong conclusions. You know how suspicious and jaded cops are.”
“They think I’m responsible for Rebecca’s and Connie’s deaths and whatever befalls you now.” His words were hard and scratchy, like two granite rocks scraping against one another.
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“It won’t be the first time I’ve been under suspicion.
And here we go again.”
The empty resignation in his voice, the flatness of his eyes, bruised her heart. “I know you’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll make them listen.”
The trill of her recently purchased cell phone made her jump. Probably the cops wanting the front door unlocked. The text on the flat screen glowed with two words.
He’s mine.
Chapter 10
It was happening again, Nash realized. Past and present merged into a maelstrom of despair, anger, regret, frustration. Who was behind this? Why?
He rubbed his temples, trying to stamp out what felt like a swarm of stinging bees beneath the sensitive flesh.
“You must have some guess as to what’s going on here.” The sheriff cut him a hard stare and gestured at the slashed paintings. “This is the third woman who’s been harassed after being involved with you.”
“If I had a clue, I’d tell you. For the last time, I don’t know.” He kept his tone as flat and neutral as his interrogator. Sheriff Tillman Angier and his deputy, Landry Fields—or the BILs, as Lily liked to call them—did nothing to conceal their distrust of Nash.
The sheriff held up an index finger. “First, it’s Rebecca Anders. She crashes her car weeks after a string of harassing phone calls with a message to break it off with you.” He held up a second finger. “Then, two years later, Connie Enstep has a drug overdose. Again, after receiving a mysterious phone call warning her away from you. And now—” he waved a hand at the vandalism “—this.”
Damn. It sounded incriminating as hell. He’d tried to convince himself with the first two that it was coincidence, even when his instincts had rejected the notion. But with a third occurrence, there was no denying it any longer. An unknown evil was wreaking havoc in his affairs, crushing out any woman he’d tried—however casually—to let into his life. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“Leave him alone.” Lily spoke up from behind. “I wish I’d never told you about the calls.”
“You did the right thing,” Fields admonished. “We looked into the records today and I don’t like what we found.” He leveled glacial blue eyes on Nash. “You have quite the reputation as a ladies’ man.”
“And I have my own reputation in Bayou La Siryna,” Lily cut in. “Doesn’t mean I’m a killer. Besides, he has the perfect alibi. We were together when someone crept in and destroyed my bedroom.”
Nash’s lips curled up involuntarily. Lily’s swift defense was a relief. She understood him and didn’t judge, a rare occurrence in his experience. Her belief in his character and innocence was absolute. All anger at the broken promise evaporated.
“No one’s accusing Mr. Bowman of murder or even conspiracy to commit murder,” said Angier. “We’re trying to protect you and find out who’s behind this.”
“Then get your fingerprints from my room and trace the calls or whatever it is you do to find the bad guys.”
A look passed between the BILs and, as if in unspoken agreement, Fields took Lily by the hand, subtly guiding her to the opposite side of the large bedroom.
“Now, look here,” Sheriff Angier said in a hushed voice. “Lily is family. I can’t let anything happen to her like the others. If you have any ideas who the culprit might be, spit it out.”
“For the hundredth time, I don’t know.”
Angier studied him. “Tell me about these two other women. Were they serious relationships?”
Nash gritted his teeth. No matter how he answered, he was damned. If he said they were serious, the sheriff would think he had arranged for them to be killed because he got cold feet. If he said they weren’t serious, the sheriff would think he didn’t care they’d been killed or, worse, that he had tried to get rid of them permanently. Might as well tell the truth.
“More serious on their part than mine,” he admitted. A familiar twist in the gut tugged at Nash. They’d deserved love and commitment. Instead, his job had always been the top priority. “But it was devastating. Especially wondering if their deaths were connected to me in some way.”
“No doubt about the connection now. Not with a third person threatened.”
“I won’t let anything happen to Lily,” Nash vowed, mind racing on the best way to keep her from harm. It needed to be someplace remote, somewhere that allowed him to use his gifts to advantage.
Angier’s lips pressed to a grim line. “And how are you going to do that?”
How, indeed. He should never have gotten involved in another relationship. But since he had, it was too late to end it now and still keep Lily safe. An image of swaying sea oats and a knell of cypress trees arose. “I’ll take her to Herb Island with me.”
A sharp gasp came from behind.
“You will?” Lily’s face suffused with a glow, as if he’d presented her with an unexpected present. She was the one beautiful, perfect thing in this nightmare of an evening. The thought of her meeting one of those mysterious, unfortunate accidents twisted his guts. A pressing urge screamed inside him to whisk Lily up and instantly escape to the island.
“Is there anything else?” he asked the sheriff. “We’d like to be on our way.”
Sheriff Angier addressed Lily. “You don’t have to go with him. Shelly would love to have you stay with us until the investigation ends.”
“Or you could stay with me and Jet,” the deputy offered. “Your mom wants to spend more time with you, anyway, during her visit.”
“I’m going with Nash. I’ll pack while you finish up in here.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. “How long do you think we’ll be gone? Oh, never mind. I’ll pack a bunch and come back later if I need to.”
“Impulsive,” said Deputy Fields. “Just like her sister.”
“Stubborn as Shelly,” Angier said with a rueful shake of his head.
Nash raised a brow. “Runs in the family, I see?”
Angier snickered. “Better get used to it.”
Nash couldn’t blame them for their concern. If he were in their shoes, he’d have the same misgivings. “I’ll protect her,” he vowed again.
Angier held out a hand. “I’m holding you to it. Your grandfather is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. And Lily obviously trusts you.”
Nash shook the proffered hand, humbled and relieved at the overture. “The island should be safe. I’m the only one out there at night. Even during the day, there are few tourists. If any woman from my past shows up, I’ll know it right away.”
“I approve,” Angier said with a nod. “And Ned Brock, who operates the ferry, can keep a log of everyone that boards for the island.”
Deputy Fields opened a notebook and scribbled. “Here’s our cell phone numbers if you need us. The ferry’s closed for the day. Where will you spend tonight?”
“We can stay with my grandfather.” But the idea stirred a qualm of unease in his gut at placing the old man in jeopardy. If he and Lily avoided his grandfather’s place, Sam would be safer.
Angier was already pressing buttons on his cell. “No point drawing Sam into this mess. I’ll have Ned make a special run tonight. He’s made them before for emergencies.”
Lily dragged over two suitcases. “We can grab some provisions from my pantry. Should I bring linens, too?”
“No. There’s plenty at the lodge,” Nash said. “Opal arranged everything before we arrived.”
“Who’s Opal?” Angier asked.
“Opal Wallace, my photographic assistant. She was here a week or so when I first arrived, but she left on another assignment.”
Deputy Fields wrote down the name in a small notebook. “Opal Wallace. Tell me about this woman.” He snapped the book shut.
Nash shrugged. “What do you want to know? I’ve worked with her on and off over the past several years on various projects. She’s an excellent photo
grapher in her own right, but works with me as an assistant between her jobs.”
“Opal’s my friend,” Lily said quickly. “She’s been gone for days, so she couldn’t have anything to do with this break-in.”
“Better safe—” Angier began.
“—than sorry. Yeah, yeah. We get it.” Lily waved a hand dismissively and faced Nash. “I’m ready.”
* * *
The sun called him. Fire rays of warmth that beckoned Nash to arise and greet the new morn. Even lying in bed, eyes closed and head cradled in clean-smelling cotton linen, he divined the sun’s energy had risen.
He’d lain in bed awake most of the night, stiff and tense, unable to relax after the evening’s hellish events. But sleep had briefly claimed him unawares in the darkness. Nash pushed aside the sheet, untangling his long legs, and walked to the window. Drawing the curtain, he took in the dawn’s ascension over the brackish water, its light shimmering in bits of silver, as if the Great Spirit had tossed chips of clear quartz crystal across the sea. Clouds of violet and magenta danced in the sky. It felt like a sign, hope for a new beginning.
Time to confront the past and stop the killer. Time to seek help from any source. Time to accept any comfort offered and mentally prepare for what was to come.
He’d traveled the world and seen thousands of majestic sites, but nothing sang to Nash’s soul like his homeland. Like this moment of peace and promise in the land of his ancestors.
Don’t fight it, his grandfather had said. Listen to the land and its creatures and the spirits of your ancestors in the piney woods and the Gulf breeze. Sun heat invigorated his body with a glow of energy. For the Choctaw, his tribe and nation, the sun endowed life, was the epicenter of the world that illuminated Mother Earth and Father Sky.
I will fight no more. For the first time in two decades, calm washed his mind, cleansed his quibbling and unease with his extraordinary connection to nature and earth’s creatures. Accepting the gifts didn’t mean he’d have to end up like his grandfather, stuck in the bayou and serving as some ad hoc medicine man. No matter where the next assignment led, he’d keep a piece of home in his heart. His talents were a gift and, if possible, he intended to use them to help keep Lily safe.
Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 13