by Jenna Ryan
“She never pushed. She knew I wasn’t interested in honing my so-called skills. They existed, period. And they made me unhappy. Once in a while I’d play around with them for Ben, but mostly I’d pretend they didn’t exist.”
One of these days, Tanner reflected, his curiosity was going to get him killed, or at the very least badly burned. “Pretend I’m Ben,” he suggested, “and read me.”
Rosemary huffed out a fatalistic laugh. “You really do like living on the edge. I’ll agree on one condition,” she agreed. “You have to promise not to think about whoever it was who left a blue silk garter under your guest bed.”
His brows came together. “Someone left a garter under my bed?”
“Stop right there.” Her hands went up. “Suspend the thought. The deeper you dig, the more likely you are to access the memory, and I’m not interested in having the gory details of your night together swishing around in my brain.”
“Liar,” he said softly, but grinned. “Go for it then. We’re closing in on Nightshade.”
“Remember, this was your idea.” Sitting back, she regarded him, circled a finger. “I see a man. He’s the same age—or no, he’s older than you.” The circling finger took aim at his temple. “You changed faces mid-memory.”
“The first one drifted in. Ignore him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s part of the past, and I’ve shut him down out of your reach. Stick with the older guy. Describe him.”
“I would if you stop pushing Lorne Greene at me.”
“Sorry. Weezer was watching Bonanza when I delivered his shotgun today.”
“Right.” Her lashes fell halfway, obscuring her hazel eyes. “The guy in your head is sixty-one or two. You’re not completely sure. He has white-blond hair combed straight back from his face. He looks fit, maybe a bit barrel-chested. I’d guess his ancestry is largely Norwegian. He has blue, blue eyes and the same bullet-spray tattoo as you, except his is on the side of his neck. His name’s Barry Hobart. He mentored you, Ben and another man in naval training.”
“That’s pretty damn accurate for someone who’s unschooled in the art.”
“Unschooled doesn’t equal…” She broke off, softened her tone. “Ah, now it’s my turn to be sorry. Your friend suffers from combat stress reaction. Or so he says. Others think he’s crossed the line to post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“Which is worse and not uncommon for people who’ve done and seen as much as he has.”
“Ben mentioned him once. I think he had a bit of an ‘awe’ thing going on.”
“It was Ben’s nature to be awed.”
“Do you ever see him?”
“Haven’t for a while, but we talk.”
“You call him Hobby.”
“Yeah, and you can stop the perusal now. I’m shutting down. Hobby has good and bad days. Life goes on one way or the other.”
“Sometimes it does. Other times it ends. My mother had a lot of bad days. Eventually, she died. I hate to say it was a relief, but it was. For her and for us. Uh, Tanner, it’s starting to rain.”
“Noticed that.”
“You just turned onto a really muddy road.”
“We’re in a truck, Rosemary, not Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. This is the one and only way to reach Desdemona.”
She braced her feet on the floor. “Tell me, is Desdemona very eccentric?”
“She’s a lot of things.” As the sky opened up and rain began to hammer the roof, Tanner arched a dark brow at her. “Not the least of which is that she’s Madeleine Lessard’s childhood friend.”
* * *
So near and yet so far…
Forty minutes later, Rosemary sat cross-legged in the back of Tanner’s truck and waited for him to stop swearing at his flat left rear tire.
“If it were my vehicle,” she said blithely when he passed her, “I’d be more concerned about the rattle under the hood than a flat—well, fine, do it your way.” But her lips twitched at the pissed off look he shot her. “How far is it to Nightshade?” she asked. “Maybe I could walk there, find a mechanic.”
“I am a mechanic.”
“Who could give us a tow,” she finished. Unruffled by his black expression, she held a palm out to the rain. “This is a light drizzle compared to fifteen minutes ago, and while you might be willing to ignore it, I hear thunder.”
“That’s me growling.”
He gave the tire bolts several whacks with his wrench and the rim a kick with the bottom of his foot, partly for good measure, she imagined, but mostly out of mounting frustration.
“You can walk to town, Rosemary, it’s up to you. But we’re less than a mile from Snake Scream Swamp, and if I have to say more than that, you haven’t been paying attention.”
She raised her hands in surrender. “Fine, no tow. I was only trying to help.”
He sent her a dangerous non-smile. “If you want to make yourself useful, climb down here and help me yank this tire off.”
She could not smile, too. Sliding from the box, she caught the gloves he tossed at her. “If you’ll recall, I offered to do that twenty minutes ago.”
“Twenty minutes ago, I was trying to jack this damn thing up. Stand right there and get a solid foothold before you start pulling.”
“Tanner, I’m up to my ankles in Louisiana mud. My feet couldn’t slip out from under me if they wanted to.” A brilliant flash of lightning above the trees brought her head up. “And now there’s that.”
“On three, Rosemary. One, two, three.”
Although she tugged on her side, she didn’t think the rust holding the tire in place loosened its grip at all. “Not going to ask,” she muttered and tugged again. This time, she felt some minor slippage.
“One more should do it,” Tanner told her. “On three.”
She braced, pulled and watched the rim slide forward. “Well, yay for us. That wasn’t as bad as I—shit!”
Tanner swung around, but by the time he did, Rosemary was on her butt, fighting to free her feet from the mud.
“What is it?” he demanded. He knocked the tire away so it wouldn’t fall on her. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” She continued to struggle, pointed upward. “Don’t you see it—him? He’s right there, in the cab of your truck.”
Lightning illuminated the swamp long enough for Tanner to raise his head. Unfortunately, the jack began to slip, so he grabbed her instead. Simply leaned over, circled her waist and took her with him in a sideways roll that ended with him on top of her and the truck skidding a drunken two feet toward them.
Tension thrummed in the darkening air. “I saw a face.” She stared up into his. “It wasn’t human.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
She clutched the front of his vest. “It wasn’t the old woman’s.”
“I figured that, too.”
“It—you did?” Surprise momentarily displaced shock. “How?”
“You said ghosts and apparitions don’t frighten you. Only snakes and alligators.”
“And leering wooden dolls.”
He regarded her through slitted eyes. “You saw a leering doll?”
Now she pushed on his chest. “Yes, I did, and despite how ridiculous that sounds, a doll isn’t a two-headed swamp monster. They exist, so give me a break, and get off me before I suffocate.”
A slow smile quirked his lips. “You don’t give the impression of a woman who’s suffocating.”
“I’m a good actor. Get off me, Tanner. Now.”
The smile climbed up into his eyes. “Why would I want to do that when I’m so comfortable right here?”
Rosemary spoke through gnashed teeth. “You must really enjoy pain.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t have made you promise not to torch me.”
“I don’t have to torch you to make you go away. I’ll just redirect the lightning so it fries your truck.”
“You know, it’d almost be worth losing the thing to see if you could do it.�
� He lowered his head, kept his eyes on hers. “Why don’t you want me to kiss you? I don’t believe you’re afraid of me.”
He was wrong about that, she reflected, just not in the way he thought. Every nerve in her body felt electrified. Even her skin tingled where his fingers cuffed her wrists. As for the rest of her…
She bucked against him, but that only drew another smile. Hissing, she twisted and wriggled and was sorely tempted to bite.
“All you have to do is say no,” he pointed out. “Something tells me you’ve used the word many times before.”
What did that mean, and how would he know one way or the other?
“You’re not my type, Tanner.” She worked a knee between his legs. “I like gentle men.”
“The hell you do.” He deflected her knee, stopped his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers. “You still haven’t said it.”
She wanted to snarl at him, or if she’d had the power to do it, turn him into a toad.
Lightning snaked through the sky. Her heart pounded like the thunder that rumbled behind it. The swamp seemed to come alive around them. Dimly aware of the pulse that beat like a burning drum in her throat, she shoved her objections into a box and slammed the lid.
“I am so going to regret this,” she decided. And without taking her eyes off his, reached for his mouth.
* * *
His goal had been to challenge her. To push hard and see what she did. No point denying he’d also wanted a good, long taste of her, but he hadn’t expected to get one. Or maybe it was more that some part of him had hoped he wouldn’t.
Because, damn it, she’d tempted him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. She’d gotten him hard in his dreams, and the situation hadn’t improved in dripping daylight.
An open challenge had seemed like the way to go. However, as things stood now, he figured he’d be lucky to come out of this with a clear memory of his own name.
Her mouth was liquid fire under his, an intoxicating shot of Napoleon brandy, with a strong punch of Jim Beam after the fact.
Releasing one wrist, he caught her chin and changed the angle of his kiss so he could—what? Screw up his head even more? Say to hell with his common sense and training, and let his balls do his thinking for him?
“You started this, Tanner.” The sultry pitch of her voice bulleted straight to his groin. His doing, he realized. His mistake.
He debated for a moment, then decided he might as well enjoy the ride. Explore her mouth and unearth whatever mysteries lurked there. Taste her and test her. Discover what he was up against besides a gorgeous, dark-haired female with the power to smoke the bulk of his brain cells.
Which, come to think of it, might be tricky, since doing so would necessitate her being in control of her own brain. At the moment, he didn’t think she was. The fingers of her left hand were twined in his hair, and her lips and tongue were doing incredible things to his.
She broke off at length, obviously not happy, but not loosening her grip on his hair either. “You know this will only mess everything up, don’t you?”
He absorbed her accusing stare, countered it with a humorous one of his own. “It will if we let it.” He took her mouth again, fought the urge to get savage. “You’re feisty, Rosemary. I like that.”
She wrenched her head sideways. “Glad to hear it. Maybe I should up the ante to inventive.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He caught her palm before it made contact with his jaw. “But not one I want to implement at this point.” She bucked up into him again and drew a grin. “If you think that’s gonna put me off, angel, you’re mistaken.”
Her eyes and smile glittered. “If you think I’m an angel, you’re the one who’s mistaken.”
He should have ended it there, Tanner reflected. She’d given him the perfect opening. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck and went in for more.
No act of lunacy, he reflected, should affect him like this. He explored every part of her mouth with a thoroughness he seldom bothered to employ. Sex in and of itself didn’t require intimacy, and lust was easily satisfied.
She made a sound like a purr, then bit his lip and smiled when he jerked his head up. “Oops.” Now the light of challenge danced in her eyes. “Guess your kiss got me overexcited. Should we try it again?”
“Keep stretching like a cat underneath me, and we’ll be doing a lot more than kissing.” He halted on the last word and brought his head up higher. “Don’t move,” he said when she shifted.
“You’re pushing down on my ribs. I can’t breathe.”
“Quiet.” She shoved him until he trapped her hands. “I heard something,” he said softly. “Live without air for a minute and I’ll be able to—got him.” He rolled to his feet. “Stay here. In the truck’s safer than on the ground.”
He didn’t wait for her response. Thunder shook the swamp floor, but no airborne rumble was responsible for the shudder of leaves ahead or the glimpse of black he caught behind them.
Tanner drew his gun as he ran through mud, rain and slapping branches. He followed the remains of a trail that cut over to a decent-sized road, dipped low when he heard a shot ahead of him, and going to ground in the shelter of a large sycamore tree, brought his gun around.
Five seconds ticked by. Precious seconds, he knew, but he wasn’t prepared to get shot simply to catch a runner. He knew where the trail emptied onto the road, and he’d already calculated that he wouldn’t get there in time to stop the guy, so he ran a few more yards, chose his spot, went down on one knee and listened.
An engine growled to life. Tanner pictured the vehicle spitting mud as the driver backpedaled to execute a rapid one-eighty. The engine revved harder as the tires caught. He waited another minute before standing and shoving the gun back in his waistband.
Leaves squishing behind him on the path elicited a faint smile. “You’re really lucky, Rosemary, that I took the time to memorize the sound of your footsteps. Otherwise I might have shot first and not bothered with questions.”
“In that case, it’s luckier still you taught me how to duck.” Drawing closer, she peered over his shoulder. “Did you see a face?”
“No, but I recognized the sound of the engine. I heard it this morning when Ethan Grimes drove out of my yard.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Mad Mama’s Antiques.” Rosemary did what she could to wring out her hair on the creaky porch of the swamp-side shop where Tanner’s truck, despite a death rattle under the hood and three red warning lights on the dash, had managed to transport them. “I hope Mama’s vision isn’t particularly good if I look even half as icky as I feel. Why does bayou mud seem like it’s ninety percent slime?”
“Because ninety percent of the time it is.”
“Are you sure about Grimes?” She brushed at her jeans and her once-upon-a-time white jacket.
“Four-wheel, double-wishbone suspension, deep-water-fording capacity, V8 turbo diesel engine…I know my off-road vehicles, Rosemary.”
“A ‘yes’ would have done,” she said under her breath. Mild irritation gave way to amusement when she saw he had his iPhone out. “Seriously, Tanner? Two cans and a long string would probably serve you better.” Laughing, she released her hair and tested the sturdiness of the picket that held the shop sign. “You know, I could blow on this and knock it down.”
He turned a walking circle, his phone held high. “Tell that to Katrina.”
Rosemary jiggled the post again. It was unsteady all right. It was also something else.
“Ouch.” She snatched her stung fingers away. She glanced in Tanner’s direction, but he was still fiddling with his phone and hadn’t heard her. She regarded the picket warily. Had she really just received an electrical shock from a plywood sign?
Rosemary considered the unlikely notion. Maybe she’d experienced some kind of transference. Or maybe the whole thing was Tanner’s fault, a lingering sizzle of sexual awareness. Almost anything seemed possible at this point. And, face
it, the man was an amazing kisser. Still, she would have expected any residual effects to have worn off while he’d been cursing his spare tire into place.
“Go on inside, Rosemary.” He hopped up onto his bumper. “Desdemona won’t mind.”
Regarding her fingers one last time, Rosemary climbed the stairs and tested the loose doorknob. This time the shock raced all the way to her shoulder.
“Like forces often repel the first time they meet.” A woman’s voice, soft and musical, came from the shadows beside her. “It means you have what Mama Madeleine had inside her.”
Rubbing her arm, Rosemary endeavored to locate the female speaker. “So Mama Madeleine was full of frustration, trepidation and annoyance?”
“At different stages of her life, yes. She also had an unswerving desire to see justice served.”
Oh, she really needed this, Rosemary thought with a sigh. More riddles. “Look, who—” she began, but the woman interrupted.
“Use your senses.”
Rain drummed and thunder echoed in the distance. Too tired of games to argue, Rosemary shut the noises out and honed in.
Sensation swamped her, a thousand thoughts and images, some related, many not. She swept the clutter aside and focused on the strong stream. The one with color and form.
A female face came slowly clear, a gauzy curtain of mist being drawn aside. The features were pale, fine but not delicate. Hers was a simple beauty, aging now, but quite lovely for someone approaching sixty.
“You’re not Desdemona.” Rosemary’s gaze cruised the deep shadows. “I don’t think you’re Flora either, but that’s what you call yourself.”
“It’s what everyone used to call me.”
“Used to call you.” Rosemary tugged her wet jacket closer as a chill chased itself over her skin. “Please tell me you’re not dead.”
“Do I have to tell you that?”
“It would speed things up. I’m not—” She searched for a way to explain. “I guess you could say I’m not proficient at reading people.”
“Your great-grandmother was.”
“It’s what my great-grandmother was that very likely got her killed. Or so I’m beginning to think.”