Every Deep Desire

by Sharon Wray

  “Yes.” The tic in his jaw quivered. A telltale sign he was holding onto his temper as hard as she was censoring hers. “I also need you to trust me.”

  “Have you not been listening?”

  He slammed his palms on the desk. “I have been listening, and I want to protect the life you’ve built for yourself. But that can’t happen until I find what I’m looking for. And you’re the only one who can help me.”

  “Why?” She threw her arms open wide, hoping to catch a single shred of truth. “What are you looking for?”

  “A vial once owned by Anne Capel.”

  “A vial from a seventeenth-century witch? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

  “Yes, actually. I do.”

  She gritted her teeth and turned back to the window. Garza and Philip were walking toward Mamie’s Café across the street from the church. A battered Texaco sign blew in the breeze, and a row of motorcycles lined up along the clapboard side of the station-turned-café.

  “Juliet?” Rafe came up behind her. “Please. If you don’t help me, others will get hurt.”

  “Now you’re blackmailing me?”

  “No, I’m asking you.” His breath against her neck sent tingles up her arm, and she lowered her head. “If I succeed, I promise I’ll leave town and you can get on with your life.”

  She shifted to see his profile. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  He put his hands on her waist so gently she felt the heat more than the pressure. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

  She turned, only to find him inches away. With her back against the window, his enormous body in the way, and his hands still on her waist, she was trapped. His touch burned through her dress, his masculine heat filled her lungs, pushing up her breasts. Her breaths sounded shallow, and she fought the urge to press her hands against his chest. To see if his heart was beating as fast as hers. “If I help you, I need something in return—besides you leaving town.”

  His eyelids lowered, his focus entirely on her lips. “Anything.”

  “I need your signatures on the deeds to Capel land. My father added your name, and I can’t sell my land without your signature.”

  He released her and crossed his arms. “Selling your land is a terrible idea.”

  She slipped by him and moved into the open space. Being so close to him left her hot and shaky. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Only your signature.”

  After a minute of intense silence, he nodded. “Once I get out of here, we can start—”

  “I don’t think so,” Calum said from the doorway. “Juliet, I apologize for interrupting but I need to talk to my client. We have things to figure out.”

  “Like what?” Rafe asked.

  Calum straightened his jacket, and then his tie. “Things.”

  Grateful for the reprieve, she said, “I have to set up for a funeral this afternoon, and I’m working late tonight on a new project.” No need to tell them what that project entailed. She headed for the door but paused to glance back at Rafe. “Meet me at the store tomorrow morning. We’ll get started then.”

  Because the sooner they began, the sooner he’d leave.

  Rafe’s scowl deepened while Calum took her arm and led her outside to the porch. “You called earlier?”

  “It’s not important,” she said. “I figured it out.” There was no way she was asking him for money now that she knew he was involved with Rafe’s mess.

  Calum looked at her sideways. “You okay?”

  She almost snorted. “You’re asking me that question?”

  “I’m just…worried about you. I can only imagine how hard this is.”

  “I’m fine, Calum. Really. Now I’m going to ask Philip if he can give me a ride back into town. And I’d appreciate it if you found Rafe some clothes. The clean kind that fit.”

  Juliet left the rectory and, once she hit Mamie’s Café and convenience store, headed directly for the restroom. She gripped the sink and reviewed her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had come loose. Long, damp tendrils framed her pale face. Dark circles surrounded her eyes.

  What was wrong with her? Why did I agree to help him?

  Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face until her fingers tingled.

  Everything will be okay. As long as she relied on herself, she’d survive. After fixing her hair, she left the restroom only to see Philip leaning against the beef jerky stand, hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to take you home?”

  “Thank you. I need to get away from all of this.”

  He reached for her. But she moved away, and he dropped his hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Except she wasn’t the only one with Rafe issues. “Are you?”

  “Sure.”

  That didn’t sound promising. “Where’s Pops?”

  “With Grady. Jimmy asked the families to split their search of Capel land. Which means the Marigny boys, who are currently filling their pieholes with peach cobbler, will make up a bullshit story to cover the fact that they did nothing.”

  She attempted a smile until one of the Marignys wolf-whistled from the other side of the store. And this was why she never came to the Isle.

  She followed Philip around the beer case to find Detective Garza at the counter, holding water bottles, surrounded by curious local men. She pushed through and moved next to Garza as he placed the water on the counter and adjusted his stance to show his holstered weapon. “How much?”

  “Two forty-eight.” CJ, the man behind the register with the Harley T-shirt and dish towel thrown over his shoulder, nodded to her. “Hey, Juliet. Who’s your friend?”

  “Detective Garza,” she said. “You should be nice to him.”

  Garza flashed his badge, and the men dispersed, most of them going back to the sandwich counter.

  “Oh.” CJ straightened his shoulders. “Aren’t you from Maryland?”

  “Trenton,” Garza said, pocketing his change. “It’s in New Jersey.”

  “Huh.” Then CJ fixed his gaze on Juliet. “Is it true you’re selling your land?”

  Before she could answer, Etienne, one of the Marigny boys seated at the lunch counter, asked, “How does your husband feel about that?”

  She faced the line of men seated like frogs on logs eating hamburgers and fries. “Rafe and I are divorced.”

  “Rafe’s a fucking traitor,” another man said. “An animal. Should’ve been hanged.”

  “Not surprised a dead body shows up the day he returns,” said a third. “No good ever came from a Montfort marrying a Capel. Gerald should’ve stopped that marriage.”

  “Only thing that land is good for,” said another, “is killin’ and buryin’.”

  CJ threw his towel at Etienne Marigny and headed for the grill. “Shut up, eat up, and help the sheriff. Or I’ll throw you out.”

  The men went back to their food, CJ flipped burgers, and she glanced at Garza. “Philip offered to take me home.”

  Garza nodded, handed her a water bottle, and followed them into the sunlight. Once she retrieved her workbag and camera, Garza opened Philip’s car door for her. She got in, collecting her dress before closing the door.

  “Wait!” Jimmy jogged over and scrunched down to meet her gaze. “One of the Toban boys found an SUV he didn’t recognize near the Capel land border, not far from Boudreaux’s restaurant. I ran the plates. It’s insured and registered to a law firm in New Orleans. Beaumont, Barclay, and Bray.”

  “So?”

  Jimmy held up a set of keys. “ME found this in the victim’s pocket. Same make and model of that SUV.”

  “Which makes them evidence.” Garza took them and read the engraved key chain. “Occidere, et non occidit. Kill or be killed.”

  Jimmy frowned. “You know Latin?”

  “A bit.”

 
She opened her bottle and took a drink. “The victim was driving that rental?”

  Jimmy nodded. “Juliet, remember what happened after the brush fire in your back meadow months ago? What we found after recovering Senator Wilkins’s body?”

  She pressed the cold bottle against her cheek. “There was a johnboat at the dock.”

  “So?” Garza asked.

  “So,” Jimmy added, “right before the fire, Juliet’s daddy cut off the bush roads on the property. Everyone, including Senator Wilkins, knew Gerald shot first, asked questions never. Yet, despite the danger, Wilkins used a boat to traverse the tidal estuaries across Juliet’s land. And in that boat, we found Wilkins’s jacket with a business card for Beaumont, Barclay, and Bray.”

  She’d forgotten that. “You think Senator Wilkins’s death and today’s murder are connected?”

  Jimmy lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. I’m just not sure how.”

  “You should know,” Garza said, “that Detective Legare never believed Wilkins got caught in a brush fire days after a tropical storm.”

  Jimmy hissed. “You opening the Wilkins and Legare investigations again?”

  “Maybe,” Garza said.

  “Be careful,” Jimmy said. “Legare was a great cop. Now he’s dead.”

  So now maybe two deaths were related to today’s victim? Was this the kind of weird Rafe had mentioned earlier? She hoped not.

  “I will.” Garza shut her door. “I’ll keep in touch, Miss Capel.”

  Philip drove away but had to make a U-turn. As he shifted gears, Rafe and Calum came out of the rectory and met the group near the church.

  Again, she noted Rafe’s graceful movements.

  “Look at the way Rafe walks,” Philip said. “It’s odd.”

  “Very.”

  “Is it true those are names on his arm?”

  She finished the last of her water and screwed on the top of the bottle. She didn’t care. So why had she been trying to read the ink? “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  Her phone buzzed with a text from Mr. Delacroix.

  Can’t wait to see the designs you come up with for the Prideaux House. Can you have preliminary renditions by Friday?

  Full-color renditions were a lot of work. Still, she texted, Yes.

  As Philip drove, she glanced back one last time. Rafe stood with his hands on his hips, staring at her.

  She turned, hating the fact that her face felt hot. As Philip hit the bridge leading to Skidaway Island, another text came in. But this one wasn’t from her lawyer or Mr. Delacroix.

  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks but bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  Chapter 9

  Rafe tracked Philip driving Juliet away. Seeing her again had been harder than he’d expected. Maybe it was the longing to hold her that left his chest caved in and his arm muscles contracting. Or maybe it was the fact that she was in danger, because of his own stupidity, that made his stomach hurt like he’d been gutted with a wire hanger.

  After Philip’s car disappeared toward the bridge off the Isle, Rafe studied the group only to realize there was one man he didn’t know. The same man who’d interrupted his dealing with Tommy and had stood too close to Juliet.

  Rafe held out his hand. “Rafe Montfort.”

  “Detective Garza.” After the firm shake, they dropped their hands. “Do you think a sniper took out the man we found on your ex-wife’s property?”

  The cop was direct. Something Rafe respected. “That’s the theory.”

  “It’s almost two miles from the river to the manor.”

  “Not an impossible hit,” Rafe said to the group. “With the right weapon.”

  Jimmy cleared his throat. “Is this connected to what Pops told us is happening at Juliet’s Lily?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Calum laid a hand on Rafe’s arm, as if knowing he had little patience left for bullshit. “She’s been dealing with vandalism. Detective Garza is on the case.”

  She’d mentioned that earlier but had downplayed the severity. Rafe addressed Garza directly. “Have you caught the vandals yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not surprised,” Pops said. “SPD can’t find shit.”

  “Pops? Enough.” Jimmy blew out an exasperated sigh and issued orders, sending different groups on their way. He ended with, “I want every inch of those twenty-three hundred acres scoured.”

  Rafe expected the men to argue. After all, they’d feared Gerald and had treated Juliet with disdain most of her life. Instead, they left with promises to check in.

  Jimmy commanded respect and regard? Interesting.

  “Remember.” Jimmy held up a hand. “We have a rogue sniper on the loose.”

  Rafe clasped his fingers behind his neck. He didn’t love sending these men out to chase a phantom. By now whoever killed Escalus would be long gone along with any trace that Rafe had ever been there. “How do you know the killer didn’t hit his target and disappear?”

  “What are you sayin’, Son?” Pops said.

  “Capel land is a jungle. There’s no way twenty or so men—even experienced hunters and trackers—will clear that property. If it was a friendly kill—”

  “What’s that?” Jimmy’s hands landed on his hips as if annoyed someone would question his knowledge or tactics.

  “A shot for a specific person with the killer moving on without hurting innocents.”

  An assassination. Except no one said the word aloud.

  Jimmy sighed. “Pops, Grady, do the best you can. Tommy can load the teams up with SAT phones. They don’t work great out there, but it’s all we have.”

  Garza added, “We have a heroin issue in town right now, Sheriff. But if you find evidence, I’ll get you men.” Garza’s phone buzzed, and he stepped away to check the message.

  Jimmy nodded at Rafe. “You joining us?”

  Before Rafe could answer, Calum said, “I need time with my client.”

  “Rafe knows that land as well as Grady and Pops.”

  “Rafe and I have lawyer/client things to discuss.”

  Since there was no chance of putting Calum off, Rafe said to Pops, “I’ll return the truck, get my things, and use the Impala to follow Calum into town. I’ll leave you Calum’s cell phone number so you can reach me.”

  Pops nodded.

  “Fine,” Jimmy said, pointing at Rafe. “Don’t you leave Savannah. You hear?”

  Rafe shrugged. Who was he not to follow orders?

  * * *

  Nate hauled the rum cases to the edge of the truck and jumped down. His boots thudded in the alley behind Rage of Angels club. The odor of puke and piss churned his gut.

  “I can’t believe you took that call.” Pete rolled a dolly around. “And you agreed to be Montfort’s PO. When Colonel Torridan finds out—”

  “He won’t.”

  “He will.” Pete swept a bandana over his face. “And he’ll be pissed.”

  “He won’t if you don’t say anything.” Calum believed Montfort held their only hope. Considering Nate was out of clues and almost out of time, he agreed.

  “This sitch sucks,” Pete said.

  Nate handed Pete a case to load onto the dolly. Part of the bouncer/security deal. Toss out drunks at night, refill the bar the next day. At least Deke paid them extra for lifting and carrying. With what they earned from scraping assholes off the floor and protecting women performing down-and-dirty acts in the bathrooms, they could eat, sleep, and get to the gym. Because beating down random guys in the gym’s ring was Nate’s favorite part of the day.

  “What about Juliet?” Pete loaded another case.

  Now she was a problem. Which was why Pete had agreed, at the start of the mission, to “meet” Samantha. Since their only clue was Juliet’s eight-petaled lil
y, Pete was using Samantha to gather intel. But all Pete had found was a girlfriend and shit for evidence.

  Nate lowered his case onto the cart. “I’m counting on the fact that Juliet hates Rafe more than she hates me and won’t tell him.”

  “Crash-and-burn factor is huge.”

  No kidding. Too bad he couldn’t erase the memories he still carried. Especially that moment during the interrogation when tears stained Juliet’s cheeks. He rubbed the sweat off his brow with his arm. Figures fate left him with the crippling memories and took those that could’ve saved his men.

  Pete whistled low as Sally, the red-haired, green-eyed, double-D waitress, came out of the club’s back door. She wore a short skirt and tiny T-shirt and carried two paper cups with steam rising from them.

  “Hey, Pete. I got two coffees. You want one?”

  “Thanks.” Pete took his and gave her his trademark smile filled with sunshine and unicorns, while Nate, apparently, didn’t warrant a casual hey. Then again, he wasn’t doing the sideways tango with the club’s waitresses. Until he freed his men, it was celibacy all the way. He’d taken a vow and everything.

  Since Pete had stopped working to stare at Sally’s breasts, Nate said, “What are you doing here, Sally? Don’t you come in at seven?”

  “Deke might let me dance, but I have to audition.” She twirled, holding her coffee high while her skirt flew out, revealing a purple thong. “Want to watch, Pete?”

  Nate looked away while Pete said, “I’d love to, Sal, but I gotta get this stuff stocked.”

  “Since when can Deke hire?” Nate asked Pete.

  “None of your biz,” a husky male voice said from behind him.

  And speak of the devil’s younger, meaner minion.

  Deke came around the truck with a big ole fake smile plastered across his ugly-ass face. The guy had to have broken his nose ten times to get that look between busted and pounded. His dark hair hung in oily strands. He’d topped his black tee, leather pants, and Doc Martens lace-ups with a crucifix. If that didn’t qualify as heresy, Nate didn’t know what would. Add in the overly developed biceps and Deke was half Orc, half Death Eater.