The snake was no longer a threat, but the smugglers were. Her knife could defend against one or two, maybe three, but not eight. Her mind choreographed a fight sequence against four men. But it didn’t end well for her.
Which way would they go? Off to the side of the small dock? Or in the opposite direction, toward her? One way meant torture, rape, death. The other would give her a fighting chance. She’d been rescued once before when a military extraction team pulled her out of a makeshift cell where her only companions were stone-hard bread and dirty water.
But this time, no one knew where she was. And no one had her six.
She zeroed in on the men, tracking their movements and watching their body language. Did their spidey senses alert them to her presence? Did they know she was watching them? Probably not since they weren’t looking over their shoulders and didn’t lower their voices.
She strained to hear what they were saying, but only an occasional word was intelligible—ship, hurry, late, slaves, gold, wines, cordials. Slaves? Her stomach twisted into knots. If the men caught her… God, they’d rip her apart, then sell whatever was left of her to human traffickers. Both would be excruciatingly painful ways to die.
They had to be drug smugglers, but they carried old pistols and swords. What kind of drug smuggler would depend on centuries-old weapons? And their boats didn’t even have outboard motors. Why? To keep the noise down? To travel the bayous without being detected by the authorities? If the police were out there, how could she find them?
The men hoisted the four pirogues out of the water. Rounds of shivers spiked down her backbone. If they came in her direction, she was a goner. The pressure of fear wasn’t heavy enough to choke off her air supply, but almost.
Grunting, two men lifted each of the boats and balanced them on their shoulders.
This was it. Which way would they go?
She made herself as small as possible.
She didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
Not even when the cottonmouth slithered through the grass and over her legs again, and she stifled a primal scream—barely.
5
Flight to New Orleans—Rick
An hour later, the Montgomery Winery’s Gulfstream G650 lifted off with a three-person crew and six passengers: Rick, Pete and Sophia, David and Kenzie, and Remy Benoit, the medically trained bodyguard who usually traveled everywhere with Elliott and Meredith.
Remy was a former soldier, born and raised mostly in Louisiana, lean and mean, but with the heart of a gentle giant. And an occasionally uncanny prescience.
David said nothing more about his vision. When he was ready, he’d talk. Until then, it was useless to bring it up unless you wanted to cower beneath his steely glare. Rick had been there before, and the heat from David’s eyes could singe the nerves of the most stalwart soldier or Marine.
Rick and David sat opposite each other in the forward cabin area at one of the two four-place club groupings with electrically operated stowing executive tables. Pete and Remy sat across the aisle. Kenzie and Sophia sat in a four-place conference group opposite a credenza with a built-in wine cooler and a printer. The aft cabin had two opposing three-person easy-to-berth divans.
The plane was certified to carry fifteen passengers. When Rick took over as president of the winery, he traded in the plane Meredith had used for more than a decade for a faster one with an espresso maker, walk-in baggage compartment, and several other amenities. He wanted comfort, but most of all, he wanted speed, and he got that with the G650, although it came with a hefty price tag.
Once they were airborne, David stood and handed out assignments. “Rick, see what ye can find on Philippe Fontenot. I’ll take the wife. Pete, check with Roy and follow up with any leads. Remy, email Cate and ask her to arrange accommodations and transportation in New Orleans. I prefer a house over hotel rooms. See if ye can order groceries online and have them delivered late this afternoon. And Kenzie, ye and Sophia work on her sketches, upload them into the system, and see if there are any hidden pictures or messages.”
“I still don’t understand why you think Sophia’s drawings have clues,” Pete said. “We all watched her draw them.”
An unreadable look passed between David and Sophia, and for a moment neither spoke.
Then David said, “She was there.”
“What’d you mean, she was there?” Kenzie asked.
“Sophia saw what I saw.”
Kenzie eyed David suspiciously, then Sophia. “Hold on a minute.” She wagged her finger at David. “Sophia wasn’t even present when you had the vision. How could she see anything?”
David glanced at Sophia. “I can’t explain it. Can ye?”
Pete stood and glared at his wife, implying he wanted an explanation too.
Sophia wasn’t unnerved by Pete’s look or Kenzie’s directness. “I wasn’t sure David saw me. I backed out as quickly as I could.” Then to Pete, she said in a soft low voice, “I would have told you as soon as we had time alone.”
Pete gave her an uneasy smile. Of all the marriages in the clan, Pete and Sophia’s was almost the longest and the shortest. They’d married when Sophia was a teenager, then her parents annulled the marriage immediately, and twenty years later, they found each other again. They often behaved like newlyweds, but at other times they were like the rest—old souls who knew each other, as well as they knew themselves.
“So, that’s how you knew what the dead man looked like?” Pete asked.
“That’s never happened to me before,” Sophia said. “I was drawing what David described, but I wasn’t just listening to him, I could see the scene playing out in real-time. But I wasn’t sure how David would react to someone other than Kenzie slipping into his mind.”
Kenzie laughed. “There are too many cobwebs up there, along with old memories. You’ll never find me roaming around in those shadows.”
“It happens,” Remy said in his South Louisiana Cajun accent, which seemed to be growing more pronounced the closer they got to his hometown. Even though he was hired to travel with Elliott a couple of years ago, he was so resourceful dealing with security issues that he often flew with David and Kenzie too. Remy knew so much about MacCorp that the family had adopted him. Now he was trusted with its biggest secrets.
Rick turned toward Remy. “What happens?”
Remy picked up the drumsticks next to his laptop and played a drum riff using the table, water bottle, and coffee cup. Ba-dum-CHING! “In the land of magnolias and bayous…” Ba-dum-CHING! “Shadowy ghosts and weirdness suffuse the landscape like mist on a bottomless moonlit swamp.”
Sophia shivered. “If you’re trying to scare the bejesus out of me, Remy, you’re too late. Those warriors are all the shadowy ghosts I care to see.”
“What I’m sayin’ is, doan be surprised by anythin’ that happens till it’s done.” Ba-dum-CHING! “I swear it for true.”
Rick cocked his head. Remy only knew about Billie’s disappearance, but, as usual, he was intuitively aware of the concerns of those around him. Elliott had remarked several times that Remy described Elliott’s aches and pains before he even confessed to having any. And once, Remy made Rick stop in the middle of a run to have his foot X-rayed. A stress fracture was discovered in the small bone in the ankle joint. If Rick had kept running, he would have had a significant injury. Since then, like Elliott, Rick never ignored anything Remy said.
“Until what’s done?” Rick asked.
“You’re searchin’ for evil, but ya woan find all of it in the bayous.” Remy put down his drumsticks and returned to his laptop, softly clicking the keys.
They all knew that asking Remy to elaborate was useless, but this time Rick wasn’t going to give up so easily. Remy’s statement demanded a follow-up question. “How do you know?”
Remy stopped typing, and his long, deeply tanned fingers lay perfectly still against the ebony tabletop. “Thursday afternoon I sensed Elliott’s fear. I sensed the same thing with JL yesterday. I doan know
any more than that. My job’s protectin’ you in N’Orlanz, no matter where it takes us.” Remy’s distant expression dissolved into a half-smile as he put on noise-canceling headphones, and his fingers returned to tap dancing on his laptop.
Rick gave up. He wasn’t going to get any more information, so he followed Remy’s lead and slipped on identical headphones, scrolling through the music library on his phone. Was he in the mood for jazz or hard rock? Neither one. He clicked on Mellow ’70s Gold, starting with “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor.
An hour later, he removed his headphones and signaled to the others to remove theirs. “This is what I found so far.” Reading from his notes, he said, “The Fontenots were active members of New Orleans society, so the internet is full of articles and interviews. Philippe was born and raised in New Orleans and earned an Executive MBA in Shipping and Logistics from Tulane University. He operated a shipping and cargo services company that his family started a hundred years ago.
“Since he disappeared,” Rick continued, “the company’s board of directors has managed the business. The board recently received an offer to buy the company, but the Fontenots had to be declared legally dead first. Last month the court appointed an administrator. The estate is now in the process of liquidation.”
“Who’s handling the sale of the assets?” Kenzie asked.
Rick consulted his notes. “Thompson Auction House has the listing for the house and contents. They’ve been running an estate sale for the past two days.”
“And that’s where Billie went? Where she bought the brooch?” Kenzie asked.
“Yes,” Rick said. “Thompson’s website lists many of the items for sale, but the brooch isn’t on the list.”
“What about their heirs?” she asked.
“That’s the thing,” Rick said. “They never had children. Once the assets are liquidated, the court will distribute the proceeds to the Louisiana Historical Society.”
“Lucky them,” Kenzie said. “What about Rhona Fontenot?”
Rick pointed to David. “Got anything yet?”
David took a sip of coffee, then picked up a yellow legal pad. “She’s a textile designer and weaver. But here’s where we might find a connection to the clan and the brooch. Rhona’s father was originally from Scotland, her mother from France. Their surname was Baird. A good Highland name. They immigrated to New York City in the late 1960s. When Rhona was four years old, her parents died in a random shooting. A maiden aunt from Paris who lived in New Orleans was awarded custody and later adopted her.”
“What do you know about the aunt?” Kenzie asked.
“According to the society pages, the aunt was a direct descendant of Antoine Destutt de Tracy. She was an artist, and devoted the rest of her life to raising Rhona.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Rick said.
Sophia put her sketchpad aside, and her whole body sighed. “I do. I know him.” Her voice was soft with melancholy. “Antoine Destutt de Tracy was a philosopher and a friend of Thomas Jefferson.”
Pete crossed to the other side of the plane, sat on the sofa next to Sophia, and took her hand, kissing it lightly. “It’s okay, babe. You know I don’t mind talking about Jefferson.”
“I know, caro.” She smiled at Pete. “I met Antoine in Paris during the fall of 1789. His family was of Scottish descent and could trace its origin to Walter Stutt in the fifteenth century.” She thumbed the edges of the pages in her sketchpad. “I have a drawing of him in my journal at home.”
“You uploaded all your sketches to the MacKlenna server,” Pete said. “The way I set up your files, you always have access to them. Just log onto the server and search for his name.”
“Oh, you’re right. I keep thinking my drawings are only on my computer at home.”
Kenzie tapped her pen against her legal pad. “Then Rhona has Highlander and French aristocratic ancestors,” Kenzie said. “If she was so active in New Orleans society, maybe there are articles about her vacations and travels. Do you want me to research the society pages?”
“Sure.” David jotted a few notes on a piece of paper and handed it to Kenzie. “Here’s what I know so far. Start with this date and work backward.”
“What about Rhona’s mother and aunt’s maiden name. Do you know?” Kenzie asked.
“I’m researching her right now. I’ll let ye know.” They all returned to their assignments until David hollered, “Aw, shite.”
“What is it, babe?” Kenzie asked.
David shoved his fingers through his slightly graying hair and down to the back of his neck, where he rubbed tight muscles that needed Anne, the family’s massage therapist, to work out the kinks. “I’ll frame it this way… Our past and present keep bumping into each other.”
“How so?” Kenzie asked.
“Rhona’s mother’s maiden name and her aunt’s last name was Arées.”
“Crap! Say it ain’t so,” Pete said. “Let’s not tell Jack.”
Sophia gave Pete a puzzled look. “Why would Jack care?”
“Carolina Rose Arées was the woman he met in San Francisco in 1881 who died in his arms,” Pete said.
“Oh. Jack and I’ve talked about our adventures and heartaches,” Sophia said. “He told me all about Carolina Rose, but I never heard her last name.”
Rick had never heard Sophia talk about her heartache before. He’d heard it from Pete, of course, but not Sophia. Rick knew she’d been in love with Thomas Jefferson and how difficult it had been to leave him. The family would forever remain split on how her adventure went down. But Pete was so thankful to have her back in his life that he rarely looked back on the decisions she made and those made for her.
“I just got an email from Cate,” Remy said. “She arranged a four-week lease on an eight-bedroom plantation-style home in the heart of the New Orleans Bywater Arts District, with an option for another four weeks. She also arranged a limo to pick us up. Drivers will be available twenty-four/seven as needed. And, at my request, she reserved an SUV. I’ll pick up the SUV and take Sophia to Jackson Square. The limo driver can take the rest of you wherever you want to go.” He glanced around. “Sound good?”
“Write her back and arrange for an additional car,” Pete said. “Rick and I will need transportation too, and riding around in a limo will draw too much attention.”
“Why doan you take the SUV?” Remy said. “Sophia and I will take the limo unless David and Kenzie need a vehicle.”
“We don’t need one,” David said. “We’ll be diving into the de Tracy and Baird family histories for the next few hours. If we need to go somewhere, we’ll call Uber.”
Pete gave Remy a hard look. “Don’t let Sophia out of your sight.”
Sophia turned in her seat and pointed her pencil at Pete. “Look here, mister. I might not have been to Kandahar, but I survived the storming of the Bastille. I crossed the Atlantic in a ship not much bigger than a rowboat, I traveled for several days in a horse-drawn carriage through a blizzard, and I birthed a nine-pound baby in the back seat of a car. I’m tough, and I’m more proficient in Tai Chi now than I was then. So let up on me. I’ll be fine in Jackson Square.”
Rick had to cover his mouth and look away before he burst out laughing at Pete, whose urge to protect Sophia visibly rolled over him, tightening his face, his neck, his shoulders.
“At least you could see the revolutionaries,” Pete grumbled. “Whatever is hunting us now is invisible.”
Sophia stared at Pete with some of her indomitable determination and stubbornness the family knew well. “I don’t anticipate any trouble, and you can use your location finder to keep up with me.”
Pete pulled her in for a hug and stroked the side of her face. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”
She kissed him on the mouth. “It’s easier than listening to me bitch about you treating me like a china teacup.”
“Sophia, none of us could bear it if he lost ye again. So, I’ll include my warning with his,”
David said. “Don’t take yer safety for granted. Assume if someone is staring at ye, they intend to harm ye. Don’t do stupid shit. If ye drop yer guard—”
“I get your point,” Sophia interrupted. “And your warning isn’t just for me. We’ve all traveled with the brooches, except for Remy.”
Remy glanced up, pursed his lips, then returned to his laptop.
“There could be something in our systems now that’s detectable,” Kenzie said.
“Like what?” Sophia asked. “Radioactivity you can only detect with a Geiger counter?”
Kenzie tried to scratch inside her cast, first using her finger, then a straw. “You need to stop reading those sci-fi novels. I don’t think…” She stopped a moment, cocked her head, and gave David a sharp look. “Do you think that’s possible? I mean, I don’t believe we’re radioactive, but could we have picked up trace elements from the time warp that stay with us and can identify us as travelers?”
“I’ve never seen ye glow in the dark, Kenz”—David winked—“but if it’s possible…” He leaned forward in his seat. “Stay with me here,” he continued. “It might be possible that we have something in our blood, our skin, our hair, or a dot in our eyes that distinguishes us from non-travelers. If that’s true, then we could use it to find others.”
“How would we begin to find out?” Rick asked. “We’d need a lab and technicians…” Rick stopped when an idea hit him. “Charlotte and Braham can do it. They can set up a lab at Mallory Plantation.”
“I wonder how long that would take? Months?” Pete asked.
“When money is no object, mountains can be moved quickly.” David made notes on his legal pad. “I’ll talk to Charlotte later today, but I think ye’re definitely onto something, Sophia.”
“I admit to having zero medical knowledge, but it seems logical that we can compare the DNA or blood or whatever in the kids who have time-traveled to those who haven’t. And we can also use Elizabeth Kelly, Pops, Shane, Jeff and his family, and Austin as comparisons because they’ve never touched a brooch or traveled.”
The Topaz Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 10) Page 7