Kitabı oku: «Don't Say a Word», sayfa 3
In spite of his control, the air whooshed from his chest in a painful rush. Fuck.
Their rendezvous took on an entirely new light. The seduction. The mind-blowing sex. The pillow talk.
Hell, he had thought he was in control, but he was a fool. She’d been using him all along, hadn’t fallen for him at all. Had she believed that he was on Swafford’s payroll? That he worked for the mob? That he might have killed Swafford? That he was dirty?
His gaze swung back to his superior as he mentally replayed their conversations. Kendra must have had notes on him. Notes that pertained to her story. Notes on things he’d said that might have been misinterpreted.
Holy hell.
They obviously thought he’d killed her because of something in her notes. Something that made it look as if he were on the take.
ESMERALDA PORTER, aka the Cat Lady, felt the tremble of the earth and the stench of death in the air. The whisper of danger rustled in the air as the winds rattled dry leaves from the weeping willow trees and sent them raining down onto the parched earth. In another place, it would have been a musical sound, but here the eerie, grating threads sounded like the devil’s voice, announcing his presence.
She searched the backwoods from her porch. The rumors of the devil in the bayou taunted her—legends of faceless monsters that roamed the land. Some wore smiles to masquerade their evil souls. Damned into the darkness, kissed by the devil’s breath, they licked quietly at the blood on their fingertips as they ate away at the vestiges of man’s humanity. Those had clawed their way through the dirt and debris of their own graves to rise again as if the devil had pushed them upward through the ground with spiny fingers. They preyed on the weak, leaving tattered bodies and hearts in their vicious wake like the swamp gators after a nightly feeding, jagged teeth crunching on bone.
Evil cannot be destroyed. Its black unbending heart beats on, old with rage, its tendrils of anger as choking as the twisted hands of lust that consumes man’s soul.
But the battle wasn’t over. She summoned the magic to help fight off the evil. After all, she was a traiteur, a healer, a soldier for good, though not a warrior herself.
Satan must have found a victim. A new soul to possess and carry out his vile will. Another source to spread pain and anger. She smelled his victory, a coppery scent like blood.
Her black cat, Midnight, slithered onto the stone hearth and yowled to the heavens, and her tabby, Persimmon, bellowed in a long-winded refrain of terror.
“Come here, ’tite chatte,” she murmured, scooping up the little cat in her lap. The wind chimes hanging from the porch of her wood-frame house trembled, though, tinkling and clattering so hard one of the glass angels shattered.
She pulled her black shawl around her shoulders, urging her arthritic body and mental will not to fail her. Though she’d been blind for years now, she saw things through the darkness. Living in a world without sight had honed her other senses, especially her sense of smell.
She knew each feline by its odor, as well as the unique tone of its meow, the texture as she ran a fingertip across its nose. Gorgon, an orange-striped male, climbed on top of the organ and peered out the window as if planting himself as guard against the danger waiting in the bayou.
A danger that marched closer with every passing minute.
She mentally flipped through the recipes from her book of spells, searching for one to fend off the bad coming. Not that she had power, for the magic lay in the cats.
Once upon a time, she had been a nonbeliever. But her life had taken a drastic turn into misery, and she had learned to listen to the spirits.
Her dead husband spoke to her sometimes, crying out his rage at being taken so early. Yet his demise had come from his own wrongdoings. And he had taken more secrets to his grave. Secrets that might have offered comfort and closure to some while tormenting others with the twisted viciousness of his crimes.
His transgressions were plenty. Not only to her but to humanity. And he was burning in eternity for them now.
She’d feared her grandson had fallen to the same demon. And now in death, he lingered, caught between realms. Begging for a chance to redeem his soul and go to heaven.
Titan, a fat gray cat who’d come to her during the latest storm of violence in the bayou, pawed the floor and snarled. Suddenly the earth trembled again, more violently this time, and the scent of graveyard dust filled her nostrils.
The cats slithered from their posts, tails swishing, ears perked, listening as they formed a circle. In unison, they began to scratch at the wooden floor, hissing to the heavens as they united to protect her.
But another woman needed protecting. Lex had told her so. The image of a mangled face and body materialized in her blind mind. The woman was nearby. In danger.
Someone had tried to kill her before. They’d stolen her life already. Her memory. Her face.
And they would try to finish her off if someone didn’t save her….
CHAPTER FOUR
CRYSTAL HAD CONTEMPLATED her loss of memory and her past so many times that she thought she was going crazy. Dr. Pace had informed her that since she had suffered a head trauma, the past might be erased permanently. The emotional trauma compounded the problem.
But after sitting with the child tonight, Crystal felt amazingly calmer. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, offering hope that she might return to a normal life someday, a welcome reprieve from the endless hours of dwelling on her own misfortune and the mystery of her missing life. Another memory had also begun to surface—one of her surrounded by small children. Feeding them. Singing to them. Helping them.
Back in her room, she flipped on the television set. It was time she connected with the real world again. And maybe she’d find a posting from someone in search of her…
She listened to the news coverage about the war in Iraq and the upcoming local Memorial Day celebrations. Then a special report flashed on the screen and caused her to sit upright.
“Earlier today, police discovered the partial body of a local reporter named Kendra Yates. Her severed hand was found in the bayou but so far, the remainder of the woman’s body has not been uncovered.”
Crystal’s heart raced. Kendra Yates…Why did that name seem familiar?
The reporter continued, “Sources tell us that Miss Yates was investigating the New Orleans Police Department on charges of corruption, and that tonight Officer Antwaun Dubois was brought in for questioning. An arrest is imminent in the alleged homicide.”
Crystal frowned as the camera panned a dark wooded area where they had obviously found the woman’s severed hand, then moved back to the steps of the precinct where a mob had gathered and the police were escorting a man inside. For a second, her heart sputtered as if she recognized him. Several reporters yelled questions and accusations at Antwaun Dubois, then a reporter pushed a mike toward another tall, dark-haired man who resembled him. “Detective Dubois, can you tell us more about the investigation?”
Detective Dubois glared at the reporter. “Antwaun Dubois is innocent. The NOPD is doing everything in their power to expedite this investigation and will bring Miss Yates’s killer to justice.”
Another reporter cornered a third man, this one even taller and more intimidating. Crystal’s pulse jumped in her throat. He seemed familiar as well….
“Special Agent Dubois, were your brother and Miss Yates personally involved?”
“Was he on the take?” another reporter shouted.
“As Detective Dubois said, my brother is innocent,” Special Agent Dubois stated. “Now, please move out of the way so we can do our jobs and find the real killer.”
Crystal stared at the men as they rushed into the precinct. Something about Antwaun Dubois and the last man, Special Agent Dubois, triggered a memory. And the agent—his voice, she’d heard it before, she knew it, but she couldn’t place it….
In fact, she was almost certain that she’d met both Antwaun and the agent.
But how would she know a cop or a federal agent?
DR. REGINALD PACE COULD HARDLY stand the anticipation of knowing that he would unveil Crystal’s new face in the morning. He had sketched versions of each step in the rebuilding process on a specially designed medical computer program to craft her transition. She was going to be beautiful.
He wanted to show her off to the world. Let them know that he was the first in his state to perform such an intricate surgery and that he was a genius in his field.
The only problem was that he couldn’t reveal his work yet.
Because he hadn’t exactly followed the book on this one.
He wiped at a drop of perspiration trickling from his scalp into his hair. Didn’t matter. Crystal was his now. He had made her.
He had stood by her side when others had been repulsed. He’d soothed her in the darkest of hours and held her hand to his chest just to let her know that a breathing, living man cared for her.
Soon he would tell her that he loved her as well.
Then she would return the sentiment, and they would make love and all would be right with the world. When he’d won her completely over as his wife, then she’d sign the papers stating that she’d agreed to the face transplant, and that he was the man who had given her back her life.
Then he would be famous.
He tapped a series of keys that brought up the image of what his Crystal would look like when he finally unveiled her face, and blood surged through his cock. Exhilarated, he unzipped his pants, freed himself and slid his hand around his length. Soon he would give her the present of his seed. Then they could breed more Paces who would lend their genius to the world.
For now, he’d content himself with the image of her face as he gave himself release. But even as he did, he closed his eyes and envisioned himself pouring his come into her mouth.
In the images, he reveled in the blissful smile on her exquisite new face. And he silently thanked the dead woman for her part in it all.
DAMON CURSED. They were officially arresting Antwaun. Arguing that they had no body didn’t help. The lieutenant must have evidence he wasn’t sharing.
Even with Damon being a federal agent and Jean-Paul a detective with the NOPD, they had to push to see their brother.
Lieutenant Phelps was worried about how a private meeting would look to Internal Affairs. The mayor had called, the chief of police, even the governor of the state, ordering that justice be served for the vicious way in which the young woman had died. A screwup with the brothers, and the Dubois men would be pulled off the case.
And neither Damon nor Jean-Paul trusted their brother’s destiny to the fates.
Or the local police, who might have a crooked cop in their midst.
Had Kendra Yates discovered a cop on the take? Was her work related to her death, or had she been murdered by some kind of deranged sicko like the Swamp Devil?
Who had Antwaun pissed off so badly they’d frame him for murder?
Jean-Paul had phoned Jason Dryer, an attorney, who joined him and Damon in the small room. Dryer grilled Antwaun for the truth, while Damon and Jean-Paul watched silently.
“All right, Antwaun.” Damon braced his legs apart, then leaned over with his elbows on them, hands clasped. “Come on, tell us what you’ve been leaving out.”
Antwaun’s cobalt eyes turned a smoky-gray as he ran a hand through his overly long hair. Damon zeroed in on the scars on his hand. He tried to remember where his brother had gotten the jagged marks but couldn’t place the cause. Not that he knew each incident in his brother’s life. Both of them had been in the military, had been to hell and back.
“I’ve told you everything. If I’d known Kendra was a fucking reporter, I sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten involved with her.”
Damon hissed. The lieutenant didn’t want the FBI involved, but with Swafford’s connection to Kendra, they already were. “I’ll talk to her boss tomorrow and get a warrant for her files.”
“Someone I know is setting me up,” Antwaun growled. “You have to get me released so I can track them down.”
The last thing they needed was to have Antwaun on the streets, out of control, exacting his own brand of justice—revenge.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dryer said. “But you know it will be morning before I can get a judge and bail hearing set.”
Antwaun nodded.
“Do you have any idea who would frame you?” Damon asked.
Antwaun frowned. “I can think of a few names.”
“Make a list,” Jean-Paul said. “We’ll check out the names for you.”
“What was your cover with Swafford?” Damon asked.
Antwaun spoke in a low, gravelly tone. “I played the drug trafficking angle to get in with his organization.”
“Do you think Swafford discovered her identity and killed her?” Damon asked.
Antwaun shrugged. “It’s possible. When they both disappeared last year, I thought she might have run off with him. I went to her apartment and searched for clues as to where she might have gone but came up empty.”
“What about her computer?”
“It wasn’t there. But hell, I didn’t think she had one. I thought she was a dancer.”
“She might have left willingly with him at first,”
Damon said. “He could have found out her identity afterwards and killed her.”
Antwaun scrubbed his hand over the dark stubble on his jaw. “Swafford wouldn’t have done the deed himself. He has hired minions.”
Another reason for the feds to be on the case. “We’ll check into Swafford’s organization. I’ll need everything you have on him.”
Antwaun nodded. “And don’t forget my buddies on the force.”
Damon grimaced. Antwaun didn’t make buddies.
If there was corruption in the department, who knew how deep it went, or how far it reached. And Swafford was a slick businessman who said all the right things in public, a smarmy bastard the locals and feds had both been watching for months. A man some citizens protected because he’d helped the economy.
A man who’d disappeared without a trace.
But his money might be dirty, might be part of a money-laundering scheme. Men like Swafford thrived on power and would go to any lengths to protect themselves and their investments.
But if he and his men had killed Kendra Yates, why feed her to the gators?
To destroy evidence?
Another possibility reared its head. What if she was still alive?
They could have cut off her hand just to frame Antwaun.
“You know Swafford’s body hasn’t been discovered,” Antwaun said.
“You’re thinking that he isn’t dead?”
“Maybe. What if he disappeared or faked his death, either because of Kendra’s murder, or because he thought she planned to expose him? He could have cut off her hand to make it look like she was murdered, and to set me up and get me out of the way.”
“We’ll look into that angle,” Damon agreed. “He has accounts set up all over the world. Hidden money, of course.”
Antwaun looked grim. “With finances like that, he can disappear and never be found.”
And a dirty cop could help him obtain a new identity and cement Antwaun’s conviction.
The realization triggered memories of Damon’s own past. The depths of deception by the government. The resources available to people to help them disappear and create new lives.
The same resources criminals utilized as well.
Damon’s blood pounded in his ears as his adrenaline kicked in. He’d used those resources before himself….
Dammit, he couldn’t let his little brother go to jail for a crime he hadn’t committed.
No, if anyone deserved to be in prison for murder, it was him.
THERE WERE SOME PEOPLE so cold, so ruthless, so calculating that they craved the kill. Savored the pain they inflicted. Tasted the blood of their victims and drank it down like fine wine.
They were born to kill.
He knew their kind. He was one of them.
As he had thought Damon Dubois had been at one time. But Damon had betrayed him.
Just like the others.
The Dubois family—they had to pay.
He had found the perfect way.
The woman, Kendra Yates, had served his purpose well. He studied the dark lock of hair he had kept from her. His trophy, the police would call it.
He rubbed its fine silky texture between his fingers and recalled the way he’d wrapped it around his hands just before he’d pressed the blade of the knife to her pale throat. She hadn’t understood that she was a sacrificial lamb for his cause.
A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest. The file she had on Antwaun would be like a torpedo rocking the bastard’s world. He would choose the exact moment that information would be revealed.
Making Antwaun suffer by being arrested for Kendra’s murder was the perfect way to torture the man before he exposed him for what he really was.
The son of a murderer.
The brother of one as well.
Yes, he held the knowledge to tear the Dubois family apart once and for all. And he would enjoy every moment of their suffering until they begged for his forgiveness.
Just as Kendra had begged for her life.
The shock on her face when he’d made the first slice had been sweet. She had known her time was up. That she wouldn’t die quickly or easily.
That he intended to carve her up in little pieces for his own pleasure.
He slid into the dark haunting shadows of the bayou, inhaling the musky scent of the swamp, the coppery scent of fresh blood from a dead animal, the pungent odor of the devil’s breath heating the mossy banks and whispering through the tupelo trees.
The dense overgrown foliage hid his form as he slithered through the cypress trees toward his lair. Blood splattered the floor and walls of the dilapidated cabin, the smell of ripening flesh mingling with the loamy scent of the earth. The sound of Kendra’s terrified screams still echoed in his ears, as shrill and chilling as the alligator’s attack cry just before he bit into his victim.
He stepped into the cabin, his nose burning from the acrid odors of waste and rotting flesh.
Aah, sweet heaven.
Antwaun and Damon Dubois had both been shocked by the woman’s severed hand.
Laughter bubbled in his throat. He couldn’t wait to see their reactions when they found the rest of her.
CHAPTER FIVE
CRYSTAL TWISTED THE BEDSHEETS in her fists, the sound of a chilling cry ringing in her ears. Her own scream of terror boomeranged back, having fallen into deaf air, reminding her that she was alone.
Dying. No, alive. Barely. But forced to live in pain.
Because of the car explosion. The fire that licked and ate at her face and body.
She could almost feel the scalpel slicing through her frail skin. Cutting away dead flesh. Peeling away the brittle ashes and papery fabric of her face until her hand touched shattered bone.
She stared into the mirror, praying, hoping the nightmare would end. But horror seized her at the reflection that faced her. Gory and inhuman were the only two words to describe her. A hideous, faceless monster sentenced to live in the shadows.
A scream tore from her throat as the outer skin of her new forehead begin to peel away. One by one like the layers of an onion, the layers slid down her cheek, cracking and breaking into a thousand black pieces that scattered over the white bedsheet like charred ashes of a fire. The muscle of the right side of her face drooped, causing her lip to sag downward, and the bones in her face shifted, cracked and turned jagged, splinters of bone jutting out as if toothpicks had been jammed into her cheeks. Her right eye settled over the place where her cheekbone lay, while the left one inched upward, the eye milky-white.
Nausea gripped her stomach as her eye sockets curled, and her eyelids fell away. Her eyebrows disappeared into the folds of dead skin on the bed, and she felt her lips swelling, then bursting open. Blood dripped down her chin and trickled into a red river, the scarlet droplets splashing against her scarred breastbone.
No…
Her sob wrenched the air, and she balled her hand into a fist and slammed it into the mirror. Glass shattered and slivers pelted her, yet she hit the glass again and again. Blood cascaded down her wrist and fingers, and she picked up a fragment of jagged glass and held it to her wrist. Slice the main artery and she could end the pain and suffering. Never have to face the monster again.
It was so tempting.
She lifted the shard, jammed the point to the curve of her wrist, but suddenly a scream ripped through the air.
No…Don’t die. Please don’t die.
She whipped her head around. Was someone there? Calling to her? Someone who wanted her to live? Someone who cared…
Maybe a family, a man, husband, lover, child who wanted her.
And more children…the ones who needed her.
SHE JERKED AWAKE, HER breathing heavy and labored, her body sweating as she twisted and clenched the sheets. Memories of the nightmare and the past few months crashed like a tidal wave through her mind. The agony of the burn marks that had scalded the layers of skin and turned her face into a monster. The baths she’d been forced to endure had helped, but even then, mind-numbing pain had thrummed through her every cell. Endless surgeries and bandages to repair her disfigurement had added to the agony.
And now…
She lifted her hand to the bandages and felt them still covering her face.
“It’s all right, Crystal.”
Lex. His low voice soothed her in the darkness.
He pressed his scaly hand over hers, then brought their joined hands down to his chest. She felt the strong beating of his heart, and knew he’d heard her cries from his room.
Or had he already slipped in to watch her sleep like a ghost in the night, as he did sometimes?
At first that realization had frightened her. But he’d assured her he’d only come to protect her while she slept. To chase away the demons taunting her.
And she’d felt a small measure of relief that she hadn’t been totally alone.
“You’re nervous about having your bandages removed tomorrow?” he asked quietly.
She nodded as a tear escaped and shimmied down her cheek to dampen her bandage. “What if…”
“Shh, go back to sleep now.” He stroked her hand with his thumb, gentle, comforting. “I will care for you and watch over you no matter how you look.”
Blessed words to hear. Yet she didn’t want to have to remain in the shadows. Or frighten the children who needed her.
That voice that had called her back from the nightmare echoed in her head. The sense that there was someone out there who loved her, who wanted her to fight for her survival, a reason why her sanity had kept her alive all these months. She wouldn’t give up that hope now.
She closed her eyes, and tried to doze back to sleep. Tomorrow her face would be unveiled.
She prayed she would recognize the image in the mirror, that it wouldn’t resemble the creature she’d seen in her dreams.
DAMON STEERED THE federal-issued sedan down the drive to his parents’ house and parked. Both he and Jean-Paul took a long breath, then climbed out. Damon felt as if he were facing the firing squad, and he imagined Jean-Paul felt the same way.
A blustery wind rattled the leaves on the trees, making the spidery Spanish moss shiver, creating snakelike shadows along the ground. Dry grass crunched beneath his feet, the sound like brittle shells breaking in the quiet. The scent of the swamp grew bolder, more pungent, mingling with the hint of impending rain.
He pushed open the front door and paused as the ominous feeling of doom pervading his family home settled over him. It was almost as if someone had died.
As Damon expected, his entire family, except for his niece, was waiting up, all collected in the den, holding hands, comforting one another, praying and telling themselves that the evening had been a nightmare that would soon fade.
Jean-Paul assured them that Antwaun was all right, although his father insisted they be brutally honest and share the details of the charges and the investigation.
Damon relayed the facts that he knew so far. His mother’s face paled, and she turned to stare at the family photos on the hearth as if the mere act could draw their family back together.
Stephanie stood beside her, rubbing slow circles on their mother’s back to soothe her, while their father paced to the window and looked out into the dark sky. Storm clouds hung heavy and low with the certainty of bad weather. Thunder rumbled and shook the trees outside. More dry leaves scattered across the edges of the swamp. The woods beyond looked murky and ominous, filled with night crawlers and secrets of the bayou. Maybe another swamp devil lurked nearby.
The family drew together for a prayer, then parted, each hugging and promising to call soon.
After everyone left, Damon joined his parents in the kitchen and sipped a cup of coffee, waiting to see if they fell apart, but they insisted he leave and get some rest.
He promised them he’d be there for Antwaun’s bail hearing and let himself out.
As he climbed inside the sedan, he automatically reached for his cell phone to call his partner from the bureau, but he’d left it inside the house. Going back he found it on the sofa, but his parents’ voices echoed from the kitchen and caught his attention.
“Maybe we should tell them,” Daniella screeched.
“Shh, no,” his father said. “We promised each other a long time ago that we’d keep things to ourselves, and we have to stick to that vow.”
“But, Pierre, what if we failed?” his mother cried. “What if Antwaun really did hurt that woman? We know his history…”
“Shh, don’t say that,” his father said quietly. “Our Antwaun is not a killer. We raised him the same as we did the other boys. Jean-Paul and Damon will prove his innocence. We have to trust them, and pray.”
“I hope you’re right,” his mother murmured. “Because if our secret comes out, it will only make Antwaun look guilty.”
Damon’s chest tightened. As he barged into the kitchen, he wondered what his parents could possibly know about Antwaun that would damn him to his fellow officers….
MORNING SUNLIGHT SHOT THROUGH the dark clouds and streamed through the blinds, sending slivers of light across the hospital room. Crystal blinked, searching the corners for Lex, eyes still sensitive and adjusting to bright lights.
But Lex was gone, the room empty.
She was alone again. She understood his need to stay in the darkness. She’d been hiding for months as well.
Would she be able to show her face after today?
Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside, and the door squeaked open. She braced herself for the doctor, forcing a smile past her stiff lips although she had no idea if he could see it with the bandages covering her face.
“Good morning, Crystal,” Dr. Pace said.
She greeted him, but her voice quivered, giving away her nervous energy.
The nurse behind him offered her a warm but sympathetic smile, then took her vitals. “It’s always scary when the bandages come off,” she said softly. “But don’t worry. Dr. Pace is the best.”
Dr. Pace assembled supplies on the tray beside her, then motioned for her to lean back. “Just relax, Crystal. This part is painless.”
She sucked in a sharp breath as he snipped at the bandages, then began to slowly peel them away. The nurse bustled out the door, leaving her alone with the doctor.
Another layer fell away, and she inhaled sharply. Cool air brushed bare skin, the whisper of hope causing goose bumps to cascade up her arms.
His lab coat glided against her elbow as he bent over her. She opened her eyes and stared into his. The gray orbs probed her face as his fingers gently assessed each area, from her eyelids to her nose and her cheeks to her chin.
Her throat clogged with emotions. “Well?”
“It looks good so far. There aren’t any signs that you’re rejecting the new skin. Of course, you still need to continue the antirejection meds.”
She nodded. “Can I see now?”
He gave her a grave expression, one she remembered too well from the unsuccessful skin grafts.
“What’s wrong?”
He released a long sigh. “You’re going to look beautiful,” he said in a husky voice. “Right now you still have a lot of redness, some slight swelling and bruising. I want you to get the full picture when you finally look in the mirror.”
She didn’t believe him. Had to touch her face herself, feel the scars, see if the skin was smooth. She lifted a hand to check, but Dr. Pace caught her.
“It would be better if you don’t touch your face yet. Any germs could cause an infection.”
Tears of fear choked her throat as she knotted her hands in her lap. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He folded his arms. “We might need to make a few adjustments. But, like I said, things are progressing.” He patted her arm. “Trust me, Crystal. When you see yourself, I want you to love your new face. Just be patient. I’ll tell you when the time is right.”
Unwanted tears filled her eyes, but she nodded. Compassion underscored his tone as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulled her into his arms and hugged her.
“Shh, don’t cry. I promised you that I would make you beautiful again and that’s what I’m doing. Just trust me, hold on a little longer.”
She nodded against him, although inside she died a little, and the hope she’d felt dissipated. Something was wrong. Something he wasn’t telling her.
She needed more surgeries. More skin grafts. More months of healing.
She was still a monster.
As much as she wanted to leave this place, what kind of life could she have if she couldn’t stand to look at herself in the mirror?
