Chapter Four
Keegan took a swallow of his beer, knocking his bass player on the shoulder. He was going to miss The Scallywags. He figured he had maybe four years left until his next disappearance. He would lay low for a few months, probably sail around the Mediterranean, and when he came back to Savannah he’d have a beard and a new place to live.
The downside to immortality was time itself. When people started to notice he wasn’t aging, it was time to move on. He’d mastered changing his identity and procuring new identification documents, and he kept lifetimes’ worth of money stashed in bank accounts, trusts, and even in gold bars.
Money could buy you a whole new life.
He couldn’t say the same for friendships. Next lifetime, he would choose an occupation that would make it easier to keep his distance from mortal men and women. When he joined the band, it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d grow fond of the guys. Leaving was going to suck, and even after he got back, he couldn’t risk contact with anyone who might recognize him. A new beard could only hide so much.
He’d been performing with the four men beside him for seven years now. They got together over a few beers during an open mic night. None of them had aspirations for record contracts. Keegan couldn’t risk it anyway. Anything other than a local band was too dicey for an immortal. Too much fame made it harder to return with a new identity later. Besides, fame wasn’t what they were after. It was the thrill of playing live that drove them, but time was slipping by.
Their drummer, Ax, got married last year and had a little one on the way. Joel on keyboards was engaged, and Gary, the bass player, was in a relationship with Leroy, their booking agent.
The writing was on the wall. They were all moving on.
And soon their lead singer would be lost at sea.
That was Keegan’s chosen “death.” It was easier than a fire or a car wreck. Nowadays science made it impossible to just swap bodies. They’d perform DNA tests and check dental records.
But the ocean kept her dead.
They would search for him for a week or so, then he’d fade into history. Another missing man lost at sea and presumed dead.
The door opened, and his maudlin thoughts evaporated.
Char stood in the dim lighting, her waves of long black hair framing her face and her full lips curving into a smile. He nodded at her and kicked out the barstool next to him. She made her way through the tables and took the open seat beside him.
She smelled like heaven, clean with a hint of spice.
He signaled the bartender. “Get this woman some rum.”
Char chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you wanted my judgment to be impaired. I told you rum was my weakness in confidence.”
“In my defense”—he leaned in closer, his voice for her alone—“I am a pirate.”
Her eyes met his, then she glanced at the bartender. “How about a rum and Coke and a burger?”
“You got it.”
The bartender walked away, and she peered around Keegan to his bandmates. “Do they know?”
“Nah.” Keegan picked up his beer. “No one does.” He set the glass down, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Save for you, Dr. Sinclair.”
She paused for a moment and finally brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “You can call me Char.”
He chose to ignore the warmth spreading through his chest. “Why the change of heart?”
Her sexy smile tempted him to skip the show and take her home instead. She shrugged. “When I met you, that’s what felt right at the time, I guess. No one ever calls me that, so I’m not sure where it came from, but…Char is fine.”
The bartender brought over her drink, and Keegan raised his glass. “To new friends.”
She took a sip, her eyes on his. “So we’re friends now?”
“Well, you’ve allowed me to call you Char, and you’ve already seen me half naked, so…” Her cheeks flushed with color as his words faded. He caught her chin, turning her toward him. “Tell me something. Why do you keep Char locked away? I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair up and the uptight suit at the museum.”
She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I’m a historian. It’s a no-nonsense job. Most of my peers are males, so…” Her words faded as she sipped her drink.
A warning whispered through his head to steer clear of this woman. This wasn’t a one-night-stand lass. He’d tasted her lips only once, but already an addiction was building, a hunger, and a troubling yearning.
Other than his crew and the government agent, Char was the only person in the world who knew his secret.
Honesty scared the shit out of him. But instead of walking away, he ached to please her, to discover what made her smile. Apparently, immortality hadn’t made him any more intelligent. Fuck.
Ignoring his better judgment, he asked, “Got a request for the shanty at the end of the show tonight?”
He took a swig of his beer, trying to remind himself he’d be leaving soon, and attachments to mortals led to madness when time lay before you like an endless desert.
She took another sip of her drink. “How about ‘Row Bullies Row’?”
“I’m impressed.” He grinned. “Char appreciates the classics.”
“She’s also sitting right next to you.” She smirked and leaned back on her stool as the bartender placed her plate in front of her. Her dark eyes met Keegan’s. “Did you ask me to come by early to make a song request or…?”
Damn, he’d almost forgotten. He leaned a little closer, keeping his voice hushed. “One of my crew got a lead about two men trying to buy the cup. They were wearing serpent rings.”
He didn’t mention the “lead” was actually a psychic’s vision. Char was a historian. She believed facts came from books, not visions in crystal balls. It was a small miracle she accepted he was much older than he looked.
She picked up a fry from her plate, a crease forming between her brows. “That’s the second time I’ve heard about a serpent ring today. Were the rings antiques?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Short version, there used to be a group that fancied themselves descendants of Eden. In my day, they hunted for holy relics, leaving death and destruction in their wake until they had their prize.”
“The serpent was the villain of that story.” Her gaze wandered over his face, and again an unfamiliar fear swelled in his gut. She wasn’t eyeing him like a fan or a woman looking for a night of bedsheet bliss. This was altogether new for him. Outside of his crew, he didn’t piece together plots with mortals. To an outsider, he was a carefree musician, nothing more.
But Char seemed to know better.
He shifted on his stool, suddenly uncomfortable sharing more secrets, but they needed her help. After another swallow of his beer, he met her eyes. “They used to stick to the shadows and snap up relics like birds picking the meat off sun-bleached bones. We thought they died out, but if they’re still around, any history you could dig up on them here in Savannah might give us a place we can start searching for their nest.”
“Like old title deeds.” She took a bite of her hamburger.
“That might work, although I’m not sure they’d mention the Serpent Society.”
She dipped a fry in ketchup. “And you don’t want Agent Bale to know about this side research?”
“Aye.” He nodded slowly. “If we get the chance, we’ll reclaim our booty without the government looking over our shoulder.”
She swallowed her food, her gaze lifting to his face. “I did do some digging into your crew just to help wrap my brain around all this. I found a deed for Samuel Keegan. That’s you, right?”
Centuries had passed since anyone called him by the name his mother had given him, and now this woman had used it twice.
“Samuel is gone just like my ship.” Keegan finished off the rest of his beer in a single swallow and stood up. “See you after the show.”
…
Charlotte waited for him to turn back, but Keegan vanished behind the backdrop without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Apparently she’d struck a sore spot, but was he more upset that she knew his real first name or that she must’ve found the deed to the orphanage?
Samuel Keegan had been alive since the 1700s. She had so many questions. Did he still get sick? Did injuries heal faster? Had he been married before?
Where had the final question come from? She blinked. There were more important things to discover. Had he owned businesses? How did he transfer his money when it was time to start over with a new identity? And how much of Savannah had changed since he came ashore?
She finished her drink and poked at the cherry in the bottom of the glass with the plastic buccaneer sword. Music came to life from the stage, pulling her attention. Cheers echoed through the bar as Keegan reached for the mic.
“Hey, Savannah! The Scallywags are here, ready to rock your night, so keep the rum flowing and the ladies close.” He counted off, and the band launched into their cover of “So Into You,” but unlike the other times she’d seen them perform the song, Keegan’s gaze locked on hers, like no one else in the bar existed.
By the time he finally broke eye contact and started working the rest of the crowd, heat flooded her veins like a wildfire. Holy crap. She’d spent her life with her nose buried in books. She’d had a couple of boyfriends, but none of them could handle her commitment to her career.
Being around Keegan made her forget everything. She became keenly aware she was a woman. And he was most definitely a man.
She ordered another drink.
They closed their set with a cover of “And When I Die.” Keegan blew a mean harmonica. She loved their version, swaying to the beat on the barstool. When he got to the final chorus, Keegan slowed the tempo, closing his eyes as he belted out the words. He gripped the mic in both hands, the stage lights sparkling on the rings on his fingers, and Charlotte’s vision blurred as the words took on a whole new meaning.
What if there was no death and no one to carry on your legacy? You watched the world move on, leaving you behind in the history books. For Keegan, while he might not experience death firsthand, he’d be surrounded by it, suffocated in its embrace with no escape in sight. No final rest, no afterlife with loved ones. Just forever losing them.
The crowd roared as he opened his eyes and took a bow with the rest of the band. He introduced all of them, then jogged offstage. A minute later, he returned in his leather frock coat and his guitar in hand. Hooking the strap over his shoulder, he leaned into the mic. “It’s a Scallywags tradition to finish the night with a sea shanty for all the pirates out there.” He put his hand to his ear as everyone—Charlotte included—let out their best pirate “Argh!”
Keegan chuckled with a sexy sparkle in his eyes as he scanned the crowd. Charlotte’s pulse raced when he smiled at her and let his pirate swagger out for all to see. “This one be for all the buccaneers out there. Weigh anchor and hoist the sails, ‘Row Bullies Row’!”
He finished the song, and the crowd rewarded him with a standing ovation. Charlotte ordered one more drink while the band packed up. It was half gone by the time Keegan slid onto the stool beside her.
He leaned on the bar with a crooked smile. “Enjoy the show?”
“Very much.” She nodded.
He glanced at the stage with a wistful sigh. “Too bad I don’t have a dressing room here.”
“That is too bad.” She laughed, shaking her head. “I had rum and everything.”
“Poor planning on my part, lass.” He glanced at her drink. “Need a ride home?”
She started to say no when her phone buzzed. She took it out of her bag and frowned at the screen. Three missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. She plugged one ear and clicked on her voicemail.
Dr. Sinclair, it’s Agent Bale. I need to speak with you right away. Call me back, even if it’s late. It’s about the Grail. You could be in danger.
Adrenaline killed her buzz, leaving her jumpy and on edge. She spent most of her time digging into the past, so the biggest danger was missing a step on her way down to the basement admin offices at the maritime museum.
Keegan’s smile faded. “What’s wrong? You’re white as the Sea Dog’s sails.”
“It had black sails.”
He shook his head. “We had both.” He glanced around the bar. “Did someone threaten you?”
“No.” She waited for him to meet her eyes. “Agent Bale left me a voicemail to call right away. He thinks I may be in danger.”
A muscle jumped in Keegan’s cheek as he reached for her hand, leading her out the back exit. The seductive rock star who had been onstage a few minutes before was gone, leaving her alone with…a pirate.
He opened the passenger side of his truck and helped her inside without a word. Once he was behind the wheel, he finally looked over at her. “Call him back. Tell him we’ll wait for him on the Sea Dog.”
“The ship?”
He didn’t respond. She pressed the callback number, and Agent Bale answered on the first ring. “Dr. Sinclair, thanks for calling back. Have you found anything?”
She glanced at Keegan’s profile as she spoke. “Not about a pirate crew and the Grail, but I did find notes on the Santa Maria. When the ghost ship was located, the story spread that the holy treasure was missing, and the crew was dead, but there was something else.”
His steps echoed through the phone. “Where are you? We should talk in person.”
“I’m with Keegan.”
Keegan’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Tell him where to meet us.”
Charlotte faced forward. “Meet us on the deck of the Sea Dog.”
“On my way. Stay with Keegan.”
The call ended before she could respond. She pushed her cell back into her purse. “Why are we going to the tourist ship?”
“It’s more than that.” He made a right-hand turn, his expression grim in the yellow light of the streetlamp.
“You know what’s going on.” She cleared her throat, wishing she could command her pulse to slow. “Does this have something to do with the Serpent people you were telling me about?”
He shrugged and parked along the edge of River Street. “I can’t say it doesn’t, and until I know for sure, we’re not taking any chances.”
After killing the engine, he reached underneath the driver’s seat and pulled out a zippered pouch. He unzipped it and took out a Glock.
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “That’s a gun.”
“Aye.” He met her eyes, a hint of a smile teasing his lips as his true accent bled into his voice. “Did ye really think I’d still be firing a flintlock pistol, lass?”
He lifted his pants leg, exposing a jewel-handled dagger in a worn leather sheath. “But I do still keep this one. She bore me through many battles.”
Charlotte struggled to stop herself from reaching out to touch it. Even in the faint light, the workmanship was unmistakable. Eighteenth century. Maybe even earlier. “Do you still have a cutlass, too?”
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Aye, but it’s too big to hide, and people today frown on me wearing it hanging off my belt in public.” Keegan sobered as he slid a clip of ammo into the gun. “Let’s get on board.”