Chapter 17

Juliet got out of the police car and shut the door. She hurried down the dark alley leading to her apartment above her store. And the sky picked that exact moment to dump every raindrop God ever made. By the time she unlocked her door, she was soaked.

She turned on a light, passed the galley kitchen, the table holding her pot of gardenias, and headed for the bathroom. After taking a quick shower and changing into sweat pants, a cami, and a short robe, she went to the wardrobe in her bedroom. The eighteenth-century cupboard and dresser, two items she’d saved from her manor, barely fit with her double bed piled high with white pillows.

In the back of the cabinet, she found the digital lock box. After typing the code, she held the only present from Rafe she’d kept. Her Glock. She made sure it was loaded and laid it on her bedside table.

As much as she didn’t want to deal with Rafe, she wished he’d get there soon. It was after one a.m., and she could barely keep her eyes open. To stay awake, she curled up in her bed with her sketchbook to work on her design ideas for Prideaux House. When her pencil skidded and her hand fell against her side, she slipped into longed-for sleep.

* * *

Capel land, eighteen years earlier

“Run, Juliet!” the kids screamed at her. “Run, little piggy!”

Her feet slogged through the wet ground, marsh grass dragging her skirt. Her school bag bounced against her back, pulling her ponytail. “Come on, Calum!”

Calum tripped on a cyprus tree root. “I can’t!”

She pulled him up.

“Run, Juliet Perdue!”the kids behind her chanted.

“Don’t stop.” She dragged Calum over a stream, her too-big shoes slipping in mud.

Her tormentors scrambled through the water. “Juliet Porcelet. Who lives in a toilet.” They made snuffling pig sounds and laughed.

“Why are they so mean?” Tears streaked the dirt on Calum’s face.

She headed toward her property line. They’d be safe there. “Because they hate me.”

“Come here, piggy piggy. Juliet Porcelet. Who lives in a toilet.”

Her heart burned in her chest, but she kept moving.

“Juliet Perdue! Who smells like a zoo!”

Jimmy Boudreaux grabbed her hair and then tripped. She tumbled down the ravine to another stream. Calum rolled next to her and helped her up. They crossed on river stones and used exposed roots to claw their way up the other side.

She was too afraid to look behind her. “Get to the tree!”

They climbed the oak tree that had guarded her family’s property for hundreds of years. Mud caked the skirt of her plaid uniform, and runs laddered her tights. She’d lost her bow a mile back. She tucked her body into the branches, drew in painful breaths, and hung on. Calum clung to a lower branch. His blond bangs hung over his eyes. His uniform pants had a hole in the knee, and he’d lost his tie.

“Calum? Why did you follow me off the school bus? You were supposed to go to the Isle of Hope for the weekend.”

“I don’t like it there. I wanted to stay with you at the manor until your daddy comes home. I don’t like that you’re always alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Seven boys and two girls appeared on the other side of the water. One threw a rock, hitting the trunk.

“Jimmy Boudreaux throws like a girl!” Juliet yelled.

“What’s wrong, Juliet Perdue?” Jimmy’s face was as red as the rotten tomatoes he liked to chuck at her. “Are you lost, little piggy?”

“Go home,” Angie Mercer shouted. “We don’t want pig girls in our school.”

Juliet took off a shoe and threw it at Angie. But Jimmy caught it and tossed it into the stream. It floated away. She had no other shoes. Which meant she wouldn’t be able to go to school on Monday. She took off her other shoe and threw it. It slammed Jimmy in the forehead.

Calum laughed. “Get him, Juliet!”

“The Prioleaus can’t protect you forever,” Jimmy sneered. “My daddy says both your families can rot in hell.”

Calum glanced up at her, his blue eyes now fiery instead of teary. “When we’re bigger, we’ll get them back. I promise.”

Calum didn’t understand. Even though she was only twelve, she understood that money could protect far better than size or strength.

A gunshot rang out, and her tormentors ran away. But not before Jimmy threw her second shoe in the water. By the time Jimmy disappeared, it’d washed away. Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her tongue. She wouldn’t cry.

Calum climbed down first. When she dropped, her foot landed on a pinecone.

“Oww!” She hopped around, the pain driving into her ankle. She still had a long walk, and it was getting dark.

Calum took her hand. “Can we go to the manor now?”

“We’re going to St. Mary’s. There’s a phone in the rectory. We’ll call your daddy.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Calum stared at her with an intensity that made him seem older. “But I don’t know how to get to your manor by myself.”

“There’s a shortcut through the Cemetery of Lost Children. The scariest place on earth.”

“I’m not afraid. My daddy says there are as many of my relatives as yours buried there. I’m sure they’ll protect us.”

She doubted it but took his hand anyway and led the way.

Thirty minutes later, barefoot, limping, and cold, she reached the cemetery’s gates. Trees tightened around them. The pine straw offered a soft cushion for her sock-covered feet, but her ankle ached. She scanned the cemetery for anything that moved and adjusted her backpack. They headed toward the center where tall columns and crosses circled the one tomb she always avoided: St. Michael the Archangel.

Even though he’d lost his head, he towered over every other grave with a shield in one hand and a raised sword in the other. He was also naked with all of his parts showing.

Ewwwwww. “Don’t look at the angel.”

“I know what a boy looks like.”

“You sound like Rafe.”

“I wish he was here.”

She did too. She held her breath; as they ran past Michael, she heard another shot. She stopped. Her heart banged so loudly she couldn’t tell where the sound had come from.

“Could it be your daddy?” Calum asked.

“No. He’s working the docks in Charleston.”

Calum glanced behind them. “Maybe it’s Rafe.”

“Rafe isn’t allowed to hunt alone.” Although he did it whenever his father went to town. She quieted her breath so she could hear. An owl hooted in the distance, along with the rap-tap-tap of a woodpecker. A breeze chilled her, and the trees groaned.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, took Calum’s hand, and moved toward the darkest section of the cemetery. This area, behind pecan and mangrove trees that backed up to a river, scared her. It was unconsecrated land. If ghosts were real, this was where they’d live.

A twig snapped, and something pushed her to the ground. She tasted dirt and coughed until a person picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Run, Calum!”

Calum screamed, and the man slapped him.

“Calum!” She hit the back of the bad man with her fist.

“Shut up, little girl,” the bad man said in a harsh voice.

From her upside-down view, she saw his heavy boots, green jacket, and rifle. Calum’s eyes went wide when he saw her being carried away.

Calum grabbed the bad man’s leg. “Let her go!”

The bad man shifted her on his shoulder and reached down to take Calum’s arm, dragging him along too. Calum fought until the bad man said, “Shut up, little boy. Or I’ll pound you.”

Calum hiccupped and dug his feet into the ground. But the bad man picked him up and carried him.

How could the man carry both of them at the same time?

“Juliet!” Calum sobbed. “My arm hurts.”

She started to cry too, but when she realized where they were headed, she kicked and hit the man’s back again. “Not here! Not here!”

The bad man dropped her, and his boot landed on her stomach. She tried to push it off, but he was too heavy. With Calum under one arm, he used a big key to open the iron door and tossed them in. She hit the hard floor as the door shut. The lock outside clanged into place.

“No!” She pounded the metal door until her fists hurt. “Don’t leave us here!”

“Juliet!”

No one would ever find her.

“Wake up!”

Someone held her shoulders down, but she screamed again until her throat emptied of sound. “No!”

“Juliet.” The firm voice pulled her forward. “Wake up.”

She kicked, but there was a heavy weight on her.

“I’m here.”

A breath coaxed her out from the darkness.

“Come. Back. To. Me.” Now the voice held an edge.

She opened her eyes and gulped in deep breaths of cold air. A man sat next to her, warm hands on her shoulders. Rafe?

He covered her with a throw blanket, his hands sure yet gentle.

She sat up, trembling, keeping the blanket against her breasts. “Sebastian was there.”

Rafe took her shoulders, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. “Just breathe.”

“We were in the cemetery.”

He closed his eyes and tightened his grip.

Her hands pressed against his hard chest, for the first time feeing the hard muscles flexing beneath her fingers. It was like touching hot granite. “You’re here?”

“I am.” He opened his eyes. “Your door was unlocked. I’ve been sleeping on the floor.”

That’s when she noticed a blanket and a pillow on the floor next to her bed.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked softly.

How many times had he coaxed her out of her nightmares, settled her with tea, and then made love to her until she fell asleep? It’d been the only moments of her life when she’d felt safe and loved. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about your dream?”

She scrambled out from beneath the blanket, stumbling over his lap, desperate for her feet to hit the wood floor. “We know what happened. Someone threw me in Anne’s crypt, and I stayed there until you found me.”

“Have you had the dream a lot?”

“It’s been nine months since the last one.”

He swallowed. He’d taken off his leather jacket but still had on the black T-shirt that stretched across his chest, a bandage on his left arm, and jeans that rode his hips. He’d grown wider, stronger, so much more muscular. Surprising since she’d always thought he was in fabulous physical shape. But in the eight years he’d been gone, he’d turned from a young husband into a grown man. A grown man who made no move to hide the erection pressing against the denim or the blue ribbon he wore on his wrist. He’d always been confident about what he wanted, never shy about his needs.

She forced herself to look at his other arm. The moonlight exposed the words curved around the massive upper arm muscles, down his forearm, ending at his wrist. The light hair not only emphasized his strength; it couldn’t hide what he’d done.

The names of every woman he’d slept with after leaving her.

He stood and flexed his hand, contracting the muscles along the length. The tattoos swept away any warmth she’d felt in his arms, and her shivering made it hard to swallow. Within the space of a breath, he pulled her close until their noses almost touched. One of her hands rested against his pounding heart. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“Waking you from a nightmare.”

“Why are you really here?”

“Protecting you.”

How was she supposed to bear this sadness all over again? “I don’t understand.”

“All I want is to save the life you’ve built.”

She frowned. “You’ll want something in return.”

“There is one thing.” When she arched her eyebrow, he shrugged. “To keep you safe, I need to find something. To do that, I need your help. There are bad people out there. Men who’ll hurt you if I don’t return with what I’m looking for.”

“You know that sounds insane?”

“All of the vandalism, the loan being sold, the cathedral are related to one thing. You.”

“If I trust you, and we find this thing and fix my problems, you’ll leave?”

“I’ll do what’s best for you.”

So many emotions, so many thoughts driving garden stakes through her mind. But she wasn’t stupid. Someone was tormenting her, and she had no idea how to stop it. Rafe might be the last person she’d ever turn to for help, but he might be the only one who could help her.

Her hands fisted against his chest. She’d always assumed this confrontation between them would be cold and bitter and ragged. She’d never expected to have this conversation in solemn, quiet darkness. “Rafe?” The word hurt coming out. Like knives carving each letter along the way.

“I’m here.” He spoke with a soft drawl she used to love.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder. Now she knew the source of the heat. His body threw off enough warmth to reset the thermostat. Why was she such a coward? “That letter you sent me—”

“Things aren’t what they seem. Just please trust that everything I’ve ever done has been for your safety.” He paused. “We have one week to find what I’m looking for.”

She raised her head to meet his gaze. Before he left, she’d been able to read his eyes. His secrets and dreams. His unspoken desires. Now there were shadows tinged with sadness and regret. The blazing fire she’d loved had turned to gray ash. And for some reason she didn’t want to examine, it mattered. She blinked, determined to keep herself together and him separate. “Then we start tomorrow—I mean later today.”

He held her head with one hand while his other arm wrapped around her waist. Her breasts flattened against hard chest muscles. His breath tickled her nose, warm and forceful. How could she consider being this close to him? Working with him? He brushed a kiss against her cheek. The sensation hit her system like the bottle rockets he used to shoot for her to see from her balcony, and she closed her eyes. His lips traced hers, and the tingle curled her toes.

How, after all these years, could she still be so susceptible to him? Because he’d once been her husband. The one man she’d loved beyond reason. Forever and always. She tilted her head, and the brush became a demand. The demand became an ache. And the ache became a need so great she threw her arms around his neck. Her world tilted, his arms tightened, and his lips explored hers as if he’d never kissed anyone else ever. The air around them vibrated, matching the motion of the kiss.

He broke away, leaving her a disoriented mess.

“Juliet.” The word rolled like a wave break. Forward, then retreating. His body heaved, and he ran his hands over his prison-shorn hair. “I’m sorry.”

Those words stung more than his rejection. He was sorry. Hadn’t he said so in his letter eight years ago? “You should leave.” She glanced at her clock. “It’s almost three a.m. We both need to sleep.”

And she needed to be alone. Because when he touched her, she melted. When he whispered, she caved. And when he kissed her, she begged for more. It’d always been like that. All he had to do was walk into a room, and she wanted him. When he looked at her, like she was the only woman he’d ever need, she dreamed of lying beneath him, his heavy body possessing hers. Her reaction to him was sad, pathetic, and wrong. She wasn’t sure who she hated more: him or herself for her reaction to him.

Without warning, he swung her up and laid her on the bed. “I’m asking you to help me fix what I’ve ruined. Then your life can go on as it was.”

Her eyes drifted closed. The nightmare’s adrenaline rush left as swiftly as it came in, leaving her depleted. She heard the words, but his face blinked in and out of time and space. The bed sagged, and she scooted over so he could adjust his body. Then, just before sleep hit, she reached to feel his warmth.

No, she wasn’t happy he’d been released from prison. She wasn’t happy he’d come home. She wasn’t happy he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back. But she didn’t want to be alone. And that was going to be a problem.

* * *

Rafe’s heart ached for both of them. He’d arrived at her apartment to find her asleep and had grabbed a blanket to sleep on the floor—until her nightmare. Now she was curled up beneath the light quilt, trembling from the aftereffects of the dream. He had no doubt the dreams were back because of him. They always appeared when she was stressed. Which proved, in spite of her cold-shouldering, that she was as affected by him as he was by her.

Still, despite their kiss having the power to blot out stars, he’d stopped it. Not because he wanted to. Not because he had that much self-control. He’d stopped it because he’d neither the right nor privilege to touch her. Instead, he placed his gun on the bedside, near her Glock, and lay next to her. When her hand found his chest, he covered her fingers, holding them against his heart.

His body burned for her. Sweat coated his forehead, and his arousal fought against the zipper. He needed her, wanted her, dreamed of driving into her with an intensity that almost made him reach for himself. Instead, he embraced the painful rubbing with the fervor of a penitent. Although he despaired of finding sleep, his mind closed the shutters. Days without proper rest, dozing on benches and bus seats, forced his body to shut down. Rolling to his side, he listened for her heartbeat, counting his, then hers, until they matched.

* * *

Nate opened his eyes, testing every muscle group, tasting blood. Despite his body screaming Don’t move, he had no broken bones or fractured ribs. It took a minute to pull himself up and find his knife. Wobbly and achy, he checked his phone. Three a.m. Awesome.

Pete answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

“Balthasar attacked me.” And for some reason left me alive.

“Did he mention Deke?”

Nate hadn’t expected sympathy, but an Are you okay? would’ve been nice. “No.”

“What are we going to do?”

Nate didn’t know. From his jittery hands and the flashing stars, he had to down as many ibuprofens as his stomach could handle ASAP. “Meet me at the motel.”

“I’m here. I shut the club half an hour ago. You want me to come get you? Can you bike?”

“I’m fine.” He took two steps and grunted.

“Samantha and I are coming. She’s, uh, here with me.”

“Stay put. I’ll be there soon.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and felt something. A baggie with three pills. One day’s worth of Z-pam. Balthasar obviously expected something in return.

Nate walked his bike toward the river. Where was Deke? How did Balthasar know about the Z-pam? And why had Balthasar been talking about a vial? That’s when Nate remembered Balthasar mentioning two people who knew about the vial. Torridan, who’d obviously withheld intel. And a man named Romeo. A man Nate could only assume was Rafe.