Chapter 23

Rafe grabbed his field jacket from the back seat. The Prince had been playing these life-and-death mind games since Rafe had shown up in their camp eight years ago. Regardless of how cold this sounded, none of those deaths mattered now. What mattered was finding the vial and keeping his wife alive. And while those things were vital, he’d added another item to his to-do list: bringing his wife back from the reserved woman she’d become.

Last night he’d thought it’d be better if she kept up the independence routine. Except after watching her this morning with her daddy’s things, he realized she hadn’t grown stronger.

Although she could start a business and fend for herself, she’d become more vulnerable. The tensile strength of the steel cage surrounding her only proved how emotionally fragile she’d become. If he was going to leave her again to rejoin the Fianna, he needed to know she could take care of herself. Not just financially but in the way that let her live a full, happy life. A life with a husband and kids. A life without him.

She appeared with their backpacks. Her lips were swollen, and he hoped he hadn’t hurt her. Once Rafe loaded the rifle on his shoulder and the machete on his hip, both courtesy of his father-in-law’s duffel stashed in the Impala’s trunk, he followed her to the water. There were a few canoes and johnboats with outboard motors on cement blocks.

The dock was a forty-square-foot block of treated pine that floated during high tide and sat on pluff mud during low tide. He took one of Grady’s weekly tidal charts from a plastic holder on the light pole. “What’s the bus for?”

“The Isle bought it for hurricane evacuations and Tourist Wednesday. Which is today.”

“What’s Tourist Wednesday?”

“To raise money for the general fund, the Isle offers tours of the marshes and swamps. The tour starts at Calum’s plantation on the Isle of Hope, Tommy Boudreaux brings them by boat up the Black River through my land, Grady leads them through the swamps near the back meadow, and the day ends at Boudreaux’s restaurant.”

“Why?” Gerald never would’ve allowed such a thing.

She hopped over a pile of coiled ropes. “Since the Isle has no development and the land is pristine, eco-types and bird watchers love it. They pay for the experience.”

On the far edge, she reached for a tarp covering two boats. He helped her unfold the canvas to reveal a new canoe and an old johnboat with a new motor. Paddles lay in the bottom of the canoe. A red jerry can sat in the boat. “Which one?”

“The canoe. The johnboat won’t make it through the marsh grass.”

“You two heading to Capel Manor?” Jimmy Boudreaux came down the path, his badge glinting in the sun, his hat pulled low.

Rafe nodded. “Your hunters still out there?”

“No. When Grady lost the trail, the search was over.”

Juliet shaded her eyes with her hand. “Is Tommy on the river today with a tour group?”

Jimmy pointed to a dot on the horizon. “He’s taking them to the back meadow to fish.”

Rafe glanced at her. “You let them fish?”

“For an extra fee,” Jimmy said.

She eyed Jimmy. “It doesn’t hurt that they end up at your family’s restaurant.”

Jimmy shrugged. “When Boudreaux’s Cajun Shack showed up in that Off the Beaten Path tourist guide, we spent too much time rescuing people searching for it. This is simpler.”

Deep in the woods along a narrow river, Boudreaux’s was an outdoor Cajun joint with plywood floors beneath the trees, coolers of beer along the edges, and a cooking shack that made the best gumbo Rafe had ever had. “I thought Gerald shut Boudreaux’s down.”

Juliet found her straw hat in her backpack and put it on. “Before he died, Daddy and Old Man Boudreaux came to an agreement. Jimmy’s daddy admitted the restaurant was on Capel land, but as long as he gave the Capels a monthly stipend, it could remain open. Although there’s no way my daddy would’ve gone for tourists. The Boudreauxes didn’t have the guts to mention this plan at the town hall meetings until my daddy was dead.”

Jimmy smirked. “You shouldn’t complain. The money you make between the land access and Boudreaux’s rent pays your taxes.”

“Is this true?” Rafe asked her.

For the first time, her smile didn’t seem forced. “Yes.”

It was a brilliant business plan. “Will the tourists be near the manor?”

“No.” Jimmy unclipped a transmitter from his belt. “Take the SAT phone. Tommy has one on the boat. And Grady always carries his. When you return, leave it in the rectory. If you’re not back by seven, I’ll come out after you.”

“Thanks,” Rafe said, surprised by the offer.

Jimmy clapped him on the shoulder. “Be careful. The only thing that place is good for now is kindling.”

* * *

A few minutes later, they had the canoe in the water, backpacks and weapons loaded, with Juliet sitting forward while he sat aft. He’d found an Atlanta Braves hat in Calum’s apartment, and she wore a straw hat that was sexy as hell. It took heavy paddle work to move into the deeper part of Black River. When the canoe stabilized, he let the current take them. Thirty minutes later, they made it to the opening of Snake Creek.

He steered through marsh grass and muddy waters. Birds flew overhead, and the heat shimmered on the water. As they paddled around a bend, a swath of Capel land opened up. Thousands of untouched acres of marsh and woods and streams. Egrets skimmed, looking for food. A porpoise appeared in the distance. “You can’t sell this property.”

“I have to save my business,” she said softly. “It’s all I have.”

“This land is a part of you. A part of your family’s history.”

“A history of murder and curses?”

“No family is perfect.”

Her laugh sounded weak, like she wasn’t convinced.

The grass closed in on them, and the paddling became harder. If they missed the tides, they’d be stuck out here. She pointed right. “Head through those reeds.”

He steered the boat into the nonexistent path until they were surrounded by mangrove trees and swamp.

She pointed left. “You’ll have to push us in.”

The curve led into a tidal creek, and he saw a dock ten feet ahead. It took all his strength to guide the canoe to the platform, using the paddles to control the balance. Once they hit, Juliet tied the canoe to a post. After unloading the backpacks and machete and tossing his hat into the boat, he held out his hand.

She hesitated, and then accepted it. Heat, not from the weather, shot through his body. The brim of her hat hid her eyes. He took it off.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” He pressed her palm to his chest. He wanted her to feel what she did to him. His heart bounced around like it was spring-loaded, and he kissed her.

This kiss wasn’t one of desperation, like on the road. This one was sweet like a first time, soft like froth on the water. When her lips moved beneath his, his arm snaked around her waist and brought her in close. His body shook with the force of what he wanted. So many years of dreaming of this, his mind couldn’t keep up.

A squawking bird broke the spell. She pulled away and took her hat. “We need to go.”

Right. The mission. He helped her with her backpack. Then he slipped his on and adjusted his rifle over a shoulder. His free hand held the machete. “Which way?”

She pointed into the thickest part of the marsh. “There’s a path.”

He doubted it but didn’t want to argue. He wanted to focus on the kiss. And what it meant. “You know we need to talk about it eventually?”

“What?”

“The three times I’ve kissed you.”

She grabbed the machete and led the way. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

* * *

Nate raised his arms, stretching the tight muscles. The reading hadn’t been that bad. Anne Capel had been a kick-ass seventeenth-century woman.

“Hello?”

The female voice shook him out of his stupor, and he squinted from the glare. The woman stood nearby, carrying an armload of books. He took them from her. Born and bred in North Carolina, he always rose for a woman when she addressed him. And he always carried her books.

“Hey.” That’s the best he could do?

She waved to the second seat at his table. “May I?”

“Sure.” He placed the texts between them and kept the moan in. He’d been hoping for a SparkNotes version. “Are you the archivist?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Munro.”

He took her smaller hand in his. In that moment, his heart exploded, the force causing everything around him to become silent. Like the sound wave after a rocket-propelled grenade hit. Her long brown hair was tied up into a messy bun, and curling tendrils framed her face. The pink sundress and sweater made her seem ethereal. Her glasses emphasized brown eyes.

“I’m Nate.” He took out the white handkerchief he kept in his back pocket and wiped down the other seat for her. He made sure to keep the embroidered strawberries hidden.

Once they sat, she said, “You’re interested in Anne Capel and this map you dropped off.” She pulled it out from one of the books. “Early colonial history is my specialty.”

“I didn’t know one could get a job doing…that.” Way to go, Prince Charming.

She scrunched her nose. “I’m a historian on loan to the preservation office from the Smithsonian. My specialty is 1650 to 1713.”

He shoved the handkerchief in his back pocket. “The golden age of piracy to the end of the Revolution?”

“Among other things, yes.” She smiled for the first time. “I’m interested in this map. Where’d you get it?”

The lower half of his body woke up, and he shifted to make sure his hips were under the table. “A buddy had this trunk—”

“I understand.” She gave him another one of her asteroid-blasting smiles. “That happens a lot around here.” She laid the map on the table. “Although a copy, it appears to be a map of an old cemetery on the Isle of Grace.”

“Is there anything special about this map?”

“Possibly. While the leaves decorating the edges are lovely, they’re not the most interesting thing.” She took a magnifier out of her dress pocket and held it over a corner. “The top of the original is torn, but you can see there was once a compass rose.”

He looked closer. Only the W and E could be seen, but from the scroll work, they had been compass directions. “Most maps have a compass rose.”

“Except the way this map is oriented, true north is off by thirty degrees.”

“Does it matter? It’s old. And what about those scribbled numbers and letters along the top. What do those mean?”

“Interesting.” She put down her magnifier. “I’m not sure. The map may be related to the history of Anne Capel, who lived on the Isle of Grace.”

“Yeah.” Now this he could talk about. “I’ve read about her. She was quite a woman—for the seventeenth century.”

“I agree.” Sarah adjusted her glasses and opened the top book. “Anne had a love affair with Isaiah Montfort, got pregnant, was accused of murdering forty-four kids with an herbal potion she’d made, was hanged for murder and witchcraft, and, when the rope broke, was pardoned. Then her lover’s brother burned down her house and killed Isaiah. She went on to live in isolation and died in 1703, leaving a son named Lawrence.”

“Was that the child she had with Isaiah Montfort?”

“Yes. Anne never married after Isaiah’s death. And that supposedly started a long-running feud between the Capel and Montfort families.”

“Did she murder those kids?”

“I don’t believe so. Anne was a renowned herbalist. I believe she was helping them and it went horribly wrong.”

“Have you ever read about a vial she may have hidden?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright.” Nate smiled at her when he really wanted to do more. Like kiss her senseless until all her clothes fell off.

“Are you a history buff?”

Only if it saves my men. “Sure.”

She touched the map again. “I’d love to see this cemetery. But it’s on private land. I’ve emailed the owner but I’ve yet to get permission to go out there.”

“There’ve been a lot of deaths on that Isle.”

Sarah smiled wryly. “Now you sound like my boss.” She stood and brushed a stray curl off her shoulder. “I have to get back to work, but I’ve brought more books worth reading. When you’re done, drop them off inside. If you need them tomorrow, my assistant will reserve them for you.”

He stood and shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Thanks.”

She walked away. And, for a brief moment, she glanced back.

“She’s beautiful.”

Nate turned to find a shadow behind the oak tree. The man wore a hoodie that hid his face. “Did you kill Sally?”

“Yes. Have you thought about my offer?”

“To join the Fianna? No, thanks.” Nate sat and opened books, hoping the monster would go away. It was daylight, and Nate was in public. The chances of being beaten again were slim, and now he was armed.

“What if I offered you information that could save your men?”

“I wouldn’t believe it even if you had it. Which you don’t. Now go away.”

“How are your headaches?”

Truthfully, now that Sarah was gone, his head hurt like he’d shoved it in a blender with stereo speakers. “Fine.”

“Have you ever wondered about where the headaches come from?”

“I know how they started.” In a warlord’s POW camp.

“Yet, despite the pills, you still have them.”

“What do you care?”

“I have what you need. You have what I need. One day’s worth of pills for one map.”

“The map is meaningless.”

Balthasar laughed. “Then you wouldn’t mind giving it up for three pills.”

Too bad Nate’s burner phone couldn’t take photos. Conflicted, he sat back. It wasn’t as if the map was of anything. And without a compass rose, it was broken.

“I know those pills are the only things that help your pain,” Balthasar said. “Too bad they’re addictive.”

The pills weren’t the problem. The headaches and seizures—caused by his time in the POW camp—were the issue. After another long minute, Nate handed Balthasar the map. In return, the warrior gave him three pills.

“Now leave,” Nate said.

“If you want more pills tomorrow, the price is the journal Detective Garza is reading.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Deke is quite the informant. He also discovered Garza has his cell phone. The one he used to make his drug deals. I hope your name isn’t in there.”

Nate rose, but Balthasar had disappeared.

Dammit. Nate packed up the books. Once he handed his stack to the assistant and put them on reserve, she gave him a note from Sarah. “Miss Munro had to leave for a family emergency, but she wanted me to give you this.”

Nate, I just heard from a colleague that there are no satellite photos of the Isle of Grace because none have ever been taken. There are only two reasons for this. One, the Isle is mostly uninhabited, so it doesn’t matter. Two, someone paid someone off to make sure no aerial photos would ever be taken. My bet is on the latter.

Sarah

Why was he not surprised?

As he shoved the note into his pocket, his phone buzzed.

You will join us or suffer the consequences.

Nate left the SPO, texting Pete. CC

“Fuck you, Balthasar.” Those three pills had bought him one more day, and he had to make the most of it before Montfort found out. Nate removed the SIM card and smashed the phone against a rock. On his way out of the garden, he threw the SIM card into the fountain and the phone in the garbage. He didn’t have a plan, but he had a goal. He just hoped Pete remembered that CC meant cells compromised.

Then Nate prayed that Pete still cared.

* * *

Rafe went up the porch stairs first, testing each one for rot. By the time he dropped his pack and turned to help Juliet, she stood next to him.

She started taking things out of the bags. “Should I bring my gun?”

“Yes. I’m worried about snakes.” He shifted his rifle to his back and left the machete on the ground. He had his nine-mil in his back waistband and two knives.

She took off her hat and placed it on a poncho. “I haven’t been inside since my daddy died. Jimmy hired men with an electric scissor lift and it took them hours to get here. Even longer to maneuver over the mud flats. Inside, the floor was so rotted, they built cross supports to keep it from falling through to the subbasement. So”—she pointed to the tattered police tape—“don’t expect much.”

He took her hand and led her in. “What happened to the chandelier?”

“The men with the lift had to take it down to get my daddy.”

Rafe studied the two-story ceiling. “How’d Gerald get up there?”

“He stood on a ladder, tied a rope around the chandelier, and jumped.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “The ladder was nearby when I found him.”

“Bullshit.” Rafe put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I’ve known a lot of tough men and your daddy wasn’t only the toughest, he was the most stubborn. Gerald would never commit suicide. And he sure as hell wouldn’t hang himself.”

She nodded. “Where do we start?”

“Upstairs and work our way down.”

Besides the staircase with newel posts elaborately carved with leaves, the first floor had four rooms off the foyer, two on each side. The kitchen and glass conservatory ran along the back of the house. A study hid beneath the stairs. Gabriel once stood near the front door, protecting everything and everyone. The upstairs had six bedrooms, and the landing overlooking the first floor had been a ballroom. Now the space was a field of animal droppings and mold.

“Let’s check my room first.”

Once upstairs, they found her bedroom empty, the French doors leading onto her balcony open. After testing the wood, he went outside.

“Be careful,” she said.

“I will.” He took the scope off his rifle and scanned the river. He followed the path they’d walked to the house. When he shifted the scope upward, past the tree he used to climb to her balcony, he found what he was looking for. “Look.”

She stepped onto the balcony, and it groaned. “Will it hold?”

“For now.” He handed her the scope and pointed to the river. “Can you see the canoe?” She nodded, and he moved the scope up and to the right. “See the fire lookout tower? I think that’s where the sniper stood when he killed Escalus.”

“It’s almost two miles away.”

“It’s where I’d take the shot from.”

She handed him the scope and followed him inside.

The rest of the bedrooms were empty, with holes pitting the floors. “I’ve always loved this house,” he said, leading them into Gerald’s bedroom.

She went to her father’s closet where he’d kept one of his safes. “Why?”

Rafe stood next to her, contemplating what it’d be like to restore and live in the manor. Raise a family here. “Imagine what it looked like with the carved molding and decorative ceiling plaster. Fireplaces in every room. I bet it was beautiful.”

“I’m sure it was,” she said from the closet. “There’s nothing here. The safe’s gone—Rafe!” She screamed as the closet floor gave way.

He grabbed her hand before she dropped. He ended up on his stomach while her legs kicked back and forth below her. He saw the kitchen sixteen feet down.

“Stop moving and look at me,” he ordered.

She tried to grab his wrist with her other hand, but she didn’t have the strength. His grip on her wrist slipped, and his arms burned. “Juliet!”

She raised her head, eyes wide.

“I’m going to pull you up. Stop swinging your legs.”

She slowed and closed her eyes.

“Throw up your other hand.”

She reached, and he grabbed her other wrist. His muscles strained until he thought his shoulders would dislocate. Slowly, he moved backward using his elbows and knees. When she was at the edge, he maneuvered until he had dragged her through.

They both collapsed on the floor. And when that groaned, he rolled them toward the wall and threw off his rifle. She shook and he held her in his arms, both of them curled into one another. Her heart beat as fast as his, and he pressed his lips against her hair. They were both covered in dirt and grime, but he didn’t care. They were safe.