Chapter 8

Juliet leaned against Garza’s car in the dirt parking lot, between the church and the rectory/ sheriff’s office. Insects buzzed, and her peripheral vision clouded, like the humidity had smoothed the edges with Vaseline. Jimmy Boudreaux and Detective Garza completed the triangle. “What happened?”

“All I know,” Jimmy said, “is Grady found Rafe near your daddy’s trailer site.”

“Did Rafe kill that man?”

“No,” Garza said. “The sniper shot came from the river. Between the time Grady heard the shot to when they found Rafe, there’s no way he could’ve run from the river to that side of the property. The vegetation is impenetrable.”

“Juliet.” Jimmy’s voice dropped. “Rafe wants to see you. He’s…agitated.”

She tasted the dusty tang of the Isle. Like crushed dandelions and swamp sludge. She knew what Rafe was like when he was worked up, and everyone on the Isle knew she was the only one who could calm him down. As much as she didn’t want to talk to Rafe again, she didn’t want Pops or Grady to take the brunt of Rafe’s temper. “Alright.”

“While you’re with Rafe,” Jimmy said, “see if you can get more information.”

“Like what?”

Jimmy pulled his hat lower. “I couldn’t get a search warrant for his truck but I’d like to know if he had a weapon And why was he out there?”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Rafe and I have never gotten along,” Jimmy said. “You know that better than anyone.”

Because Jimmy and his brother Tommy used to torture her when they were kids. But there was no reason to say what they were both thinking.

Detective Garza added, “It’s a delicate situation with your ex-husband’s reputation.”

“You mean because he went AWOL and ended up in prison?” she asked.

“Most of the men of the Isle have served. They consider Rafe a traitor.” Jimmy turned his head toward the church where a group of men stood. “Are you okay with us going to your property? It may be a two- or three-day search.”

“Yes,” she said. “And the body?”

“The SPD is taking care of it,” Garza said. “The ME will escort the body into town.”

“Does anyone know who the victim is?” she asked.

“Some stranger.” Jimmy handed her his phone, which displayed a photo.

The man had half his scalp and part of his face blown off. Mud and blood soaked his body. She looked away, her stomach regretting her earlier coffee.

Jimmy closed the photo. “There are rumors you’re selling your land. Any chance he’ s a possible buyer scoping out the property?”

“I’ve never seen him before. And no one was visiting the property. According to Pops, it’s impossible to get there now.”

“If you think of any reason someone would go out there, let me know. I have to get the search parties going.” Jimmy touched her arm, but she backed up. “You going to be okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll deal with Rafe.”

With a nod, Jimmy headed toward the twenty men standing in the shade of an oak tree preparing to search her land for a rogue sniper. She almost laughed at the irony of the men of the Isle near the church. If justice existed, the men would be blasted by lightning. Angels didn’t appreciate hypocrisy. And neither did she.

“Do you know them?” Garza asked.

“Yes.” Their family names intertwined with hers in every Bible on the Isle: Marigny, Prioleau, Toban, Montfort, Mercer, and Habersham. Except none of them had ever offered her a moment of kindness during her poverty-stricken childhood, after Rafe went AWOL, or the night her father died. The only one besides her father who’d ever cared for her, protected her from their taunts and scurrilous words, had been Rafe.

She smoothed down her dress. “The people of the Isle hate me.”

Garza shoved his hands in his front pockets. “I doubt that.”

“It’s not personal.”

“Hate is always personal.”

“The people of the Isle have disliked the Capels since Anne Capel was accused of witchcraft in the seventeenth century. They think the land is cursed. It’s not a big deal.”

He smirked. “It’s a good thing Sheriff Boudreaux doesn’t need me for the search party.”

She caught the dismissive tone in his voice and added, “People on the Isle have been caring for themselves for three centuries. And the SPD has a reputation for botching murder investigations on the Isle.”

“You mean Senator Wilkins’s death?”

She nodded. “Did you know the SPD detective on that case was also murdered? I believe he was the detective you replaced.” At his nod, she said, “Jimmy dislikes the SPD.”

“Makes sense.” Thunder cracked above their heads. “Ready?”

She nodded, and Garza led her to the white building that held the church rectory and sheriff’s office. Rain started as she went in.

Calum stood with his back to her, hands on his hips. “We don’t have time for this.”

Rafe, covered in mud, muscles, and tattoos, held Tommy Boudreaux up against the far wall. Tommy’s feet dangled, and he had a bloody nose. Rafe’s fingers gripped Tommy’s neck, his other hand was pulled back in a fist ready to fly again.

Tommy kicked the wall while he clawed the hand at his neck. “It was a joke.”

Rafe raised Tommy higher, his back muscles contracting beneath a khaki-colored T-shirt three sizes too small. “Apologize.”

Garza came in next to her. “Let go. Or I start arresting.”

Rafe ignored Garza and ordered, “Say it.”

Calum glanced at Garza. But Calum’s eyes widened when he saw Juliet.

She ignored her oldest friend and focused her frustration on the men against the wall. This didn’t surprise her at all. Rafe and Tommy had always been at odds. Actually, Rafe and the world had always been at odds. The only person he’d never been against had been her.

“I’m sorry.” Tommy’s words were garbled. When Rafe let Tommy go, he dropped to the ground. “You’re crazy.”

Garza went to Tommy and helped him up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Calum said. “Excitement’s over.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy pointed at her. “Your man’s an animal.”

Rafe spun around. His jeans were encrusted with dirt, and the tight tan T-shirt outlined his stomach muscles and wide shoulders. Bandages covered his arm, and streaks of blood ran down to the blue satin ribbon still tied on his wrist. His knuckles were bruised, and his other arm was tattooed from wrist to shoulder.

Not images. Names.

“Rafe?” Philip stood in the doorway behind her, staring at his brother.

“Philip.” Rafe’s voice sounded sharp and low. “What are you doing here?”

“Pops called me.” Philip reached to take Juliet’s hand, but she pulled away.

She needed space to breathe. “I’d like to speak with Rafe alone.”

Philip stormed away. Garza took Tommy by the arm and led him out. Calum hovered.

“Please, Calum. I’ll only take a few minutes. Is there bail?”

“No. Jimmy has no evidence to hold Rafe. Once I sign the paperwork, Rafe is free.”

“Then do it so we can leave this godforsaken Isle.”

Calum paused in the doorway, one hand on the jamb. “Don’t take too long. Rafe and I have things to do.”

When he was gone, she used her arm to brush the stray hair out of her eyes and faced Rafe. “What happened after you left me at the square?”

“Nothing.”

She sighed heavily. Why was she even helping him? Because she needed his signature on her deeds. That was all. “You get a strange text, drive out to the Isle, lose your T-shirt”—she pointed to the bandage on his arm—“get hurt, and end up arrested for murder. Yet nothing happened.”

“Shit,” Rafe muttered under his breath. Then he leaned his backside against the desk, both hands gripping the edge while his body fell forward. The pose reeked of strength, power, and…defeat. “I came out here to protect you.”

When she found herself focused on his fully tattooed right arm, trying to read the elegant script, she retreated to the window overlooking the church. Jimmy was talking to the men of the Isle, hands on his hips, probably giving orders. “Somehow these things that are all about me end up all about you. Why is that?”

She glanced back at him and realized his face was splattered with mud…and blood? If he hadn’t killed that man, what had he been doing? Because it hadn’t been nothing.

“I don’t know. I never meant to hurt you.”

The statement rippled through her. “When? Today? Or eight years ago? Because your letter said otherwise. Not to mention those.” She nodded to his arm covered with ink.

“All of the above.” He ran a hand over his head and stood to his full height. His physical presence filled the room with masculine heat and his oh-so-familiar musky scent. “I know I’ve made a mess of things, but I can fix it. I just need your help.”

She laughed. A back-throated, this-is-crazy kind of laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Deadly serious.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and used the calmest voice she could muster. “I can’t do this again, Rafe. Do you have any idea how hard I fought to reclaim my life? To build a safe, secure world for myself? I worked and studied for eight years to get my bachelor’s and master’s degrees, start my business, be financially and emotionally independent. And now you come back into town, surrounded by half-truths and violence, and you expect me to help you?”

“Yes.” The tic in his jaw quivered. A telltale sign he was holding onto his temper as hard as she was censoring hers. “I also need you to trust me.”

“Have you not been listening?”

He slammed his palms on the desk. “I have been listening, and I want to protect the life you’ve built for yourself. But that can’t happen until I find what I’m looking for. And you’re the only one who can help me.”

“Why?” She threw her arms open wide, hoping to catch a single shred of truth. “What are you looking for?”

“A vial once owned by Anne Capel.”

“A vial from a seventeenth-century witch? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“Yes, actually. I do.”

She gritted her teeth and turned back to the window. Garza and Philip were walking toward Mamie’s Café across the street from the church. A battered Texaco sign blew in the breeze, and a row of motorcycles lined up along the clapboard side of the station-turned-café.

“Juliet?” Rafe came up behind her. “Please. If you don’t help me, others will get hurt.”

“Now you’re blackmailing me?”

“No, I’m asking you.” His breath against her neck sent tingles up her arm, and she lowered her head. “If I succeed, I promise I’ll leave town and you can get on with your life.”

She shifted to see his profile. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

He put his hands on her waist so gently she felt the heat more than the pressure. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

She turned, only to find him inches away. With her back against the window, his enormous body in the way, and his hands still on her waist, she was trapped. His touch burned through her dress, his masculine heat filled her lungs, pushing up her breasts. Her breaths sounded shallow, and she fought the urge to press her hands against his chest. To see if his heart was beating as fast as hers. “If I help you, I need something in return—besides you leaving town.”

His eyelids lowered, his focus entirely on her lips. “Anything.”

“I need your signatures on the deeds to Capel land. My father added your name, and I can’t sell my land without your signature.”

He released her and crossed his arms. “Selling your land is a terrible idea.”

She slipped by him and moved into the open space. Being so close to him left her hot and shaky. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Only your signature.”

After a minute of intense silence, he nodded. “Once I get out of here, we can start—”

“I don’t think so,” Calum said from the doorway. “Juliet, I apologize for interrupting but I need to talk to my client. We have things to figure out.”

“Like what?” Rafe asked.

Calum straightened his jacket, and then his tie. “Things.”

Grateful for the reprieve, she said, “I have to set up for a funeral this afternoon, and I’m working late tonight on a new project.” No need to tell them what that project entailed. She headed for the door but paused to glance back at Rafe. “Meet me at the store tomorrow morning. We’ll get started then.”

Because the sooner they began, the sooner he’d leave.

Rafe’s scowl deepened while Calum took her arm and led her outside to the porch. “You called earlier?”

“It’s not important,” she said. “I figured it out.” There was no way she was asking him for money now that she knew he was involved with Rafe’s mess.

Calum looked at her sideways. “You okay?”

She almost snorted. “You’re asking me that question?”

“I’m just…worried about you. I can only imagine how hard this is.”

“I’m fine, Calum. Really. Now I’m going to ask Philip if he can give me a ride back into town. And I’d appreciate it if you found Rafe some clothes. The clean kind that fit.”

Juliet left the rectory and, once she hit Mamie’s Café and convenience store, headed directly for the restroom. She gripped the sink and reviewed her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had come loose. Long, damp tendrils framed her pale face. Dark circles surrounded her eyes.

What was wrong with her? Why did I agree to help him?

Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face until her fingers tingled.

Everything will be okay. As long as she relied on herself, she’d survive. After fixing her hair, she left the restroom only to see Philip leaning against the beef jerky stand, hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“Thank you. I need to get away from all of this.”

He reached for her. But she moved away, and he dropped his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Except she wasn’t the only one with Rafe issues. “Are you?”

“Sure.”

That didn’t sound promising. “Where’s Pops?”

“With Grady. Jimmy asked the families to split their search of Capel land. Which means the Marigny boys, who are currently filling their pieholes with peach cobbler, will make up a bullshit story to cover the fact that they did nothing.”

She attempted a smile until one of the Marignys wolf-whistled from the other side of the store. And this was why she never came to the Isle.

She followed Philip around the beer case to find Detective Garza at the counter, holding water bottles, surrounded by curious local men. She pushed through and moved next to Garza as he placed the water on the counter and adjusted his stance to show his holstered weapon. “How much?”

“Two forty-eight.” CJ, the man behind the register with the Harley T-shirt and dish towel thrown over his shoulder, nodded to her. “Hey, Juliet. Who’s your friend?”

“Detective Garza,” she said. “You should be nice to him.”

Garza flashed his badge, and the men dispersed, most of them going back to the sandwich counter.

“Oh.” CJ straightened his shoulders. “Aren’t you from Maryland?”

“Trenton,” Garza said, pocketing his change. “It’s in New Jersey.”

“Huh.” Then CJ fixed his gaze on Juliet. “Is it true you’re selling your land?”

Before she could answer, Etienne, one of the Marigny boys seated at the lunch counter, asked, “How does your husband feel about that?”

She faced the line of men seated like frogs on logs eating hamburgers and fries. “Rafe and I are divorced.”

“Rafe’s a fucking traitor,” another man said. “An animal. Should’ve been hanged.”

“Not surprised a dead body shows up the day he returns,” said a third. “No good ever came from a Montfort marrying a Capel. Gerald should’ve stopped that marriage.”

“Only thing that land is good for,” said another, “is killin’ and buryin’.”

CJ threw his towel at Etienne Marigny and headed for the grill. “Shut up, eat up, and help the sheriff. Or I’ll throw you out.”

The men went back to their food, CJ flipped burgers, and she glanced at Garza. “Philip offered to take me home.”

Garza nodded, handed her a water bottle, and followed them into the sunlight. Once she retrieved her workbag and camera, Garza opened Philip’s car door for her. She got in, collecting her dress before closing the door.

“Wait!” Jimmy jogged over and scrunched down to meet her gaze. “One of the Toban boys found an SUV he didn’t recognize near the Capel land border, not far from Boudreaux’s restaurant. I ran the plates. It’s insured and registered to a law firm in New Orleans. Beaumont, Barclay, and Bray.”

“So?”

Jimmy held up a set of keys. “ME found this in the victim’s pocket. Same make and model of that SUV.”

“Which makes them evidence.” Garza took them and read the engraved key chain. “Occidere, et non occidit. Kill or be killed.”

Jimmy frowned. “You know Latin?”

“A bit.”

She opened her bottle and took a drink. “The victim was driving that rental?”

Jimmy nodded. “Juliet, remember what happened after the brush fire in your back meadow months ago? What we found after recovering Senator Wilkins’s body?”

She pressed the cold bottle against her cheek. “There was a johnboat at the dock.”

“So?” Garza asked.

“So,” Jimmy added, “right before the fire, Juliet’s daddy cut off the bush roads on the property. Everyone, including Senator Wilkins, knew Gerald shot first, asked questions never. Yet, despite the danger, Wilkins used a boat to traverse the tidal estuaries across Juliet’s land. And in that boat, we found Wilkins’s jacket with a business card for Beaumont, Barclay, and Bray.”

She’d forgotten that. “You think Senator Wilkins’s death and today’s murder are connected?”

Jimmy lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. I’m just not sure how.”

“You should know,” Garza said, “that Detective Legare never believed Wilkins got caught in a brush fire days after a tropical storm.”

Jimmy hissed. “You opening the Wilkins and Legare investigations again?”

“Maybe,” Garza said.

“Be careful,” Jimmy said. “Legare was a great cop. Now he’s dead.”

So now maybe two deaths were related to today’s victim? Was this the kind of weird Rafe had mentioned earlier? She hoped not.

“I will.” Garza shut her door. “I’ll keep in touch, Miss Capel.”

Philip drove away but had to make a U-turn. As he shifted gears, Rafe and Calum came out of the rectory and met the group near the church.

Again, she noted Rafe’s graceful movements.

“Look at the way Rafe walks,” Philip said. “It’s odd.”

“Very.”

“Is it true those are names on his arm?”

She finished the last of her water and screwed on the top of the bottle. She didn’t care. So why had she been trying to read the ink? “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

Her phone buzzed with a text from Mr. Delacroix.

Can’t wait to see the designs you come up with for the Prideaux House. Can you have preliminary renditions by Friday?

Full-color renditions were a lot of work. Still, she texted, Yes.

As Philip drove, she glanced back one last time. Rafe stood with his hands on his hips, staring at her.

She turned, hating the fact that her face felt hot. As Philip hit the bridge leading to Skidaway Island, another text came in. But this one wasn’t from her lawyer or Mr. Delacroix.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks but bears it out even to the edge of doom.