Page 11 of Ace
“I’ve seen enough,” he answered, surprised she wanted to talk about that with her great grandmother nearby.
“Tell me about her.”
That was his first clue. “Her who?”
Miss Church drew in a long breath, then let it out on a whispered, “Your wife, Carol Marie.”
Aww, shit.Keller closed his eyes as all the hints he’d failed to consider hit him like a brick. The whisper from the shadows that had warned him to leave and never come back. The psychic push to leave. The way he’d felt when this woman touched him. The ease with which she’d transferred her grief for his comfort, then balanced the transfer so neither of them were leftunsettled or wanting. Miss Church was not just psychic. She was an empath. A better, stronger empath.
He canted his head, needing to understand how she knew, but not ready to share memories of Carol Marie. “Are you psychic or are you some kind of voodoo priestess?” he asked, still not sure if even that explained everything. The integration of white man’s religion with African witchdoctor medicine began with the earliest slaves brought to Louisiana. Compound those ritualistic, and pagan belief systems with a powerful psychic, and you ended up with an entirely different kind of magic.
Miss Church’s thick, black lashes fluttered. Those red crystal rosary beads glistened like precious jewels at her neck. “What if I am?”
Because it might explain why Keller was here instead of another agent from the Deuces Wild team. Either this beguiling woman or her great grandmother had drawn him here, or one of them had somehow influenced Tucker’s decision to send Keller. Since his empathy had manifested itself when he’d turned eleven, he preferred ignoring it when he could, recovering from it when he couldn’t. To him, his psychic talent had always been more curse than gift. Until today...
“Does everyone around here know?”
“I’ve never hidden my sight. Gran Mere wouldn’t have let me if I’d wanted to. What do you know about voodoo priestesses?”
He bowed his head, swallowed hard and revealed, “Enough. I’m from Louisiana.”
Her brows narrowed. “Where?”
Keller loosened the tie he’d just tightened because...Shit.He needed to breathe. “Turkey Creek.”
Miss Church’s head tilted, drawing his focus to the dark strands tumbling off her shoulder like ebony silk. “I don’t know where that is.”
“Up north, off LA-13.” Admitting he’d come from that particular two-bit grease spot on the highway was nothing to be proud of, nor anything Keller wanted to share. Even the name declared wrong side of the tracks. Redneck. Loser. He’d spent his time in the Army blending in, not sticking out. He’d worked hard to lose his Southern accent, too, the twang that labeled everyone this side of the Mason-Dixon Line a rebel. He’d worked just as hard to hide his gift.
But he wouldn’t lie. Recalling the prickly sensation of eyes on him while he’d waited for Miss Church to answer the door, he rubbed the back of his neck. Like he did whenever questions about Carol Marie came up, he changed the subject. “That was you telling me to leave and never come back, wasn’t it? Out there on your porch?”
“You heard me then. I couldn’t tell.”
Keller ran a hand over his scalp. “No, but I felt the push. You certainly lifted the hair off my head.”
“What hair?” Mischievous sparkles lit up her pretty eyes. “When you kept knocking, I wasn’t sure. Most folks back off and run when I warn them the first time, but you—”
“I wasn’t leaving until I spoke to your great grandmother.” Remembering why he was there—Isaiah—hit Keller. The loss to Tucker’s team would bephenomenal, but to Roxy Zaroyin and that babe she was carrying? The son Isaiah would never live to see? Keller couldn’t bear the thought. That kind of pain Keller knew all too well. Isaiah and Roxy wanted this little boy. Every time she came into the office to meet him for lunch, she glowed as if she’d swallowed a piece of the sun. But now…
Miss Church reached one hand across the chipped Formica tabletop, and again, the instant her fingertips made contact with the back of his hand, a soothing wave washed over Keller. “Why are you here, Agent Boniface? You didn’t come all the way from Washington, DC just to talk to Gran Mere.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he answered truthfully.I failed.“She’s gone now.”
“But why Mariposa Church? What was she to you?” The smooth, sleek waterfall of Miss Church’s hair swished over her shoulder as she leaned forward, her dark eyes brimmed with uncommon compassion and intelligence. “How did you know her?”
Keller shook his head. “I didn’t. Never heard of her until yesterday.” His phone vibrated from his inner jacket pocket. Damn. Had to be Tucker. Just when one migraine ended, another one dialed his number. “Excuse me, but I have to take this.”
Miss Church pushed back from the table. Her gaze strayed to the settee beyond the kitchen. “I’ll, umm…”
Keller took hold of her hand before she could escape. “Stay. This won’t take long.”Because I’ve got nothing good to tell my boss. My boss, ha.The title still chafed.
As she settled back into her chair, Keller hit ACCEPT. “Agent Boniface—”
“Why haven’t you called? Are you there yet? What’s going on?”
“Yes, sir, I arrived, and I’ve made first contact, but—”
“But what?” Tucker’s angst crawled through the connection. “Have you met her yet? What’s she like? What’d she say? Can she help Isaiah or not? How long’s it gonna take to fly her back to DC? Do you think she’s strong enough to handle the flight or should we plan…? What the hell’s going on?”
