Page 4 of Ace
“Silly girl,” Gran Mere said softly as she reached out and cupped Savannah’s chin. Her hands were cold, but her eyes were as sharp as ever. Still seeing all. Still reading Savannah’s thoughts as if Savannah had spoken them out loud. “I don’t need a doctor. Not anymore. Wouldn’t bother with one if I did. It’s too late for worldly nonsense, and that man might think he’s smart, but he hasn’t a lick of the wisdom you do. You know that.”
“I do know,” Savannah murmured, her heart caught high in her throat, choking her. But still a silly enough girl to fear losing the only mother she’d ever known.
“I am going to miss you, cher,” Gran Mere murmured, her beautiful blue eyes gone distant, the sparkling light deep within them dimming.
It was happening. Savannah pushed inside the safe circle of her great grandmother’s arms, holding onto her one and only refuge although she knew she couldn’t stop Death from stealing Gran Mere away. She was losing everything. Her world and her best friend. She swallowed hard, ashamed that now Gran Mere wouldknow she wasn’t strong enough to hold back her tears. Gran Mere had never cried. Not once.
Her fingertips tapped weakly at the back of Savannah’s head. “Promise me you won’t linger here once I’m gone, baby girl. I’ll be with my Antonio. Let me go, Savannah. Look for the wild roses that grow deep in the bayou. Watch for the warlock. He holds a black magic in his heart, one only you can overcome. You alone hold the key to bring him down, my dearest. Whatever happens, be fearless and strong. Be the blessing the world needs more than it ever needed me.”
“But I need you,” Savannah cried out as her heart broke. “I’m not brave. I’m not! And I don’t know enough. Not yet. I’ll never, ever know enough to let you go!” If that whiney rant didn’t make her sound like a petulant child, nothing would. How her fingers ached to cling tightly to the only mother she’d ever known, who even now, was slipping away.
But that was not how life worked, and Savannah knew full well she wasn’t strong enough to hold back the grains of sand in the unforgiving hourglass called Time. Grain by grain. Breath by breath. She knew the instant Gran Mere’s spirit fled her tired, old body. It just lifted out of her like a spirit set free. All the stiff, uppityness Gran Mere was known for throughout the parish drained out of her on the quietest sigh. Her last breath.
As if she could stop the inevitable, Savannah pulled Gran Mere’s frail body against her one last time. But it was too late. Like the wind on an old tin roof on a hot summer day, Gran Mere was gone. Her body was stillwarm, but with the kind of warmth in the jacket you’d taken off and set aside. The cooling down kind of warm.
Rap! Rap! Rap!A snappy knock at the front entry crashed the deafening stillness of the tender, tragic moment. Squeezing her eyes against the deluge of tears lurking in her heart, Savannah began the chant to expel the idiot from Gran Mere’s narrow porch.
“Leave and never come back,” she murmured as she pressed her nose into her great grandmother’s cheek and cried like the lost child she was once again. The lovely scent of rosewater filled her senses, but this time hope did not spring eternal. The deed was done. The woman who’d brought those roses to life on her skin was eternally gone. Gran Mere had left them behind, too.
Rap! Rap! Rap!
Savannah’s eyes narrowed. “Leave and never come back,” she repeated, then repeated it again and again, banishing the troll who would dare disturb this sacred place, now of all times. “Leave and never—ever—come back.”
Chapter Three
Keller cocked his head, sure he’d heard voices coming from inside this bizarre excuse for a home. It was too damn early in the morning, and the air was already sauna hot. He’d flown straight from Reagan National Airport in Virginia, to Louis Armstrong International Airport, New Orleans, well after midnight. From there, he’d rented a fast car, a Camaro of all things, hooked onto I-10, and raced across the southernmost portion of the mighty Lake Pontchartrain to the city of Slidell.
The woman he’d been sent to retrieve, one Mariposa Church, lived east of Slidell, near the western edge of the Pearl River Wildlife Management Area, which put her damned near in Florida. Which meant ticks, chiggers, mosquitos, and fleas aplenty, not a pleasant homecoming for a Southern boy who’d been away too long, and who, if not for Isaiah, wouldn’t be here now. But here Keller was, standing in early morningsweltering humidity of St. Tammany Parish at Mariposa Church’s front door, trying to maintain his customary professional demeanor while sweat trickled down his neck, his back, and into the back of his pants. It didn’t get any better than this.
More derelict than home, the boathouse lacked the slightest hint of proper maintenance. The paint had long since peeled fore to aft. Moss crept up the rotting gangplank like an encroaching green army. On the southern side, the several pecan trees leaning into each other needed staking and serious pruning before they’d produce any pecans, which was too bad. Keller loved fresh pecan pie. Gaunt and gangly, their branches sported barely any signs of life, certainly no tender sprouts, which they should have by now. It was spring after all.
But that mighty oak on the north side, the one dragging its brittle branches over the houseboat’s roof like wicked witch fingers? That poor old thing had to go, sooner than later. It’d probably drowned when the last hurricane to make land pushed inland. The old guy’s impressive deep tap root hadn’t been able to handle saltwater. Even the smallest tidal surges would’ve been enough to kill it, though there was no standing water nearby that Keller could see now. Not like it mattered. The damage was done. It’d only take one stiff wind to bring that giant down on this derelict, wannabe houseboat and crush everyone inside.
Things would be different if Keller owned this piece of junk. He’d renovate the houseboat, landscape the surrounding acreage, and he’d trim those trees. Hell,he’d plant new trees. He’d control Mother Nature even as he let her close in and block out the rest of the world. That was what he’d do. But this wasn’t his land and he didn’t have time for pipe dreams.
Pursing his lips in frustration—because he had heard voices inside, yet no one had answered—Keller knocked again. Louder. Brasher. Determined to get whatever secret this old woman possessed back to Isaiah in time. Damn, it was hot. Washington, DC knew sweltering heat, but spring in the District was nothing compared to spring in the bayou. How did people stand to live where merely stepping outdoors could parboil them at the crack of dawn?
Known as the ‘Northshore’because of its location on Lake Pontchartrain, affluent St. Tammany Parish was where the high class, well-to-do folks, those who wanted to stay near, but not in New Orleans, lived. Here they could avoid the riffraff, hucksters, gangsters, and the drama of living in the high-powered, take-your-chances, watch-your-step Big Easy. But enough common folk lived here too, especially along the undeveloped shores of the bayou.
“Damn it, talk to me. I don’t have all day,” he cussed as he glared at the lackluster surroundings he’d trudged through since parking his rental nearly a mile away.
Virginia creeper, moss, and kudzu had taken over everything around this shabby house. Weeds even covered what he suspected were two Adirondack chairs on what might have at one time been a decent concrete patio. The lumps under all those vines could’ve beenchairs. Hell, they could’ve been Chinese stone temple dogs for all he knew, the weeds were that thick.
But just like back at the Deuces Wild office with Isaiah, there was a malevolent presence here. The feeling at the back of Keller’s neck was eerie, as if someone were standing in the dark shade of the cypress trees. Watching. Warning. Urging him to run. To hurry and leave and never come back.
He shook it off and once again raised his fist to knock when the door swung open. Caught off guard, Keller all but fell into the deepest, angriest, chocolate eyes he’d ever seen. The young woman standing there was dressed in a skimpy, pink tank top pulled over faded denim shorts that enhanced her already long, glamourous mocha-colored legs. She was one of those incredibly welcome sights for sore eyes. Red crystal beads hung around her neck, leading to a crucifix tucked between her breasts. A rosary. Didn’t it figure? He huffed at the sight. Louisiana’s culture was a crazy mix of heathen voodoo and Christian.
But she wasn’t happy to see him. Her chin jutted forward. Her slender fingers came to rest over two softly-rounded hips that shouldn’t have gotten past Keller’s professional, guarded perimeter. But they did. This lush woman was stark, raving beautiful in a way he hadn’t expected. Gorgeous, came to mind. Right on its heels,goddess.And something else he couldn’t put his finger on. Childlike? Nah, that couldn’t be it. The anger humming off this woman like electricity from a downed powerline raised the tiny hairs on the back of his neck.
Her bare feet were spread in outrageous defiance. Her chin, though elegant, tipped up like a wall. Even her tiny, straight toes, the nails painted a delicious blood red that reminded him of cherries and further accentuated her richly tanned skin, were tapping out a storm warning.
Day-um.This wasn’t the old woman he’d expected to answer the door. Uh uh. This gal was a thousand times better. Prettier. Younger. Full of life and hair-raising vitality that reached out and all but slapped him across the face. Hard.
Long, athletically-toned legs. Tiny waist. Lord-help-me-cleavage that tested the fabric of her cotton top to its limit. Straight black hair hung to her shoulders, while blunt cut bangs framed a hostile but intelligent face. She was a melting pot of ethnicities all by herself.
The rich, deep color of her skin bordered on coffee with a good dose of sweet, rich, melt-in-your-mouth cream. All by itself, it bespoke a mixed heritage Keller couldn’t precisely define. Perhaps Asian? Her eyes were more almond-shaped than round. Perhaps African too? Her nose flared just enough to make him wonder. Perhaps both with a dash of Caucasian thrown in as well? Not that he cared. Keller had learned long ago how little bigotry meant.
He knew the second her expressive brows narrowed and the thickest, blackest lashes he’d ever seen blinked out a definite,‘Get the hell off my porch!’This fierce woman was not to be toyed with. He should’ve backed off. He certainly should’ve known better. But his cock chose that precise damned second to stand up and takenotice. The damned thing wanted an introduction.Really? Now?
