Page 9 of Ace
“I know. She was the reason I came here. Had she been ill long?”
“She was a hundred and three. What do you think?”
“I think people tend to pass from actual illnesses even at her age.”
“Not Gran Mere. She planned to die on the fiftieth anniversary of her husband’s death, so she did.”
Agent Boniface canted his head. “She did? Just like that—” He snapped his fingers. “She set a date and then… she died?”
Died…
Died…
Died…
The finality in that word reached out and bitch slapped Savannah square in the heart. She couldn’t breathe. It was true. Her beloved Gran Mere was gone. She’d never teach Savannah another one of her potions, teas, or brews. There’d be no more of her special spicy crawdad stir-fry with turnip greens, sunchokes, and bok choy. No more late night sleep-overs. No giggles or laughter. No ghost stories and no phone calls just to hear her sweet voice. No more afternoon fish fries. No more deep-frying gator nuggets on the back-porch fryer. No more midnight trolling for largemouth bass on Lake Pontchartrain.
The houseboat would never again fill with the scent of the chicory coffee she’d ground from scratch. There’d be no more gigging frogs on moonless nights, norfeeding gators that came like trick-or-treaters at Gran Mere’s beck and call.
One door closes. Another door opens.
Suddenly, everything was too hard. The room tilted, and Savannah found herself caught in Special Agent’s strong, and oh, so capable arms. On his feet now, he rested one big hand at the small of her back, keeping her from falling. The other grasped her bicep as he pressed her into full body contact. His chest to her breasts. His pounding heart to her pounding heart. A full breath of air hissed out of him, but there was that feeling of safety again. Of having been caught. Of being found.
Breathing hard through her nose so she didn’t pass out, Savannah pressed her palms over his strong collarbones and tipped her forehead to the center of his shirt and the sculpted, muscle beneath it. This man was a wall of comfort, not just physically. That ‘something else’ she’d sensed since the moment he’d shown up was an amazing deep well of empathy. She’d never met another who shared her gift.
Yet his version was different. Disjointed, like a chain missing a link. Aware that his pulse had quickened along with hers when she’d touched him, Savannah sent another push into him, this one of empathy and understanding. That was when she knew what it had cost him to enter Gran Mere’s humble home. He’d been nearly blind when he’d crossed the threshold, going on instinct. That he’d offered genteel compassion when he’d been on the verge of collapse spoke volumes. Yet Agent Boniface had handled himself as if nothing wasamiss, his other senses on alert, masking his frailty. He was a rare man indeed.
As she let herself be comforted by the sheer size of his body and his unique empathy for her loss, Savannah gave back the same understanding to the strong, yet vulnerable man in her arms. Within seconds Agent Boniface relaxed, which was precisely what she’d intended. Because she very much needed the gentle strength pouring out of him, enveloping her like a soft, warm blanket. Why not? He was here to help, wasn’t he? He might as well start with her, and he might as well find strength in the giving.
Wonder what Gran Mere would say about this. About him.Savannah glanced over her shoulder at the peaceful lady reclined on the settee. Was this why she seemed to be smiling? Had Gran Mere known Special Agent Boniface was coming today? Was he why she’d decided to leave or was this truly the fifty-year anniversary of Great Grandpa’s death? Had Gran Mere seen Special Agent Boniface in Savannah’s future? Did she know how much her great granddaughter would need a knight in shining armor to get through this day? For that was what Agent Boniface was, a strong, capable man of untested power. Savannah would know.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as he kept her from falling, his hands warm and steady, his arms bands of solid, unwavering support now that he was breathing evenly. “This has been a hard day for you. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was insensitive.”
She let him talk as he stood there being a sorry, tense and uptight male. He was right. This was thehardest day of her life. But she stayed put, because for the first time since Katrina rolled in and drowned the once lovely tree beside Gran Mere’s houseboat, Savannah found herself engulfed by the same sheer, brute strength as that tree. Agent Boniface had even bent his knees and waist to hold her at her height instead of stretching her to match his. He’d seen to her needs instead of expecting her to meet his. How sweet was that?
Besides, Agent Boniface smelled too good to move away from. She closed her eyes and drew in the crisp notes of black silk ties and starch, of bourbon and tobacco. Minty toothpaste and tangy deodorant. Manly smells. Civilized, deliciously masculine smells. They filled Savannah’s body with a steady, pulsing thrum, and were fast becoming an intoxication she didn’t want to resist. Or give up.
She glanced at Gran Mere again, wishing she’d thought fast enough that she’d asked precisely who the warlock was and what he looked like before Gran Mere slipped away. Because Savannah was no shy, fainting, Southern Belle. In a couple minutes, she’d be capable of distancing herself from Agent Boniface. Soon in fact. Very soon. Just. Not. Yet.
Was he the warlock Gran Mere had warned her about? Savannah wasn’t sure. He surely carried himself with a definite lethality. But Special Agent Boniface seemed more mystery than menace. Her instincts told her he was a good man, but wary. Perhaps that explained why he’d panicked and asked for a drinkinstead of remaining suavely professional as he had at first sight.
First sight.Gran Mere had always told Savannah to trust her first sight. First impressions were the purest reflection of a person’s soul. They were the moment you saw someone before they saw you, before they had a chance to hide who or what they really were. Before they could throw you off track with bravado or slap on a mask to cover their sins.
With her eyes still closed and her nostrils flared wide, Savannah did what she did best. Gran Mere was a witch, as the Cajun folks called her, a witch of many sights. But Savannah was not without skill or sight. And this uptight man from…
Wait for it.
Unleashing her one true gift, her sight, she probed the universe for the detail she needed, the name of his hometown. Wasn’t that interesting? Agent Boniface had a solid network of mental defenses in place. As hard as she tried, probed, and pressed, she couldn’t reach far enough into his psyche to uncover the city or state he hailed from. No matter.
If she could tame Sir Galahad, she could certainly tame Special Agent Boniface.
Chapter Five
‘I am such an ass!’Keller stood there in that poor dead woman’s houseboat, berating himself for letting the tiny creature in his arms get the better of him, and trembling. Him. Trembling like a woman! Of all things, he was holding Mariposa’s great granddaughter, not so much because Miss Church might pass out, but becausehemight. Damn this unpredictable, psychic bullshit. And damn Tucker Chase for sending him here to the land of witchcraft, voodoo, and gris-gris.
The moment Miss Church touched him, she’d set off an avalanche of emotions that damned near floored him. Her great grandmother became his Gran Mere. He was the one who’d just lost everything. His heart physically ached because an elderly woman he’d never met was gone. How the hell did that work?
Like a wrecking ball, that was how. Like a tsunami! The bottomless grief of his tender hostess swampedhim. His Army Ranger heart felt hollowed and gutted. Sweat ran in tiny rivulets between his shoulder blades and at his temples. Gran Mere wasn’t just Miss Church’s relative, she was her only friend and her closest confidant. He stiffened his knees to keep from falling on his face. Keller didn’t need a glass of water. He needed to get the hell out of there!
