The Choice
Walk the Right Road Series, Book One
By
Lorhainne Eckhart
From Lorhainne Eckhart, author of The Captain’s Lady, comes a romantic, mystical tale of suspense sizzling with passion and unforgettable drama.“A wonderful tale of courage, and real-life choices that’ll keep you riveted.” Mimi Barbour, Author of The Vicarage Bench Series
Smashwords Edition
COPYRIGHT © Lorhainne Ekelund, 2011, 2012, All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Contact Information: Lorhainne@LorhainneEckhart.com
Editor: WildAboutBones
ISBN: 978-0987822659
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Acknowledgements
For those of you who came into my life and helped make this book possible. Thank you. For reasons you all know I’ve not mentioned names. And as always to my children, without you I wouldn’t be following my dream. I wish for each of you—that your dreams remain large, and your worries stay small.
Two Wolves
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a
battle that goes on inside people.
He said, “My son, the battle is between two
“wolves” inside us all.
One is Evil. It is fear, anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret,
greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false
pride, superiority, competition and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, friendship, respect, sharing, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather:
“Which wolf wins?”
The old Cherokee simply replied
“The One you Feed”
‘Author Unknown’
Prologue
It’s too quiet. Unnaturally quiet.
The sort of unusual quiet that happens right after a big storm rips through. But there wasn’t one—a storm that is. This was just another sunny fall day, exactly like hundreds of other brisk autumn Fridays, on this off-the-grid, rustic island of Las Seta, in the Pacific Northwest.
DEA Agent Sam Carre squinted when he walked out of the shaded thick forest, from the blazing sun brightening the calm blue sky. From the edge of the old growth forest, he glanced back into the heavy foliage, to where he’d separated from his partner Diane, two hundred yards back along the hidden fence line.
This island was an absolute crown jewel to any logging company but a nightmare for Sam’s team. It provided too many hideouts, the wrong kind—the dangerous kind, along with the perfect cover for marijuana agriculture.
Sam popped on his dark glasses and cut around three parked cars. He snagged his black jeans on some thorny bushes as he hurried toward the six solid sure-footed male agents in front of the wrought iron gate protectingLance Silver’s secure estate. “Nobody goes until I say so.” Sam kept his authoritative voice even, and his charming grin hidden as he thought about slapping steel cuffs around Lance Silver’s wrists. Tonight they’d celebrate because today they’d finally have all the proof they needed to bust Silver and lock him up for life. A dangerous and connected man who had, until now, controlled the highway of drugs flowing down the west coast across the country with deep ties into South America.
“What’s taking Diane so long; can she even make it over the fence?” Agent Donaldson, a junior member on the team, pulled his ball cap over his prematurely balding head. He stood with Agents Craig, Daniels, Green, Mercer and Winters. They were suited up in their Kevlar vests and dark glasses, weapons holstered and ready to go.
Sam cursed under his breath. Donaldson was pushing it again. It’d only been five minutes since Sam’s partner, Diane Larsen, had climbed the security fencing leading four agents, two of them women, into the forest behind the house. And this was after she’d disarmed the wire triggering the alarm. Sam wasn’t in the mood to argue with this young agent who liked to challenge Diane’s authority. He undermined anything she did, which was absolute crap. Diane, the only woman on this team with a leadership role, worked ten times harder than any of these guys. She was kindhearted and respectful—yet capable of kicking ass when she had to. She’d been a rock for Sam when he needed a supportive friend to help him keep his head together. But since she’d fallen apart at the field office, the news her dad had died when he accidentally mixed up his meds hitting her hard, she’d been getting all kinds of grief, especially from Donaldson. One incident, just one time, and it was all these tough-ass pricks could remember.
Sam moved away from the gate and back into the shaded thick forest, to see if he could spot Diane.
“That kid’s really vying for Diane’s spot,” said Agent Green as he dogged Sam’s heels. He resembled a middle child always trying to fit in, his round baby cheeks such a contrast to his quarterback shoulders.
“Yeah, well he ain’t going to get it.” Sam crouched down. “Can’t see anything.”
Green chuckled softly. “These damn renegades love this off-the-grid wilderness. It’s the perfect hideout. Nothing but a bunch of hippies, musicians and artists live here.” Green spat on the ground a few inches from Sam’s black boots.
“Hard for those families raising kids here you’d think. No electricity, no stores.” Sam breathed in the clean air.
“Sam, we’re inside,” Diane’s low, silky voice whispered over the radio.
“Let’s go, let’s go.” Sam signaled the six men with him.
Mercer stepped forward to cut the padlock with heavy bolt cutters. It broke. He yanked the chain and tossed it to the ground. He and Green flung open the double gates. Sam jumped into the passenger side of the first car. Donaldson climbed behind the wheel. As he slammed the door shut, Donaldson floored it. Craig, Daniels and Winters followed in two cars behind, whipping up a trail of dust. Green and Mercer raced behind on foot.
Two hundred feet up the long, narrow driveway, the two-story estate house appeared magically out of the secluded forest. It rivaled any mansion from the Old South, a fancy porch, woodwork and gardens on all sides. Nothing moved. Not even a curtain shielding the floor to ceiling glass windows. Lance Silver had people, a lot of them. The place should have been buzzing right about now. Sam pulled the warrant from under his Kevlar vest. He flicked the holster of his Glock and ran his fingers through his short brown hair. His gut warned him something was wrong. Where was everyone? They shouldn’t have been able to drive in without creating mayhem. This had been too easy—and too easy meant a problem. “Shit!”
Sam pressed his hand to his earpiece. “Keep your heads up, eyes open. Something’s not right here.” As a seasoned cop, Sam had learned the hard way to see things others didn’t notice. And he analyzed. It was a coping mechanism for him that had become his mode of survival, especially after what happened to Elise. They pulled closer to the front door. He felt the downward slide of something he couldn’t put his finger on, but Sam knew—something was off.
Donaldson slammed the brakes and skidded to a stop at the front door. Sam braced his hand on the dashboard before jerking open his door and jumping out into a cloud of dust. Donaldson bounded over the hood and raced Sam up the stone stairs. Craig and Daniels hurried around the side of the house. Winters, Green and Mercer flanked Sam.
Donaldson banged on the door. “DEA, open up.”
Nothing, no response, and Sam really listened. By now, they should have heard footsteps, some kind of rustling from inside.
Beads of sweat covered Donaldson’s face as he appeared to vibrate; like he itched to kick open the door.
“Open it.” Sam stepped to the side holding up his gun. Craig took the other side. Donaldson pulled up his knee and kicked hard with the heel of his black boot, over the dead bolt, letting out a rough, oomph. The doorframe splintered as the mahogany door crashed open.
“DEA, we have a warrant.” His adrenaline pumped. Sam aimed his weapon and went in. Everything went into slow motion. Details stood out. In his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of the shining black steel of a gun and nearly crapped in his pants. It took a second to register it was his gun—his image in a floor to ceiling wall mirror. It filled both sides of the massive front hall. “Christ almighty.”
“We’re in. Green, Winters, check the basement; Donaldson upstairs,” Sam shouted, both hands gripped his weapon. His gut twisted so tight as he struggled to listen. Where was the scrambling, the shouting, something—anything to break this chilly silence? “DEA, show yourself.” Sam shouted again, clearing the front hall, the sunken living room, through an open archway to a huge chef’s kitchen, which was extremely neat and tidy. Not even a measly cup had been left sitting on the counter.
Floor to ceiling windows filled every room. He could see Diane and the four agents out back behind the solar panels as they searched the outbuildings. Sam frowned and leaned against the double pane glass door. This massive house was silent except for his agents who scoured every room in it.
Winters’ deep voice grated through Sam’s earpiece. “Basement’s clear.” Everyone checked in, the garage, the greenhouse, empty. This upscale, state of the art, energy efficient estate had been abandoned. Not even the caretaker remained.
“Sam, there’s no marijuana; there’s no equipment.” Beads of sweat popped out on Sam’s forehead. Beneath his Kevlar vest, his snug T-shirt stuck to his well-sculpted back. The radio buzzed with furious updates from their twelve man team on the mainland, which included Sequim’s Sheriff’s detachment, the Coast Guard, Interpol and DEA. This had been a simultaneous sweep of all Lance Silver’s property, here on Las Seta and the underground truck trailer at Lance Silver’s compound across the water in rural Gardiner, Washington. All empty.
Sam pressed his microphone close to his mouth. “Diane, where are you?” He slid open the kitchen sliding glass door and walked onto the massive stone patio overlooking the pond and luscious well-tended rose garden. He slumped against the patio door and tried to rub away the pulsating pain between his eyebrows. Since this investigation started, he’d begun to experience a sudden sensitivity to light and sound. It could be gone in hours or days. The usual warning had been there for the last few days—a blue aura in his peripheral vision, black spots. But he ignored it. Told himself it was the stress of running what started out as an independent investigation by the DEA and escalated into an international task force. Targeting the marijuana grow ops running rampant on the isolated islands in the Pacific Northwest.
World-renowned high grade marijuana was being shipped and traded for cocaine and guns. This was big time, a major business and an international problem law enforcement had yet to defuse. As if they could.
“What’s wrong?” He never heard Diane approach. Her words stretched out long and loud. It took forever for his senses to override the roaring in his ears. His blood began to pound through his body and pulled Sam deeper into throbbing misery.
“Here, take this.” He opened his eyes when Diane tapped out three pills from a small bottle.
He didn’t question it. He just swallowed. There wasn’t much Sam wouldn’t take from his trusted friend. Diane was a woman of medium height and build, compact and tough, with tan short-cropped hair, the type of woman who didn’t distract a man with flirtatious curves. But the kind of partner who’d do the gritty groundwork while keeping her partner focused, which is what she did on the boat ride over this morning, ignoring Agent Donaldson’s crude jibes, guzzling coffee with Sam.
“If you don’t pull it together, some woman on this team’s going to fulfill her dream and have you bedded and nursed before we can wrap this up.”
Whatever she gave him took the edge off the soon-to-be-blinding pain.
“Eat this.” She tossed him an energy bar. He didn’t argue. He ripped open the foil wrap with his teeth and chewed the gritty bar.
“He knew we were coming.”
“Click off your radio Sam.”
He ripped the headset from his ear. “You know we followed the letter of the law to make sure this scumbag didn’t get off on some technicality. All those stakeouts, we did our homework Diane. We know who the little guys are, every fucking one of them on the street. We have video footage and rock solid evidence the drugs were here!” Sam pounded the fleshy part of his fist against the smooth fir siding.
“Agent Carre, you better get in here and see this.” Donaldson beckoned, quite arrogantly, undermining his superior, Diane, by not addressing her.
Diane, one to always hold her emotions close and rarely showed what she thought, tilted one eyebrow up as her face hardened. This prick deliberately pushed her buttons and deserved a one-on-one ass kicking. Personally, Sam would have planted his foot so far up this kid’s ass by now. Except, this was Diane’s fight and if she wanted these guys to respect her, Sam couldn’t do her fighting.
Sam and Diane followed Donaldson down a long hall, which resembled an art gallery, to Lance Silver’s study in the solar glass wing. Green, Mercer, Winters and Craig looked up, but only Winters, a big dark Irish, African-American guy with long, fuzzy hair would honestly look at Sam. The tension magnified about fifty times when the other tough guys turned away slightly, crossing their arms, glancing awkwardly at Lance Silver’s palatial mahogany desk, where all drawers hung open.
“We found this in the top drawer of the desk.” Donaldson appeared to own the room, when he picked up a crisp yellow piece of paper from the cluttered desk with his big dry hands and passed it to Sam.
Diane peered closer. Her head never topped Sam’s shoulder.
His vision cleared. Bold black letters spelled out his name. He didn’t miss how still the room became. He could feel heat from every agent while they waited for Sam to explain. But then Diane ripped the note from his hands and stepped in front of him.
What the hell is this, some kind of game?”
No one answered.
Sam was ready to clear out. When he replaced his headset, he could hear his boss Dexter shouting over the radio, bypassing Sam as he spoke directly to Diane. Diane pressed her hand to her ear to listen.
“I want your asses back here now, we got a problem. A tip’s been called into the Sequim Sheriff’s detachment, to check Sam’s locker at Ocean’s Gun club. We’ll find a key to Lance Silver’s estate and my Golden Boy’s on Lance’s payroll.”
Sam looked up so fast his head spun. Dizzy, he stepped back and leaned against the mahogany bookcase. “What the hell? That’s bullshit.”
Dexter yelled, “There’s a chopper on route to get you now. Two deputies from the Sequim detachment just opened your locker. And they found a key along with five pounds of marijuana.”
His blood chilled. The bad feeling he had earlier had just become a clear epiphany. He could almost see that suave tight-assed bachelor, Lance Silver, laughing at him. Instead of Silver going to jail, all this shit flying around landed hard right on top of Sam. Not only did he look like the leak in Lance Silvers' back pocket, doubt of Sam’s true allegiance was painted on the agents’ faces surrounding him. He could feel their censure.
Amazing how quickly they turned. They thought he did it. Pissed and completely furious, Sam gazed hard at each of these turncoats until each one stepped back. He wasn’t about to dignify this with a response to these pricks. Not after how hard he worked to nail this bastard. Following every lead the other agents missed or brushed off. But not Sam, he lived this investigation. He breathed life into it. And lost sleep because of it. These guys should know out of anyone, Sam wouldn’t betray this team. He ground his lips together so hard they trembled. He felt the rug ripped right out from under him. And was positive he heard a toilet flush in the distance as six months of steady, solid work went right down the toilet. How could this happen again? Why was he such a target?
Well for one, this was Las Seta, an un-policed reclusive island, part of the San Juan Islands in the Pacific Northwest. History alone should have warned him it wouldn’t be easy. The explorers and adventurers who claimed this island over a hundred years ago, landed here quite by accident for one reason or another. Whether hiding or running from something, they all insisted on a land free from politics and civilized order. Families and clans remained year after year, protecting each other. And staying true to tradition, they followed their own way of doing things. So, while Sam hunted Lance Silver. Lance Silver and the island of Las Seta changed the rules of the game and ambushed Sam.
Chapter One
“Get on the plane, it’ll be fine. I’ve got your tickets and passport taken care of. We practiced this. You know what you need to do.” Dan McKenzie was broad shouldered with an exquisitely lean body, mesmerizing hazel eyes perfectly situated on his lightly freckled aristocratic face. His nose was a little too large with a small bump at the bridge where he’d broken it at the end of his brother’s fist as a child. He also had a firm mouth she knew all too well could set her soul on fire. He was quite the package with a magical face that could belong to some fairy tale hero, and all that unruly reddish hair he trimmed himself. A fine specimen of a man, standing nearly a foot over Marcie’s average height with well-sculpted hands that knew how to touch a woman.
“I thought you were coming with me, and we’d finally have time away together?” Marcie’s soft voice trembled. Her heart sank. This wasn’t what she expected. What was he doing? This was supposed to be their time to rekindle their love—time to lift off whatever had been oppressing him. She needed him so much but felt him slipping through her fingers like dry grains of sand while she struggled to hold on.
Dan leaned back, his hazel eyes dark and sober, as he crossed his arms across his broad chest. How could she convince him to go? She had so much fire and passion inside for him that it tugged a cord deep inside her tummy.
What was it about him? He dressed so casually, T-shirts, blue jeans. But the man could wear a grain sack and he’d still look good. He wasn’t handsome. He was pretty. And, unfortunately, even letting her down didn’t shake the mega chemistry that attracted her to him. It made her want him more. Just looking at him she wondered if Zeus himself had been the image Dan was cut from. Those long solid arms. Tight firm ass and long, lanky well-muscled legs she knew all too well intertwined nicely with hers. And those lips, man, she loved to kiss them as had scads of other women. After all the man’s a magnet for women like honey is to bees. He said time and again women were always landing in his lap. He could have anyone he wanted. So why’d he choose her?
“Can’t Marcie; I’m too busy, you know that. I have faith in you. You can do this.” Before Dan could turn away and open his door, she reached over and grabbed his wrist. He leaned over the middle console separating the bucket seats. But hardness tightened his muscles, like a brick wall between them as she held on.
“I love you.” Panicked she felt some part of him slip away. His body, his eyes, everything about him seemed to take a step back from her. As if he held some part of himself in a secret location and forgot to tell her he left. He hovered a few inches away, gazing out the front window, resting his other arm over the steering wheel. But the arm her hand grasped, he didn’t once try to pull away.
“I don’t understand what’s going on. We were so close, and you’ve been pulling away bit by bit.”
Dan glanced over in a way that told her his patience was thin. “Marcie…”
She placed her hand over his mouth. “Dan, please, I don’t know what to do. I feel you pushing me away. You ask me to babysit your marijuana plants. But I don’t see you anymore. Then you ask me to go to New Orleans, which I thought was a trip for us. Now I’m going alone. Why are you pushing me away?” Shaking, she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He no longer looked at her with that deep, magical spark, which said she’s important to him—that they’re connected at a cellular level as soul mates. But that was after Granny died when she’d been so alone on Las Seta. After she met him at Gardiner’s Farmers market, and he said he fondly remembered her from high school. They spent hours talking. Every week after that, he showed up at the Market where she sold her herbs—to see her. He connected with her on a level no one else ever had. He understood how different she was. She felt things from other people, their emotions, and her love for nature and the need to protect the environment—to respect Mother Earth. What excited Marcie, and still did, was his ability to pick up vibes, which warned him just like her.
Each time she saw him, his radiant smile, shook up the butterflies in her heart. He’d tell her being near her had been something he planned each and every day. In the beginning, it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of her. He made her feel special before she fell absolutely head over heels in love with him.
He caressed her cheek with his warm hand and then tucked her heaps of rich wavy brown hair behind her ears. “You need to stop. I’m not pushing you away. I’ll be here when you get back. You and me Marcie, I’m still interested. I got a lot on my plate right now. You’re it to me. You got in when no one else ever has.” He pressed his hand against his heart. “Come on, your plane’s leaving.” The next instant, his eyes softened. And that slightly crooked smile he flashed did what it always did. Sucked her right back in, to where she believed she could somehow grasp some tiny morsel of caring from him.
Dan popped open his car door and stepped out. He didn’t come around to her side to open hers. She knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t do all that mushy stuff. She told herself it didn’t matter and smiled away the hurt that stung beyond belief. He carried a lot of pain from a hungry childhood. Forced to eat out of garbage cans after his father walked out, leaving his mother to raise and feed him and his five brothers and sisters, alone. Marcie supposed that’s what shaped him into who he was—and why at times he became distant, unable to be the perfect man. He needed love and lots of it. Then he’d stop making her feel less of a woman—then he’d genuinely love her, or so she told herself. After all, her entire life, all she ever wanted was to be loved, deeply, as every woman had a right to.
Marcie climbed out of his older model Olds. He pulled out a backpack and handed her two tickets along with her passport. She flicked open the passport and frowned at the name.
“It’s fine Marcie, what you’re doing, you don’t use your real name.”
“What if I get caught?” She whispered when alarm turned to nausea in the pit of her stomach.
“Come here, give me a hug.” And just like that, she was in his arms. His tall, lean body pressed against hers. His wide palmed hands with the fingers of a carpenter slid firmly up her back. His voice whispered like silky rum. “I love you too.” When she let go, he held tighter. So she slid her hands back around his neck and nearly wept from this deep soul connection. And what he couldn’t say with words. When he finally let go, she felt foolish for doubting him. And offered a honest dimple-creased smile.
“Go Marcie, your plane leaves in fifteen minutes.” And she did. While grasping some artificial hope she remained very much Dan’s one and only.
Her cellphone buzzed while she hurried through the enormous Sea-Tac Airport, bustling with travelers. She glanced down at the number that flashed across the screen. “Ah crap.” But she answered it anyway. “Sally, I’m in a hurry, I can’t talk right now.”
“I’ve sat by the sidelines for too long, Marcie. As one of your Granny’s oldest friends and your teacher, I’m going to speak.” Marcie glanced upward for help while hurrying toward the ticket counter.
“Sally let me call you back in a few hours.” Some lines she wouldn’t cross. And one would be to disrespect Sally and hang-up.
“No girl, you listen to me. You don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re crossing over to something dark that’s going to kill you. There are dark entities around you, and I’ve been fighting for over a year to keep them away. But you keep letting them in. Walk away from him, whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re going, don’t do it girl. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep saving you. Come home, back to Las Seta. Let me finish teaching you. You’ve only just started.”
She stopped at a bench before the ticket agent, blew out a breath, scooped back her hair and then rested the backpack on the cushioned seat. She could almost picture Sally, the short, plump white haired and very English good little witch with her wheezy voice standing in front of her. Instead of a cat, she had a fluffy, golden retriever. Instead of a black cape, she wore a white or cream sweater, dangled over her shoulders. “You mean Dan, that fantastic man? The one I’ve been asking for my entire life? I think you’re confused Sally. I’m just going on a trip. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She knew she let the old woman down. She could feel her hurt in the soft sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Marcie girl, I love you. You don’t know what that guy is. You can’t believe anything he tells you. You know you’ve never healed from that cesspool into which you were born. Your Granny, my best friend, yanked you from your no good parents when you were twelve. But you’re still a magnet for that abuse. You’ve been snared good, caught in a trap. You don’t understand. This guy’s a wizard. He came into this world with dark entities attached to him. His karma came with him. He knows how to get past your weak aura. You’re vulnerable, and you see him how he wants you to. Not how he really is. Please, I’m begging you. If you go and do what I think you’re doing for him, I may not be able to help you.”
The last call for her flight was announced. “Shit, I got to go, Sally. I promise I’ll call you.” Marcie hung up and slid her cellphone in the front pocket of her backpack. “I’m sorry Sally, please forgive me.” For a second, uncertainty made her pause. After all, Sally was the wisest woman she knew. She’d always been brutally honest—she’d always been right with whatever she shared with Marcie. And she never spoke lightly. In fact, Sally didn’t go out on a limb like this, unless there was dire need. That stoked a chill up Marcie’s spine. But just as quickly, an image of Dan flashed in her mind. So did the ultimate love she felt for him. “She doesn’t know him like I do. She doesn’t understand how badly he’s been hurt. She’s wrong this time.” She whispered under her breath, convincing herself the nagging hesitation was merely Sally’s doubt. She shrugged the nylon backpack over her shoulder, well aware what she carried, if caught, could put her in prison for years to come. But she wouldn’t get caught. Dan promised her how the bud had been packaged, would never be detected by security. And right now, she needed to trust and believe in her reddish haired prince with the dreamy hazel eyes. So she ran. Stuffing the burning confliction away, to the hidden place where she buried the heartache and rejection of growing up with an alcoholic mother who drowned her sorrows, was drunk by noon, and a father who flaunted his every dirty secret, including how much he liked his girls young.
Chapter Two
Marcie trailed the other passengers off flight 918 into the main terminal of the New Orleans airport. Her eyes lowered, shutting out everyone around her; striding at a steady clip dressed in her favorite Levi’s. The jeans she knew attracted a man’s eye to her rounded bottom. Her tan blouse shimmered over her pert shapely breasts, the size a guy could fit nicely into the palm of his hands. She rubbed her forehead, reminding herself she had no need to paint her face as other ladies chose. Marcie rarely shed the healthy glow from her days spent outdoors. But that’s where her comfort ended. She claimed a spot in the middle of the pack, behind a wide lady sporting a navy suit, doing her damnedest to blend in.
How low have you sunk? Marcie cut off the cruel persistent voice, prodding her conscience. During the cramped four hour flight from Seattle, her face heated each time her toe touched the backpack she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d refused a drink. But her tightly wound nerves could have used a stiff shot. Instead, she’d suffered in misery, wondering how she’d made it this far. Dan told her it’d be easy—so far so good.
She needed to shake off her anxiety to enjoy her first visit to this vibrant city. One she’d dreamed of experiencing for years. New Orleans, famous for its mouthwatering cuisine, jazz musicians and Creole culture. Marcie was more than a little intrigued with the voodoo legends that sparked the imaginations of many a writer with unexplained chills, and auras dwelling in graveyards and buildings; making this the most spellbinding haunted city. Marcie remained determined to experience all of it firsthand.
How much farther? The drop off had to be close.
Heaviness weighed down her heart when Dan’s face entered her thoughts again. If only he’d come, this trip would be perfect. She knew he’d share her excitement for the gifts and mysterious secrets New Orleans was famous for. But he didn’t come. And this wasn’t the first, or even second, time he’d gone off and left her alone.
This roller coaster of emotions she experienced only with him. And it left her now on the downswing, as usual when distanced from Dan. She shook her stubborn head to get him out of her thoughts. He wasn’t here. But he had a way of slipping in, to disrupt her peace of mind, at least twenty or thirty times a day. An addiction which consumed her, making her want to do anything for him, and she did. Except give him Granny’s place on Las Seta. That she wouldn’t do.
Her days shifted down a steady slope of turmoil, just to have him in her life. This was crazy.
Nevertheless, there were boundaries. And right now, she knew deep down on another level, she needed to establish them. She could no longer ignore the volatility of this relationship nor how she willingly got on the plane for him. “Let it go, let it go.” She kept her head down, whispering under her breath while walking with the other passengers through the terminal.
Her heart pounded in excitement when she rounded the bend. She could see the silver luggage conveyance contraption and back wall of baggage claim. Was anyone watching? She needed to look closer but feared being too obvious. Think of something else. Emeril’s Restaurant! She gestured a discreet high five and that’s when a weight lifted inside. For the first time since leaving Seattle, she felt lighter. Should she call Dan? No. Why did he continue to slip into her head?
Almost done. Peace, blessed peace, blossomed in her heart. Marcie offered thanks to her angels for guiding her safely through.
Marcie glanced at a magical jazz mural exploding with vibrant color. It drew her into the rhythm and music that pulsed to life in the vivacity of the art. Marcie loved art, but then she grew up around artists that sojourned on Las Seta.
Overhead a saucy Cajun lilt announced incoming and outgoing flights, and it melted the tension in her tummy a little more.
Then everything went into slow motion. One moment she clutched the black and red knapsack over one shoulder. The next she felt a cut, snag and pull, at the same time a large, rough hand shoved her. Unable to stop the momentum and regain footing, she went down in a hazy blur. Her ears roared. Her blood pounded through her veins. She felt nothing when she smacked her head on the hard concrete floor.
Her ears rang and vision blurred. She struggled to focus on the maze of faces wreaking havoc on her overloaded senses. But she couldn’t think. As she pushed herself up, she started to sway to some indistinguishable hum buzzing in her head. She shifted her bottom on the cool floor and balanced on a shaky arm to keep from tipping over.
What happened? She couldn’t think. The downy hairs on the back of her neck spiked with icy unease, adding to her discomfort. Something remained vaguely out of reach, an ache—and wow, when it hit it became a ripe sting burning the side of her head. She couldn’t understand what she was looking at—her hand, and it was streaked with blood.
Voices, sounds, chaos existed in slow motion. Like a puzzle in her brain. A strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Another touched the side of her face. At first, she gazed unseeing, and then blinked. A crowd gathered close behind the rough, unshaven face of a stranger who resembled a fallen angel. He peered into her eyes. His full, firm lips moved. But she couldn’t make sense of the rumbling sound. He turned away. This time she heard his smooth smoky voice shout out to the crowd of bodies behind him.
What was it about this man with his shabby light hair? Even his intense blue eyes appeared tired, with lines of life that deepened his god-like appearance. Did she know him? There was something familiar about him. She wanted to trust him.
“Ouch.” She flinched when he touched her head. Her brain blanked out. “There’s blood on my hand.” She didn’t mean to speak. But her voice cleared away the fog and piercing ring buzzing in her ears.
“Your head’s bleeding. You’ve got a big gash. It’s going to need some stitches. What’s your name, sugar?”
She liked the honey richness in his voice. Except something worried her, and she didn’t know why. “Marcie, ah … what happened?”
“Don’t you remember?” He watched her again in a way that made her want to reach out and touch him. He seemed nice. She liked him. Maybe it was his husky southern drawl, or maybe the concern this good-looking stranger showered over her.
Marcie reached up to touch her head. The stranger quickly grabbed her hand.
“No Marcie, don’t touch.”
“Oh.” He pressed something against her head, bringing on a wave of dizziness. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes. But when the room tilted out of control, she grabbed his shirt instead.
Chapter Three
Sam Carre pressed a napkin to the oozing cut on Marcie’s forehead. Her face turned a pasty white, and she grabbed his shirt. He knew that look. She was about to pass out.
“Marcie, sweet thing, take a breath and look at me. You going to be sick?” She said nothing. Her arms shook as she held tight. “Marcie, come on. How you doing? I need you to answer me.”
Slowly, her cornflower blue eyes met his. They appeared dazed, confused and for a moment unseeing.
“I’m dizzy.”
He pushed back her long curly locks. Each strand was like silk against his fingers and all that full, wavy hair, enhanced the plump roundness of her cheeks. He looked around to see if someone claimed her. No one stepped forward.
He lifted the soaked napkin and studied the gash on the left side of her forehead. Blood seeped and dripped in a steady stream over her brow. Sam glanced up when an elderly woman dangled a linen scarf in front of him.
A large mocha skinned, out of shape security guard pushed through the crowd.
His name tag said “Stoffer”, Sam saw when the guard leaned into his space. “Wow, that’s a gusher. She sure knocked it good. So what happened here?”
His colorful manners snapped Sam back like a time warp.
“Snatch and grab. Kid took off, got her bag and sent her for a tumble. Did anyone call an ambulance?”
“Hmm, ambulance is coming,” Stoffer replied roughly. He squinted dark eyes to get a better look and then shook his head. Grimacing he glanced at Sam and leaned closer with his hands balanced on his knees. “She with you?”
“Nope, just on my way home.”
“Lucky guy.” He patted Sam on the shoulder and then stepped back to reach for the radio fastened to his belt. He uttered something incoherent into it and wandered off behind Sam.
Sam forgot his own misery when he focused on Marcie. And it felt good in this whole convoluted mess called life, to help someone else. When had he last done that?
“My name’s Sam. Where’d you come from Marcie?”
Her face shifted through a mirage of emotions, as if struggling with the simple question. Long dark lashes and pale eyelids blinked when she glanced up to the left over his shoulder.
Sam followed her dreamy gaze but saw nothing except a bunch of gawkers with luggage passing by. Marcie stiffened; her eyes widened and color infused her cheeks. Did she know someone? Should he jump up and ask the crowd if anyone knew her? Before he could, her arms trembled again. “Are you looking for someone? Is there someone with you?”
Her eyes leapt to his, startled like a deer. He’d seen that wild-eyed plea, many times on victim’s faces. Maybe she knew her attacker. This was a complication. One he didn’t need in his screwed up life.
A gurney squeaked behind him.
“Move aside.” Stoffer waved his hands shooing back the crowd.
The pretty lady tightened her hold on his cotton shirt. Sam held her shoulders. “Calm down. It’s going to be all right.”
She was such a small woman with curves in all the right places. A body the right man could scoop up with one arm and protect from whatever frightened her. Her mouth gaped wide. She tried to speak. She gasped for breath, once, twice, until her sweet, clear voice pulled him further to her plight. “I don’t know… I can’t remember.”
Sam blinked. Holy shit, what a long response time.
She had a strong grip for a woman with such tiny, delicate hands. She wasn’t going to let go. Sam swore under his breath because he was no more able to leave her at this moment to fend for herself than he could a wounded puppy. “Ah shit.”
Sam rubbed her hands to calm her down and then pried them gently away. “It’s okay. The paramedics are here, and they need to have a look at you.” Sam didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he stepped back, allowing the paramedics room to move in.
Sam turned and eyeballed the throng of travelers. Who did she see? That fear in her eyes—it must be someone. With a cold eye he scanned the area, looking for anyone who paid that extra bit of attention. But nothing unusual stood out. Or maybe it was just him—maybe he needed to stop at the first bar for a shot of whiskey. Could he trust his instincts? He didn’t know anymore.
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Sam swung around toward the familiar husky drawl.
A tall, charismatic Cajun made his way through the crowds looking a little worn and rough around the edges. Jesse Crawford was an old friend, rival and a detective with the New Orleans Police Department. Dressed the same way Sam remembered: a cheap, rumpled blue suit, spotted red and white tie and a faded white dress shirt. His nose was long and slightly crooked from where Sam planted his fist six years ago when he ended their friendship because of Elise. Jesse looked older. The tired craggy lines had deepened around his eyes and mouth. It must be the long underpaid hours of being a cop.
“Jesse, what the hell are you doing here?” He reached out and gripped Jesse’s large proffered hand, squeezed tight and sized up his old friend. Did he remember the scandal, the hard feelings? Of course, he did. Except now was not the time.
Jesse returned the grip, squeezing harder. It was bone crushing, and Sam nearly winced. Determined though, he held tight, a mocking game they’d played for years. When he let go, he tried to be inconspicuous when he flexed his fingers.
“Going soft are you, up north with all those yanks?” He then leaned around Sam to get a look at Marcie. Her head now bandaged, being loaded on a stretcher.
“Didn’t know you were back. It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah, I thought it was time to come home for a bit.”
Jesse said nothing. But there was something in the way he watched Sam. Maybe he knew why Sam came back. After all, they shared a childhood bond, two local vagrants from broken, abusive homes, growing up together. Or maybe he was just paranoid, being back in this city, this place tinged with too many memories, both good and bad.
Jesse turned away when Stoffer tapped him on the shoulder. Sam shoved his hands in his faded blue jean pockets and debated whether now would be a good time to slip away. He craned his neck looking for the door when those damn memories invaded his head.
How many times had Jesse swallowed his pride and reached out to him? He never trusted Elise. He loved Sam. It was why he told Sam when he married Elise that she was trouble. But Sam wouldn’t listen, and now a fresh wave of pain punched a hole right through him. But he did what he always did. He shoved the ache back in the dark pit it came from.
“Sam, are you listening?”
He blinked. Jesse was in his face again.
“Gotta call, purse snatching and assault. The powers that be get a little nervous when things happen in our airport.” His friend frowned, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Don’t tell me you’re mixed up in this?”
“It wasn’t a purse. Try backpack. My lucky day, I was behind her when she got tossed.”
“Big, strong, good looking guy like you, women are still jumping in your lap—amazing.” Jesse’s invisible green horns of envy flashed.
Sam stepped back and chanced a glimpse at Marcie.
“You get a good look at the guy, did ya?”
Jesse’s sharp gaze missed nothing. He took a step into Sam’s space, eye level pinning him to the spot.
Sam blamed his obsessed scattered focus for the reason he didn’t zero in on the tall, lanky kid before he’d taken Marcie down. The speed and skill the thief operated. He was definitely a pro. Pissed at the young thug, he struggled to remember where he’d come from. Ah, that’s right. He’d slid in behind the lady, cut the straps of her bag and knocked her down before bolting, only to be swallowed up in the crowds; the perfect snatch and grab.
Street-smart instincts kicked in when Sam started after the kid, but he stopped cold when Marcie’s head smacked the ground.
He looked back at Jesse and then over to the door when he realized his name would be on the police report.
Jesse’s crooked smile widened while he appeared to read his mind. “Trying to sneak away are ya?”
A snarl burst out before he could mask his reaction. Sam shuffled his feet and then crossed his arms. He really needed to get out of here. Sam used his six feet one inch height and his solid build to power over Jesse.
“Sam, come on. I know you’re trying to get out of here, but you’ve got to help me out.”
Sam sighed when he looked back at the girl. “Not much of a look. Tall, lanky kid sidled up to her. Blue jeans, gray T-shirt, scrungy brown baseball cap, picture of sea lions on the side. Dark kid, maybe six feet with a gold earring in his right ear.” Had time stood still?
“Don’t miss much do you? What he have for breakfast?”
Sam cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you, asshole.”
Jesse chuckled.
“Excuse me sir, the lady’s asking for you.” The slightly balding, short paramedic, name tag said “Wesley”, spoke softly. “We’re ready to go.”
Sam looked with ease over Wesley’s head. Marcie appeared stricken, with doe-like eyes. She needed a friendly face.
“We need to get her checked out. She’s going to need a couple of stitches for sure, and they’re going to want to do a head CT for her possible memory loss and confusion.”
Sam moved beside Marcie. She reached for his hand, and he winked and watched her face soften with relief. He warmed a little in his belly, feeling like a gallant knight who’d saved the damsel in distress. Until he caught Jesse’s sharp eye watching the entire exchange, suspiciously.
“Memory loss… What you saying, she got amnesia?” Jesse stepped forward and spoke directly to Wesley.
“She’s confused. Not unexpected with head injuries, the Doc will look her over.”
Marcie clung to Sam with both hands now. She’s scared. God help him, but he was stung by a piercing drive to protect her. He didn’t want, or need, this complication right now. He had his own problems to deal with.
“I don’t want to go to any hospital.”
“Marcie, it’s not a choice. You need stitches, and the Doc needs to have a look at you.”
“Will you come with me?” Her eyes, her voice pleaded.
“Sure.” He slammed his teeth together. Digging yourself in further. That was your last chance to slip away, you idiot. He closed his eyes to stifle the irritating voice, except those smooth, tangy words poked him again. You just couldn’t mind your own business and walk away. Good boy. Whose voice was that? It sounded like Mama Reine, a large black woman who was his surrogate mother—a loving woman, who sheltered both him and Jesse during the worst time of their childhood. Great, now he heard other people’s voices. Maybe while at the hospital, he should have his head examined.
When he looked down, Marcie gazed up at him with something akin to worship, swimming in those cornflower blue pools had him sunk. What made it worse when her panic faded, and she eased her hold, was the way she watched him. With no pretense, no games and she’d hooked him as her lifeline.
If, in fact, she did lose her memory, she’d emotionally just latched onto him as the first and only familiar person. What have you taken on boy?
Chapter Four
Other than going and getting stinking drunk, what else did Sam have to do? So he, along with Jesse, trailed the paramedics. Stoffer and three airport security guards cleared a path for the gurney through the swarm of travelers.
Sam grumbled when they passed the luggage conveyor. He should stop and grab his bag. It’d be easier than the corporate hoops he’d have to jump through to reclaim it later. Instead, what did he do? He followed, shoving his hands in his pocket, while being escorted out the sliding glass doors to the parked ambulance.
Jesse dogged Sam, his raspy chuckle grating in Sam’s ear.
“So explain to me again, how you don’t know the lady? Yet, here you are holding her hand, escorting this pretty young thing to the hospital.”
Sam ground his jaw together before firing back at Jesse. “Is it absolutely beyond you to step in and help someone who needs it? She’s alone. I’ll go with her to the hospital. Then I’m leaving. It’s called chivalry, asshole.” He hoped it’d send him withering away. It worked on the young agents he worked with. Now he remembered, with Jesse, it only added fuel to the fire, and he’d use it to dig deeper.
“Helping someone, sure, I’ve done it. But the two of you, nah, there’s something more. Come on, you and this pretty young miss, you know each other? You two have chemistry. Come on, tell Jesse everything.”
Okay that last remark was too much. Sam whirled around, raised his hand and jammed his index finger in Jesse’s chest with a hard thump.
“Keep your hands down and don’t do that again. Do you forget where we are?”
That was a decent pail of ice water thrown on him. It doused his fiery temper in an instant. Wake up boy and look where you are. Words in his head jolted him when he viewed hundreds of people surrounding them. Eyes aglow and fascinated, fixed solely upon him. Another scandal—pile it on. That’s the warning he heard. One he couldn’t afford. So instead, he uttered in a low growl. “You stupid ass, fuck off.” Sam flinched when Jesse smacked him in a brotherly way in the middle of his back and then let out a boisterous whoop of laughter. This time, he shrugged Jesse off with nothing more than a warning scowl while the paramedics loaded Marcie in the ambulance.
“You always did have a way with words. Now get in.”
* * * *
Sam made a plan as he followed the gurney to a cubicle in the emergency room. Get her settled, see she’s looked after and then leave. Two nurses, a doctor and the two paramedics assisted Marcie onto the bed.
Sam leaned in to say goodbye but was asked to step aside, when Marcie was questioned, poked and prodded by nurses and interns. Three butterfly strips were taped across the bloody contusion along the front of her hairline. Then after the standard blood test, they whisked her upstairs for a head CT; again he was told to wait. So he crossed his arms and waited. He expected to be dismissed to the waiting area. But instead, a pretty blond intern on staff questioned him.
“How long has she been confused?”
“I guess since she hit her head.”
“Can you tell me how she hit her head?”
“She was robbed and pushed. She went down hard and smacked her head on the concrete.”
“Are you family?”
“No, I don’t know her. I was just behind her in the airport.”
“Is there any family we can contact?”
“I don’t know. Hey Jesse, was there any ID in her pockets?”
Jesse wandered in from the nurse’s station. “Nothing. Suppose if she doesn’t remember anything we can get her picture up on the news.”
A tall, lanky orderly wheeled Marcie back in and helped her into bed.
“Listen, is it common for someone to lose their memory from banging their head?”
The intern was busy scratching notes onto Marcie’s chart. But when she looked up, with those twinkling light brown eyes, she gave Sam a pleasing smile. “Not necessarily. We’re only seeing symptoms of a mild head injury. I’ve seen nothing that makes me believe this is anything permanent.” The Barbie doll intern wore blue scrubs. She wiggled her rounded bottom a little extra as she wandered over to Marcie and shone her pen light in Marcie’s eyes.
Sam shared an amusing glance with Jesse, and both pointed at the other.
“Her pupils are normal and reactive. There’s been no vomiting. She’s sitting with relative ease. Do you have a headache, hon?”
Marcie glanced up at Sam first before answering. “No, not overly bad.”
“Very good. Your speech sounds clear, and I like your eye contact.”
The intern stepped closer to Sam. “I don’t see anything leading me to believe this is more than a mild concussion. Memory loss can happen. But I’ve rarely seen it. Sometimes it can be an underlying psychological condition. I’ll ask the psychiatrist on call to do a psychological workup. Other than that, if the head CT comes back normal, she probably just needs a few days of rest. Her memory should return.”
Sam watched the worry build up in Marcie’s shoulders. She hunched forward and played with a piece of lint on her blue hospital gown before looking helplessly at him. “I still don’t remember who I am, or why I was at the airport.”
Sam was disturbed to see this vulnerability. He didn’t quite know what he’d do if everything familiar disappeared from his memory. So of course, he was embarrassed by the response hovering on his dry lips. Say goodbye. Wish her well, hell leave your number just in case she needs something. He shook his head. No, he couldn’t be that cruel.
“Marcie, do you remember what the guy looked like who stole your purse?” Jesse crossed his arms.
“Jesse, I’m pretty sure it was a backpack.” It was Jesse’s way to trap her, but Sam, too tired to play games, interrupted. He wanted this done.
“Yes Sam, good thing you’re here, or we’d never get to the bottom of this.” Jesse snapped.
Marcie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “I didn’t see anyone, and I don’t know what I had. The only thing I remember is seeing my hand covered in blood, and you stopping to help me.” Her hand flattened, palm up in a powerful gesture toward Sam. “I’m pretty sure my name’s Marcie. I don’t know my last name. I don’t know how I got to the airport, or how I ended up with my head cracked open. And I don’t even know if anyone’s looking for me.”
The intern patted her hand. I’m going to have the psychiatrist come by and have a chat with you.”
“Is that going to help me get my memory back and provide any of these answers?”
Sam liked that spark of personality.
“It’s too soon to tell, but psychiatrists can decipher all kinds of things going on in someone’s head that we can’t see.” The intern smiled warmly at Sam, ignoring Jesse who stood off to the side. Then she deliberately placed her back to Marcie, glancing down at Sam’s ring finger. “You know, there’s really nothing more you can do here, and I get off in an hour. Any chance you’d like to grab a coffee?”
Jesse chuckled from the corner reminding Sam how easily women flocked to him. But it was the bright tears sparkling in Marcie’s hurt eyes, which sliced open Sam’s gut.
“Ah no.” Sam moved to stand by Marcie, annoyed with emotions he didn’t care to explore waging war inside of him. “Listen, what happens after all these tests are done, are you going to admit her?”
The interns’ suggestive smile vanished. Her spine stiffened. “Most likely she’ll be released. We’re over crowded as it is. There are no beds.”
This time Jesse stepped up. “Oh come on. Are you telling me you’d throw out a woman who can’t remember who she is? Where’s she supposed to go?”
The nice perky intern vanished before Sam’s eyes. She crossed her tanned arms in front of her.
“Oh come on, Detective. That’s not fair to put on me. We got no beds. You know how bad it is for county cases. She’s got no insurance, right?”
“If my memory’s gone, how would I know if I had insurance?” Everyone looked down at Marcie, a woman so aware of this moment in time now.
“Maybe we can get you to one of those women’s shelters for tonight.”
How thoughtful of Jesse. But Sam knew how bad some of those places could be. That is if you were lucky enough to find a bed. “Look, I haven’t been home in a while, my place has been closed up. But there’s a bed for you to sleep in tonight. And tomorrow, we’ll come up with a new plan.”
Marcie said nothing, though she gave a weak nod, appearing to consider the idea. “Just for tonight then, I really don’t want to put you out.”
Now he felt bad for trying to sneak away earlier. She seemed genuinely nice, which was a far cry from the criminal element he usually encountered. At least he’d have one more night of sobriety. Maybe tomorrow he’d get a chance to wallow in misery.