Chapter 9
Drew silently sipped her coffee as Cross returned to the porch to chat with Rick.
The call with her brother was the second phone call she’d overheard.
Hard not to hear everything in this place.
She’d have to remember that when she needed to make a call.
It had been hard to hear Cross talking to Tessa.
It had hurt… like physically hurt her when he called Tessa ‘honey.’ He used to call Drew that.
She didn’t want to hear anything else. It was still too raw.
Drew snorted softly. And here she’d been congratulating herself on getting over him only a few weeks ago.
Totally done, she’d told Billy. Come to think of it, Billy hadn’t said anything.
Did he know she was wrong? That she’d been just fooling herself?
Probably. That man knew all kinds of things that astounded her.
It’s one of the reasons she loved him and Wallace.
They were family when her real family was… not.
She glanced down as she tapped her mug. The single word tattoo on her right wrist caught her eye. Enough. It reminded her, as it was meant to, that she didn’t have to prove herself to anyone. She was tough enough and smart enough. She didn’t have to save the world or even save Cross.
Drew stood and went outside. Rick and Cross both watched her walk toward them.
“What’s the situation?” she asked, buying time.
She was working up to telling Cross that she would take him up on his offer to leave.
She was sure it was actually McGuire’s idea.
She might be pissed at him, but still thought of him as her protector.
He’d be ape shit right now that she was involved in this.
“It looks like someone is asking around in town,” Cross said.
“Rodriguez,” Drew stated.
“Maybe. Can’t say for sure. Could be any one of the million bounty hunters who know about the two hundred and fifty K contract. Could be the Weasel.”
Drew asked as she looked around. “We’re pretty safe here though, right? I mean…how many ways are there in and out of here?”
“Not many,” Cross confirmed.
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. We’re probably fine here for a while then.” She shot him a grin. “Not that staying at a shack in the bayou is my idea of a good time, but it beats being dead.”
Rick chuckled. “She’s not wrong.”
Cross didn’t say anything, but Drew was sure he was still thinking about getting her out of there. He had to be. Her brother would’ve insisted on it. She let out a small sigh.
“Looks like you’ve got company,” Rick said as he straightened. “I’ll be seeing ya. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.” He was along the boards and down the stairs in record time.
Drew glanced around to see what had caused Rick to bolt. A woman headed toward them in a small boat. She was wearing a long black skirt and an overly loud, brightly-colored tunic over it. A colorful scarf was tied around her hair.
“Who’s this? Wait… is this Mireille?”
Cross nodded.
“No wonder Rick took off in a hurry. Not so keen on voodoo?” Drew asked almost beneath her breath.
“Uh huh. Mireille freaks him out a bit.”
Mireille nodded at Rick as the two boats passed each other.
Rick’s engine was loud as he disappeared around the bend in no time.
Mireille pulled up at the dock and hopped out of her boat.
“Cross,” she said as she straightened from tying the craft to a new-looking cleat.
“You have a whole mess of trouble coming your way.”
She came to the top of the stairs and looked Drew up and down, almost as if she was some science experiment that needed observing. Drew shivered slightly, which she was sure Mireille noticed because the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward.
“You,” she said, pointing at Drew. “You brought the trouble.”
“Uh…no,” Drew argued, “I merely told Cross that trouble was coming. It would’ve found him if I was here or not.”
Mireille tilted her head, and the smile was back. “Maybe so. Or at least partly so.” She turned and gave Cross her full attention. Her smile got wider and her eyes lit up. “Cross, come make me tea and let’s chat.” She held out a small tin.
“Of course,” Cross said as he brushed by Drew and offered an arm to Mireille, taking the tea tin with his other hand.
The woman was probably in her sixties, but there was no way she needed Cross’s arm to help her walk.
She was strong as an ox by the look of things.
Drew kept that thought to herself as she followed behind them.
She tried to keep her face neutral. The last thing she wanted was to upset a voodoo priestess or whatever Mireille was.
Drew had enough bad luck already… No need to add to it.
Mireille and Drew sat at the small table while Cross busied himself with the tea.
“So,” Mireille said, her eyes twinkling, “how are you enjoying your time with us?”
Drew arched a brow and gave a slow blink. “Oh, it’s been a dream. You know—if your dream involves a thousand mosquitoes, a gator side-eyeing you like lunch, and humidity thick enough to chew.”
Mireille threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and delighted. “Ah! I like you already.”
Drew smirked. “Figures. This place seems to reward insanity.”
“Not insanity, chère. Just a strong spirit… and maybe a little madness for spice.” Mireille’s sly grin faded, but her eyes continued to sparkle even as her laughter faded. “Strong spirit, sharp tongue. I do enjoy a woman who bites back.”
Drew chuckled. “Well, I don’t exactly blend in at garden parties, so I guess this works.”
Mireille gave a slow, approving nod, her bracelets jingling as she pulled out a small carved wooden box from her voluminous skirt. “You’ve got more than sharp edges, chère. You’ve got steel in your bones. But even steel can break when bent too far, non?”
Drew tilted her head. “That supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s a warning,” Mireille said simply, then gestured to the steaming mugs Cross had placed before them. “Drink. The leaves will tell me what they see.”
Drew glanced down at the stiff brew. The smell of it was not inviting, and the memory of Cross saying something about eye of newt came back to her.
Lovely. Just what she wanted to do. Drink tea with a voodoo priestess, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice.
No need to piss off someone who could possibly be connected to some kind of woo-woo power.
Drew didn’t need any more bad juju in her life.
She lifted the mug, took a slow sip, and then passed it to Mireille. “Well, hopefully they see me out of this swamp and into a hot shower sometime soon.”
Mireille swirled the contents of the mug, her gaze sharpening. “Mm. Fire in your past… blood in your wake. Danger follows you like a shadow that breathes.”
Drew’s smile faded.
Cross, standing off to the side, straightened slightly.
“He doesn’t hunt you yet,” Mireille continued, still peering into the cup. “But he will. Quick as a snap of the jaws. Thin. Slippery. Cold as a grave.”
Drew’s stomach flipped. “Weasel,” she muttered.
Mireille’s gaze flicked to her, unreadable.
Cross’s jaw clenched. “You’re sure?”
“I didn’t name names,” Mireille said. “But yes, I’m sure.”
“Great,” Drew said, voice dry. “Just what I needed. A swamp, a death warrant, and now a metaphysical hit list.”
Mireille smiled faintly and pushed the cup aside. “Give me your hand.”
Drew hesitated for a second, then extended her arm.
Mireille took it gently, running her fingers along the lines on her palm with surprising tenderness.
“Your path is twisted. Too many choices made from pain. Too many roads walked alone. But here,” she tapped lightly on Drew’s palm and continued, “this line crosses again with someone from your past. Your heart doesn’t know whether to run or cling. ”
Drew yanked her hand back, trying for a laugh that came out forced. “Sounds like a bad country song.”
Mireille leaned in, serious now. “I do not say these things lightly, chère. The gods whisper warnings, but they don’t repeat themselves. Something old stirs in the bayou tonight. Something not easily stopped. If you want to survive, you’ll need more than guns and grit.”
Cross moved quickly to the table where they sat, his arms folded tightly. “What do we need, then?”
Mireille looked at them both, her gaze darkening. “Grace. Trust. A little luck… and divine favor.”
She stood and crossed to the shelf over the counter and picked up a black candle, lighting it as she murmured a string of words in a language Drew didn’t recognize but somehow felt in her bones. Drew glanced at the candle, then at Cross, and raised an eyebrow.
He gave a small shrug. “This isn’t her first visit.”
Mireille stopped speaking and then hummed softly for a moment. “I will speak to my gods. I will ask them to protect you both. You’ll need their help more than you know.”
Drew exchanged another glance with Cross, her mouth dry and her usual sarcasm nowhere to be found.
“Thanks,” she said after a long moment, her voice quiet. “Seriously.”
Mireille turned back, her eyes warm. “Don’t thank me yet. The gods love a good story. Let’s hope yours doesn’t end in blood.”
“Me too,” Drew murmured.
Mireille turned and headed for the door. “Stay alert, Cross. And good luck,” she chortled as she went out the door and down the planks. A moment later, her boat engine caught, and she was gone.
Drew met Cross’s gaze. “You have the most interesting neighbors,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the moment.
Cross did not smile back. Instead, his face was marred by worry lines. “Mireille has never been wrong as long as I have known her.”
Drew’s smile faded as her stomach rolled. “Let’s hope there’s a first time for everything.”