Devil Dead

By Linda Ladd

LOST GIRL
She was last seen in New Orleans. Her father, a rich, powerful arms dealer, believes she was abducted. For ransom. For revenge. For reasons too horrible to imagine.
 
LOST INNOCENCE
Claire Morgan, recent former cop turned private investigator, and her new partner begin their search at the girl’s school, where a violent junkie attacks Claire with scissors, raves of “demons and devils,” and then takes her own life.
 
LAST RITES
 Sinister clues lead Claire on a twisted trail through the bars and bayous of New Orleans to a bloodstained altar in Paris. Vast, secret, and powerful, it is a world that few enter or escape. And Claire is going in—the devil be damned…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyrical Press
• Release date: Aug 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781601833860

Linda Ladd

Since she was a little girl, Linda Ladd has always been a romantic, loving nothing better than to lose herself completely in the faraway times and places of great novelists such as Jane Austen, Margaret Mitchell, and the Brontë sisters. Little did she dream that someday she would be transporting legions of her own fans into exciting love stories, where darkly handsome heroes are swept away with beautiful, high‑spirited heroines. Millions have enjoyed her novels since her first historical romance, Wildstar, hit the shelves in 1984. Within a year, she had signed multiple‑book contracts with two different publishers and resigned from her teaching position in order to write full time. Since then, she has penned fourteen bestselling historical novels, which have been acclaimed by readers and booksellers alike. An award‑winning author with a loyal following all over the world, her primary love remains with her family. Ladd recently celebrated her silver wedding anniversary with husband, Bill, and the magic between them still lingers, as he remains the inspiration for all her heroes. She enjoys a lakefront home in southern Missouri, and her daughter Laurel and son Bill have gone away to college. When not hard at work on her latest novel, her two dogs (Pete and Sampras) and two cats (Tigger and Tounces) keep her company, as well as Romeo and Juliet, a pair of snow‑white swans who glide gracefully past her gazebo overlooking Misty Lake.

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Prologue

Witch Way

Something really scary woke the little girl. At first, she wasn’t sure what it was. Frightened, and still pretty groggy, she shivered all over and tugged up her bedcovers. She hid her face in the soft, well-worn patchwork quilt that her Gram had made before the angels came and flew away with her soul. After a little while and with her heart still thumping hard, she peeked out and saw all the deep shadows crouching around in her bedroom. The darkness looked like big black bears or evil goblins poised to jump on her bed and attack her with their claws. Maybe monsters were hiding in the dark corners and making all those growling and scratching noises.

There were so many shadows everywhere, and lots of them were thrown up on her walls by a great big full moon that had risen up high in the sky. Now it was glowing real bright and hanging just over the cypress trees across the bayou from her house. The tree branches were shivering and shaking in the wind and causing dark figures to creep up around her bed. They looked like big hairy spiders with long, skinny legs scurrying up and down her walls, just like the ones she’d seen out in the swamp in their giant silken webs. Her muscles tensed up tight as she watched them, fear overtaking her again, and she stayed very still, barely even breathing. The little Mickey Mouse night-light beside her bed didn’t throw off enough light to see what was hiding in the dark, and she was afraid that something scary and horrible was going to get her.

Then she heard the sound of claws clicking across the wood floor. She sat up straight, feeling better now. It was her dog, and he was inside the room, too. Thank goodness for that. Her big German shepherd’s name was Spirit, and he was making all those creepy sounds. Now he was snarling, too, and growling some and scratching on her door. He never did that, so she knew something was wrong. She loved Spirit so much. He was big and strong and took good care of her. He was mostly black, but also had some brown and gray fur on him, too, especially on his head. He always slept on a little navy rag rug right beside her bed, all night long, every single night, and without making any noise. But tonight he was so restless, and he sure did want something.

Mommy always told her that Spirit was her True Protector, blessed at birth by the Moon Goddess and Horned God. She said the little girl didn’t have to be afraid because he would frighten away the monsters and evil ones that roamed around outside in the dark swamp behind their house. Her mommy never, ever told lies, so she knew that was true. Right that minute, though, all Spirit wanted was to get outside. She wondered why he wanted out so badly and why he was whining around so much. Maybe he had something wrong with him, like the time that Mommy took him to the lady down the bayou who knew how to fix up sick dogs. But it didn’t matter, anyways, ’cause she was just glad he wasn’t some evil monster out to snatch her up and eat her, like Mommy said some of the scary swamp monsters did.

Ssh, now, Spirit, you best be quiet, you bad, bad dog. Mommy’s gonna hear you and then you’ll get in big trouble, you hear me, Spirit? She’ll make you stay outside in the yard, and then I’ll have to stay in here all by myself!

Spirit turned his big head toward her, all alert and stiff, his shoulders bunched hard and his ears perked up. She could see his fur standing straight up in a ridge down his back. The dog growled again, a long and scary sound, and then he padded back to the bed. He laid his long black snout on the covers beside her pillow, and she put her hand on top of his head where his fur was so soft and scratched him above his eyes.

What’sa matter, Spirit? What’d you want me to do? We’re supposed to be sleepin’, and you know it. Mommy’s gonna be mad at you for wakin’ me up.

Spirit listened, big dark eyes on her face, but then he ran back to the door and stood there, whining and pawing at the bottom. Maybe he had to go potty. Maybe that was what was wrong. Tossing back the white sheet and pink-and-blue quilt, she swung her legs out from under the covers, slid her feet into her fuzzy house slippers that looked just like two little white lambs. Then she tiptoed to the door. She couldn’t let Mommy hear them moving around. Mommy was grouchy when they woke her up before lunchtime. That’s when she usually got up, especially on mornings after the moon was full like tonight. Poor Mommy never got much sleep. Sometimes she just stayed up all night and then lay in bed all the next day. That’s when Spirit had to be the little girl’s nanny and watch over her and bark at anybody who came up on the back porch or knocked on the front door. That’s when the little girl was supposed to run and hide in her closet, because she was never, ever, ever supposed to open the door to strangers.

Not sure what she should do, she leaned over and whispered softly in the big dog’s ear. Okay, I’m gonna open the door up, you hear me, Spirit? But you gotta keep quiet, okay? You gotta keep real quiet, or else we’re both gonna get in big trouble with Mommy.

Now Spirit was panting hard and drooling on the floor, his long pink tongue lolling out and dripping all over the place. She decided that he must be real thirsty. All he needed was a big bowl of water. So she turned the knob and eased the door open just a tiny baby little crack. Outside, the upstairs hallway was dark and silent, so she stepped out and looked down at her mommy’s bedroom. The door was shut. No light showing at the bottom. So it was okay.

Then, before she could grab Spirit’s black leather collar with the little spikes on it, the German shepherd squeezed past her and ran down the hall. He bounded down the back stairs as fast as he could, so he had to be really, really thirsty. He headed straight to the kitchen where Mommy kept his water bowl in the pantry. She followed him, tiptoeing, always scared when the house was so dark and creaky, even if she was almost nine years old. The moon was still flooding all that smoky, spooky light through the undraped windowpanes, making those skinny spiders dance around on the old planked floor.

She could hear Spirit slurping and lapping and splashing water out of his bowl. Glancing up the dark steps, she saw that nobody was coming. Everything was very quiet, except for branches scraping the windows. Then, somewhere off in the distance, she heard a different kind of sound, moaning, sort of like Spirit did when he got scared. But it didn’t sound like a dog; it sounded like a person. She tiptoed to the back door. Uh-oh—Mommy forgot to lock it. Outside, the moaning got louder. It was coming from her mommy’s own secret place far out in the swamp behind their barn. The little girl had never been there. Mommy said it was her own private place, her Sanctuary, where she prayed to her gods and goddesses and the spirits of woods and bayous. Mommy said only grown-ups could go into the Sanctuary.

The little girl just stood there for a moment. What was going on out there so late? It sounded like Mommy’s voice, droning out real low-pitched and eerie-like. What was her mommy doing? Or was somebody else out there making those weird sounds?

Still too scared to go out into the dark night, she listened for a time, until the cool night air made her shiver in her pink Cinderella nightgown. The buzz and croak of crickets and cicadas sounded like the static that Mommy’s old radio made on stormy nights. Tree frogs shrieked loudly every once in a while. They all hid in the thick stand of bushes and undergrowth all around the yard and hopped about where she couldn’t see them. Mommy said the animals hid out there and spied on little children. It sure wasn’t safe to go outside at night, especially for little girls.

She had always remembered that and stayed inside, because she really was a good little girl and always did everything she was supposed to. Sometimes she didn’t understand stuff. It was hard for her to think about things very long at a time or to remember things that she was supposed to remember. Especially if it had big words in it and took a long time to say. Mommy said that was because she was simple minded, and she couldn’t help it but it made her a real special kind of kid, and stuff like that.

Spirit pushed past her legs before she could stop him. He dashed across the back porch and pushed open the screen door with his nose, and then he leaped down the steps and took off toward the Sanctuary. He probably knew Mommy was out there. He just loved Mommy so much because she had raised him from a little puppy. She hesitated some more, holding the back door open, not sure what she should do. She was awfully scared.

Finally, she moved down the back steps and made her way out across the yard and around to the back of their big barn to the little gravel path that Mommy always walked down when she prayed to the gods. The ground felt rough under her slippers and was full of clumps of crabgrass and lots of old vines and rocks and such, and she could smell the usual fishy stink of stagnant water rising from the swamp. Still, the moon was bright enough to see, and she knew the way to the Sanctuary very well, even if she had never been inside.

Mommy’s Sanctuary was pretty far out in the woods, about halfway to their neighbor lady’s property line, but it was built inside a whole bunch of tall live oaks and willow trees. The drooping willow fronds and draping gray moss on the oak branches almost hid it from sight. It was a pretty long walk, and when she got there, Spirit dashed ahead and stood just outside its door. It wasn’t as big as their barn, but it was almost that big. It didn’t have windows, though, not even one, just a small front door and another back door, and both had big silver padlocks and chains on the handles. But now the padlock was pulled apart and hanging by its chain. Spirit was whining and trying to nose the door open.

The creepy moans were very loud now. It was her mommy’s voice, for sure. She was saying the same thing, over and over, a word the little girl didn’t understand, something like ummmmmm, ummmmmm, ummmmmm. She knelt and held Spirit’s collar. Mommy sounded kind of sick. What if Mommy was hurt? What if she cut herself with the knives she used to skin animals with or with that engraved silver knife she kept in a red-velvet box on the top shelf of her closet? Maybe that was why Spirit was so upset and all nervous-like. He got that way the time the little girl fell down and skinned her knee and made it bleed, didn’t he? So she lifted the handle and pushed the door ajar, but just a little bit.

Eyes wide with astonishment and awe, she let out a little gasp. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Tall candles sat around everywhere, white ones and black ones and red ones and purple ones, and every other color, too. They glowed brightly in big glass Mason jars filled up with sand. They were sitting on the dirt floor, and on the ladder rungs that went up to a loft kind of place, and then up higher along the edge of that loft thing. All were flickering and burning, more than she had ever seen in her life. The flames stood straight up and tall, until the breeze from the open door made them waver and wink, as if they were all dancing together.

The big dog pushed in behind her and walked straight over to where her mommy was sitting in a big white iron bathtub that had been placed on a raised platform near the loft. Her head lay against the back edge with her long, curling dark hair hanging out and almost touching the ground. She was still making those low, guttural sounds. The little girl was suddenly afraid. What if her mommy got mad and punished her for coming to the Sanctuary? Terrified at the thought, she knelt beside the door and kept quiet and watched and hoped her mommy wouldn’t see her and slap her in the face like she did sometimes when she got very angry. She wished now she had obeyed Mommy’s rules and not come out to the Sanctuary. If Mommy saw her, she was gonna get into big trouble.

But most of all, she was afraid her mommy would go crazy again.

Chapter One

Canton County Homicide Detective Claire Morgan roused up from where she lay dozing in the shade of a palm-draped cabana, relaxed and at peace with the world. Out in front of her, she could hear the never-ending roar of the wild ocean surf. Stretching luxuriously, she opened sleepy eyes and gazed down the long planked pier that stretched far out beyond the breakers. The cerulean blue of the South Pacific Ocean spread out to the far horizon in a panorama of incredible tropical beauty.

After a particularly traumatic homicide case in which she had been used as a punching bag by an insane serial killer, she had earned herself a lengthy and paid medical leave. Nicholas Black, who happened to be her honeybun and newly designated fiancé, had decided they were getting away for a while and then flown her off on his own private Learjet. About five thousand miles later, they ended up at Motu Teta, which had turned out to be the most glorious little private island in the Atoll of Rangiroa in Tahiti, which happened to be smack dab in the middle of the French Polynesian islands, which happened to be smack-dab in the middle of the aforementioned South Pacific Ocean. After which he declared they would never leave said paradise again.

Truth be told, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Not yet, anyway. Tahiti had certainly lived up to its slice-of-heaven reputation, plus some. For almost two months now, they had slept with plantation shutters pushed aside and wide sliding doors left open to the warm tropical breezes, frolicked in the sunlit sea and made love in their own little palm-covered villa in their own little paradise on earth. Just the two of them, left alone to enjoy and explore the flora and fauna of the three-mile-long and very private island that Black had leased just for her so she could recuperate and forget some very bad things that had happened to her.

Even better, their main house was lovely and spacious, a villa that went by the well-deserved name of Bungalow Royale. It even had a personal chef who came in by boat every evening and prepared them a gourmet meal and a picnic lunch for the next day, then cleaned up the kitchen, replenished all their supplies, and took off for places unknown. Talk about pampered and privileged and obscenely sublime. No people, no cars, no murders, no death, no bloody crime scenes, and last but not least, no getting beat up by anybody wielding hammers and/or baseball bats. What more could a gal ask for?

Sighing, Claire felt so unbelievably loose and pliant that she could barely even move her muscles. Not that she wanted to. Missing her dear and ultra-generous one, Claire turned her head, shielded her eyes, and peered down the curved beach to the point, where waves pounded into the golden sands with immense power and ferocity. Black was still down there and having what looked like one helluva good time on his surfboard. At the moment, he was way, way out past the swells, sitting astride a big yellow and red surfboard, moving up and down with the waves, black hair wet and slicked back, muscles sun browned and more than impressive, waiting for the big one no doubt. He was as good at hanging ten as everything else he did, all masculine grace and balance and male confidence. Yep, he was quite a guy all right.

During their lovely sojourn upon the island, he’d even talked her into learning how to surf, which involved actually pushing herself up to standing on her own matching yellow and red board and riding it all the way in to the beach. That was a feat that she didn’t think possible, considering her fear and loathing of man-eating sharks. In fact, they were probably out there now, cruising under the water and waiting for a tasty lunch of one famous American psychiatrist by the name of Nicholas Black.

Today, however, had been super fantastic, just like all their other Tahitian days. They’d both enjoyed sailing in the morning and scuba diving all afternoon long, at least until she’d thrown in the towel and retreated with her sunburn to the shady cabana in the calmer part of the lovely half-moon bay. No telling how long Black could keep it up. The man had stamina, to be sure, and he did love to surf. So, very comfortable and content, she closed her eyes again and slept some more, grateful for the peace and quiet and whispering trade winds and surging surf and warmer than warm day.

Not sure how long she had slept, she came awake later to that same and now familiar crash of the ocean and lay there on the nice soft cushion, listening, loving it, loving Tahiti, loving Black, loving life. At the moment, yes, she was a happy camper. Black was happy, too, happy as a lark in fact. He loved these islands and would probably stay forever, as he had decreed, if their future abode was left up to him. Claire, on the other hand, was now ready to go home and get back to real life and all the perils it presented. She’d had plenty of time alone to think and consider and worry about what she wanted to do next and what Black wanted her to do next and what was the best future for both of them. She had made some very tough and serious decisions wiling away the pleasant days and weeks, and all she had to do now was tell him. That opportunity came along about twenty minutes later when he finally came striding down the dock, done battling the waves, and collapsed on the cushions beside her.

Hi, honey, I’m home, he said, reaching out and pulling her up against his chest.

Stop, you’re cold and wet. She laughed, though, at the way he was nuzzling her neck. He didn’t shave every day anymore, and his whiskers were scratchy.

You should’ve come back out there, Claire. The waves were magnificent.

Yeah, I saw them. They’re a little too intimidating for me, but you looked good on that surfboard, I have to say.

Black grinned and kissed her cheek, and then turned onto his back, heaved out a deep breath, and shut his eyes. Claire turned over and braced the side of her head in her palm so she could look down at him. He looked so totally at ease now, hair even darker when wet and pushed off his forehead, as tanned and fit and handsome as she’d ever seen him. Maybe she should wait some before she got so serious, let him enjoy himself a little while longer. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe the time had come. No time like the present, or so they say.

Listen, Black, I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know, way out here in the middle of nowhere. So I’ve been thinking things through.

He didn’t open his eyes or even turn his head. Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d do. This place is good for soul-searching.

I’ve made some decisions.

Okay, that got his attention quickly enough. He opened those bluer than blue eyes of his and turned on his side, too, bracing his head in his palm, so they lay facing each other. He searched her face. What kinds of decisions?

Number one decision. I’m ready to go home.

First, his face reflected surprise, and then a frown, but one that disappeared almost at once. Then, he said, I thought you liked it out here. I thought you were enjoying yourself.

I do like it here. It’s been the best two months of my life.

That made him smile. Come on, then, let’s stay a little longer, another month maybe, just the two of us. Nobody around to bother us. All alone together in paradise. Like the honeymoon I’ve always wished we could have.

You gotta get married first for a honeymoon to happen.

Right, go ahead, stick in the knife, twist it around, why don’t you? But at least you’re wearing your engagement ring now. That’s something I guess.

Claire smiled at him but got right back to business. I really need to go back to work.

That brought out a heavy sigh. You’re on extended medical leave, if I recall. Charlie said to take as long as you needed.

Well, I’ve done that. It’s April, and I’m perfectly all right now. All my bruises and swelling are long gone, and I miss working.

I don’t.

Oh, really? Maybe that’s because you haven’t stopped working since we got here. You have a conference call every single morning while I’m out taking my run on the beach. You get emergency calls from your psychiatric clinics on your sat phone all day and night long. I don’t have my work, and I miss it.

You only recently healed from a terrible beating. You need more time to get over it, both physically and emotionally.

I am over it. I miss my friends. I miss my house. I miss everything we left behind. I miss my job.

And there lies the problem. Your job.

Maybe not.

Black perked up considerably. No?

Well, for one thing, I’ve decided to quit my homicide position and go private.

Pure shock, followed by one helluva big smile and the deepest dimples she had ever seen on man, woman, or child. Oh, yeah, he looked euphoric, to be sure. No joke? Really? You’re going to do it?

After a lot of thought, I think it’s the best thing for both of us.

Well, thank you, God. Finally, at long last, you’ve come to your senses.

At that, Claire smiled a little. But she was serious, and she wanted him to be, too. I thought I was gonna die on my last case—you know how bad it was. I had accepted it, out there when I was alone in the dark and lying in that sleet and snow. I thought I would freeze to death before anybody found me. She stopped, not liking to relive those last minutes before she lost consciousness. She tried to shake the awful memories out of her head. Well, I’ve realized that I don’t particularly want to die, not yet. I don’t want anything quite that terrible to happen to me again, either. That night made quite an impression.

You’ve handled it better than most people would. I’m just sorry it had to happen to you.

So I’m gonna take you up on your offer to fund my private investigation business, but there’s gotta be some conditions. Some ground rules. You do understand that, right?

Black grinned. Oh, yeah, I figured that was going to happen. But anything you want, anything at all. Just name it.

Okay, then. You gotta let me be in charge. I am the boss. I make the decisions, I decide which cases we take, I decide who I work with and how we get the job done. Your advice is always welcome, of course, but I call the shots.

Black was still smiling and nodding. Absolutely. No problem. Claire Morgan Investigations. I like it.

Uh-uh. My name already pulls in way too much notoriety. I sure don’t need any more. I’ve got a name in mind, too. Something simple.

Yeah? What?

INTEL. She watched his face closely, curious if he’d go for it.

Black considered a moment. Short and simple, easy to remember. I can have business cards designed and stationery made up within a couple of days. I’ll order my PR guys to come up with ads and TV spots.

You are not hearing me, Black. I just said that I want this all kept simple and quiet. I want uncomplicated. No publicity.

Nonplussed, Black just stared at her. No publicity? None? Why not? How will clients find you?

That’s right. No ads, no TV, no radio, no nothing. I want to do this on the QT.

And again, I ask you, and you’ll get cases how?

Word of mouth, friends who need some kind of help, that sort of thing. Referrals from your colleagues and friends, or mine.

Okay, fine. Whatever you say.

And I want a lot of it to be pro bono, you know, completely free of charge. Especially if the client doesn’t have much money. Because I know how that feels.

Black frowned. Well, I’m not so sure about that. I’m a businessman, Claire. You do want to make some money on this thing, right?

Claire continued, ignoring his last question. And I’m gonna stay on with Canton County Sheriff’s Department in an advisory capacity. If Charlie’ll let me do that. I’ll just take a leave of absence for a while to set things up, see how I like working private. Then I can help out Bud and Charlie as a special investigator, if they need me on a homicide case. Same thing down in Lafourche Parish with Russ Friedewald and Zee Jackson. If they need me, I want to be available.

No problem. We can iron out all the details later. We’ll set things up as soon as we get home. He paused and considered her. More important to me, when’s the wedding going to be?

Claire had wondered when he was going to bring that up. She’d been expecting it ever since they arrived, but he hadn’t said a single word about getting married until that moment. Well, actually, I’ve been giving some thought to that, too.

Man, is this ever the day that I’ve been waiting for. So when’s it going to be? How about tomorrow? We can fly over to Papeete on the big island, get married, and head home as man and wife.

I was thinking more like some time this summer, around the Fourth of July, maybe.

That’s a long way off.

If you’ll remember and since you’re so sentimental, that’s around the time we met. And that will give me time to plan everything.

I’d rather do it here and now, but I’ll take what I can get. If that’s what you want, July it is.

Okay, and one more thing. Laurie Dale and Nancy Gill are gonna help me with the wedding, and they said we need some music. I need you to choose a song for the wedding. Something that reminds you of us. You know, kinda like our song.

How about the ‘Wedding March’?

No, no, something that fits us. You know, as a couple. A regular song.

‘Here Comes the Bride’?

Claire laughed. Stop, Black. Be serious. I mean it.

Black appeared to think, but only for a moment. ‘Unchained Melody.’ Without a doubt. My favorite song.

Okay. How does that go?

You don’t know how ‘Unchained Melody’ goes? By the Righteous Brothers? Good God, Claire, you ever listened to a radio in your life?

I don’t have time to sit around and listen to the radio. All that noise keeps me from thinking about my cases. Nope, she wasn’t particularly romantic, she admitted it. But he was, sometimes anyway, and did it rather well actually. Just so he didn’t go overboard and embarrass her, it usually turned out pretty cool.

Black just grinned, and then he sang a couple of verses to her, very low, and he actually didn’t sound too bad. Corny as hell, true, but not too bad.

Claire shook her head, laughing at him. I dunno, Black. That sounds pretty damn sappy. Like we live eight thousand miles apart, and I hate you.

At that, Black stopped singing, his smile fading, his dimples disappearing, and he became very solemn, very fast. He continued with the words but now he just said them, his eyes holding hers, and in a way that sobered her expression, too.

They just stared at each other, Claire completely blindsided by his abrupt change in mood.

Tell me you aren’t going to back out of the wedding, Claire.

Claire hadn’t been expecting that, either. But she had shown some reticence about getting married in the past, so she could understand his question. But she wasn’t dragging her feet now, not anymore. No way am I ever gonna back out of the wedding. Absolutely not. And that’s a promise.

Black smiled. Well, okay, then. Why don’t you come over here and show me how much you love me?

His light mood returned, and he pulled her in against his chest. Claire was certainly okay with that, so she slid her arms around his neck and found his mouth, enjoying the intimacy as much as he did. Now things were settled, and she felt happy. Happy and relieved. Black seemed pleased with their future now, too, and there would be no more worrying about what lay ahead for them. Good or bad, the die was cast. So she lay there in his arms, enjoying their closeness, his tender touch, the way he could make her feel, and gradually let go of all thoughts except for him.

Unfortunately, however, their little moment of mutual ecstasy did not last long. The insistent buzz of a boat’s motor broke into the crashing of waves, a sound that was highly unusual around their isolated island. Claire immediately pulled away from Black and sat up and searched the shining sea, slightly alarmed, that vital self-protective instinct shooting alive, the one she had learned not to ignore, and learned the hard way, from many past, and yes, horrible experiences. Living nightmares followed her around like her shadow on a summer afternoon, so better safe than sorry had been her motto for a long time now. She finally spotted a big black boat that was headed straight at them and at a very high rate of speed. Which, of course, did not bode well for them now, or in the past, or in the future, or ever actually.

That’s probably just Edward, coming over to cook dinner, Black told her, reaching for her again, not worried in the least. But then again, he hadn’t been recently beaten up by a crazy man with a hammer, either.

No, it’s not. It’s got a much bigger and more powerful motor than Edward’s does. I can tell the difference in the way it sounds.

Not once since they’d arrived on Motu Teta had another boat approached their cove, so Black also now sat up and took notice. Silently, they watched the speeding craft gain on the far end of their pier. After a moment, Black was apparently concerned enough to pick up a pair of high-powered binoculars off the table beside him.

So who is that, Black? Friends of yours, maybe?

Don’t think so. Only a few people even know we’re out here. But those guys are definitely coming here to see us.

Black stood up, shielding his eyes from the dazzling fire and orange brilliance of the setting sun, one that was painting quite a glorious, Leonardo da Vinci–ish backdrop behind the boat. You stay here. I’m going to walk out there and see what they want. It’s probably nothing. Maybe the real estate people need my signature to renew the lease, something like that. Wait here. I’ll take care of it.

Claire leaned back against the cushions and watched him stride off barefoot down the dock, still wearing his black swim trunks. She had on the blue and red one-piece swimsuit that she had bought for herself when they landed in Papeete, one she deemed more suitable for scuba diving and windsurfing and spear fishing than the yellow string bikini Black had gotten her. Skimpy bikinis were not exactly appropriate for company. Especially unknown company who happened to be driving straight at them, full speed ahead and with no invitation. She picked up her Glock 19 from the table beside her and pulled it out of the leather holster.

Claire had learned a long time ago that she would be wise to always anticipate trouble, no matter how unlikely it was, and therefore kept her weapons never far from hand. Even out in the middle of nowhere, in the vast reaches of the South Pacific. Within minutes, the boat had slowed and pulled up to the end of the pier pilings where Black was waiting. Claire stood up, too, still holding her weapon down beside her leg. After her last case, she had vowed never to be taken captive again, not by anybody. She would never again take chances, not now, not any time in the future. She had learned her lesson. Bad guys were very bad. Evil was very evil. Dead was very forever.

The two guys in the boat threw docking lines to Black, and he caught them and looped them around the pilings. Both of the men on the boat had on plain white ball caps and white T-shirts and white pants and white sneakers. Veritable male angels, they looked like. They climbed out and started talking to Black with a lot of expansive gesturing. Bad thing was, they both suddenly pulled out their own semiautomatic weapons and trained them on Black’s bare chest. Never known to be stupid, Black raised his hands and then was quickly forced down onto his knees. By that point, Claire was running down the pier toward them, her own weapon held two-handed and pointed squarely at the lead man’s chest.

Drop your weapons! she cried out over the wind and surf. Put them down! Now!

The two assailants glanced over at her and didn’t seem to be shaking in their boots. Both kept their guns beaded on Black’s heart, apparently considering him the greater danger. Wrong.

Closer now, she found that the two men were smaller than Black, which didn’t mean much since he was six feet four and probably around two hundred twenty or thirty pounds, mostly hard muscle. On the other hand, both guys were wiry of build and tough looking. Neither was particularly muscular or intimidating and didn’t seem worried about the loaded gun she held pointed at them. That was a very big mistake on their part.

I will kill one of you before you get a shot off, she called out calmly. Put the guns down. I am not kidding. I will shoot you.

Then the smaller man swiveled his weapon to her. The other one kept his handgun beaded on Black. Throw your gun in the water, sister. Now! he ordered her in a harsh voice.

Sister? What was he? A two-bit Al Capone? At that point, however, Claire decided that Black’s lead assailant had assaulted people before, probably frequently, too, and starting from around age eight up. He knew what he was doing. He wasn’t Polynesian, not judging by the short-cropped red hair and matching goatee and Caucasian features and Australian accent. The other guy was white-blond and clean shaven with steely dark eyes and looked just as deadly. So, question was, who had she and Black pissed off in Australia? Okay, at least the Australians hadn’t shot them down on sight. That was one good sign, among a plethora of rather bad signs.

Get serious, she told him, and meant it. I will shoot you dead, trust me. I won’t hesitate. I stopped hesitating a long time ago.

Wait, now, just wait a minute, all of you, Black said, always the calm and collected one when confronted by armed hooligans. Yep, he was as composed and steady and clear thinking, as usual. None of those things applied to her, of course. But he was a famous shrink, and all, and he knew how to defuse dangerous situations. Herself? She usually defused them with a well-aimed bullet, or two. Something Black usually frowned upon. He probably wouldn’t this time, though, since his chest was the one with the bull’s eye on it.

A peace lover at heart, Black was still busy placating. How about we all take a deep breath here? Nobody needs to shoot anybody. Who are you guys? What do you want from us? Is this a robbery? Hey, take whatever you want. We aren’t going to stop you.

Well, speak for yourself, Black, Claire thought.

Our orders are to bring you out to the yacht. The boss said you’re both dangerous. So call the bitch off or she’s the one who’s gonna end up dead.

Bitch, was it? Well, that was certainly uncalled for. In fact, it was downright tacky. I rather doubt that, mate. But either way, I’ll have time to blow your head off. Strangely, now Claire felt very calm. Maybe Black’s composure had finally worn off on her. Felt good, like old times. She had a gun in her hand and it was pointed at a bad guy. Yep, she was ready to get back to work, all right. Her finger was itching to pull the trigger a couple of times, maybe more.

Her gaze met the ginger guy’s blue eyes and held as steady as steady could be. She infused utter and complete hatred in hers, just so he’d know. After ten seconds or so, Crocodile Dundee’s gaze wavered first, but only slightly. Maybe he didn’t want a bloodbath after all. Maybe he was fond of his head and wanted it to remain intact. Maybe he was sorry about calling her a bitch. Probably not that, though.

Who the hell do you work for? Black said, beginning to sound a tad impatient himself. What do you want with us?

Jonas Quinn sent us here. He wants to talk to you.

Claire shifted her eyes just slightly and gauged Black’s reaction. At the name, he appeared to relax, and visibly, too. She did not.

Black said, Jonas is here in Tahiti?

They both pronounced the man’s name as Yonas, with a Y. Who did that? Eastern Europeans, maybe? But apparently, and most likely, this Jonas was one of Black’s secret pals/ex-military