Darkest Journey (10 page)

“Got it. Nothing sexual.”
Too bad.

He hung up and headed out on the run, barely remembering to log off his computer and lock up his own house.

Nothing sexual.

Hell.

It was always going to be sexual between them, whether they ever acted on it or not.

5

C
harlie heard the sound of a car driving up and hurried to the door to look through the peephole.

She let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was Ethan. He was driving a small black SUV that fit her image of the Bureau.

She threw the door open as he came up the walk. He was in a light pullover and jeans. No glasses. He looked...

Like Ethan. The Ethan she had known, but with closely cropped hair. His expression was tense, his eyes filled with concern, and as soon as he was close enough he took her by the shoulders, searching her face.

“Are you all right?”

“I am. I shouldn't have asked you to come over. It's just... I don't know. These murders...they're unnerving me.”

“It's all right. I'm going back outside to look around. Lock the door. I'll just take a walk around the house and make sure no one's around and nothing looks out of place.”

“Okay, thank you,” she murmured. He went out, and she immediately locked the door. A few minutes later, he was back.

“No one around now, anyway,” he told her as he entered.

“Thank you, and I'm sorry for making you come out here for nothing. You have to be tired as hell, what with traveling and everything you've been doing today. Here it is, nearly midnight, and you're still on the clock, as they say.”

“I was awake.”

“Well, I'm glad. Did you eat?”

“I did.”

“Want a drink? Some tea—hot or iced—or I think—”

“Tea would be great. Hot. No milk or sugar.”

“Sure. Make yourself comfortable.”

She left him in the living room and fled to the kitchen. Everything seemed to be all right. Whatever had gone bump in the night—if she hadn't just been imagining everything—was gone, and Ethan was here. Of course, he was only here because he was an FBI agent, and she had requested his presence for protection. And protection was all she wanted. Right?

She set water on to boil and looked through the cupboards. Her dad kept staples in the house, but not much else, and she hadn't had time to do any shopping. In the freezer she found some frozen blueberry pastries and was happy to see that they were microwavable. She popped them in while she waited for the water to boil. A few seconds later she had a tray fixed with two cups of tea and the pastries.

Ethan was still standing when she returned to the parlor. He had one of her dad's history books in his hands. It was a very specialized book, dealing with a group of Union generals who had risen and fallen—and sometimes risen again.

“You don't think his choice of reading material makes my father a murderer, do you?” she asked, aware her tone was sharper than she'd intended it to be.

“I don't think your father is a murderer at all—I've told you that.”

“But he is in the suspect pool.”

“Charlie, at this moment half the town and beyond is in the suspect pool.”

“Of course,” she murmured, lowering her head, not wanting him to see her flush. She quickly set the tray on the coffee table and sat in one of the old upholstered chairs nearby.

“So,” she said, once he, too, had taken a seat, “what's going on? How's life?”

He shrugged. “It's good. I like being with the FBI. I wanted to join the Krewe. And now I'm a member of the Krewe.”

She reached for a pastry. “That's great. I'm glad you like your work, but you always knew what you wanted to be.”

“So did you.”

“Alexi and Clara have both told me they're alive because of the Krewe.”

“We do good work,” Ethan agreed. “How about you? I see your face on the television now and then.”

“Mostly commercials, I'm sure,” she said. “Not that I'm complaining. They pay well. Theater—not so much. But I still love it. And I'm doing the movie now. We've all invested our own money in it in exchange for a cut of the profits, so we're hoping.... I think it's going to be a good movie. It combines a lot of genres. The history in it is really solid. And it contains some social commentary, too. Plus, there's the added benefit that I got to come home and spend some time with Dad.”

“You live in New Orleans these days, I gather.”

“That's where the work is.” She took a sip of tea, but it was still too hot, so she quickly set her cup back down. “So how about you? What's up? You're living in DC now?”

“I'm living in Virginia. An old town house in Alexandria. I've been all over, though. Worked in New York for a few years, which was great, but I love the office I'm in now. I haven't been there long, but long enough to know I enjoy it. It's cool getting to work with Jude, of course, and Jackson Crow is an amazing guy. I'm really learning a lot from him. And our real boss, Adam Harrison, is like some kind of wizard or something. So, yeah, life is good.”

She nodded, then finally asked the question that had been nagging at her ever since she'd seen him again. “Any little Delaneys running around yet?”

“Nope. How about you? You gotten married since I last saw you?”

She shook her head. “What can I say? Obsessed with my career, I guess.”

“You've got to have a life, though, you know.”

“I
do
have a life! A great life,” she told him. “I'm sure you do, too.”

He smiled and shrugged. “No, not so much.”

She found herself trying to slug down hot tea. “I guess that's your choice.”

“Yes, I guess it has been.”

Suddenly uncomfortable sitting so close and talking almost personally, Charlie stood, taking her cup with her. “I guess I should go to bed. Early call tomorrow.”

He smiled. “No problem. Get some sleep,” he told her as he rose and started heading for the door.

“You're leaving? I—I thought you were going to stay. There's the sofa—or one of the other rooms. There are two more bedrooms upstairs, my dad's and the guest room.”

“I'm not leaving. I'm just going to take a last look around outside.”

“I'm not going to bed until you're safely back inside.”

“What did you hear exactly? What spooked you? Was it someone...?”

“It was someone living,” she said flatly. “Not that I'm all that experienced with the dead, but I'm pretty sure if someone wanted to haunt me it wouldn't matter if I locked the door or not.”

“Not that any of us is an expert, but I agree with you.”

“I'm going with you,” she said, coming to a sudden decision, ready to insist if he denied her.

“Okay.”

Surprised, she followed him to the door and stuck close behind him as they walked out.

“There was a thump against the front door,” she said, slamming a hand against the wood. “Sounded like that. But I looked out and didn't see anyone. Then, a little while later, I thought I heard someone at the parlor window.”

“Okay.”

She followed him past the row of bushes growing in front of the house. He got to the window she'd mentioned, then left and walked to the next, where he ran his fingers along the outer sill, producing a noticeable scratching sound.

“Is that what you heard?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

He didn't say anything as he continued walking around the entire house, checking the foliage as he went. He checked the back door, but it was firmly locked. They kept going until they came around to the front again. He opened the door for her to go on in.

“You think I'm hearing things,” she said, pausing. She prayed it wasn't worse, that he didn't think she'd made up a story to get him over to her house.

He shook his head. “I know you don't make things up,” he said softly, then urged her inside. “Early call,” he reminded her. “You should go up to bed.”

“I should. I will. Right now,” she said.

“Good night, then.”

“You're not leaving?”

“I'll be here,” he promised her.

“Okay. Thank you. I'll see you in the morning.”

“You got it.”

Charlie hurried up the stairs. She didn't turn on the light, just closed the door to her room and walked over to the window. There was nothing to be seen. Even so, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been outside the house, watching, waiting for her to step out alone.

But Ethan had come when she asked, and she wasn't alone anymore.

She dressed for bed and lay down, listening. Whatever he was doing downstairs, she couldn't hear anything.

She knew she was only fantasizing when she hoped he would come up the stairs. If he did, of course she would tell him to go away.

No, she wouldn't.

She tried to fall asleep, thinking of that early call.

It didn't help. No matter how hard she tried to fall asleep, the effort went badly.

* * *

Charlie didn't imagine things.

Once she was upstairs, Ethan stepped back outside. He'd never been much of a hunter. He just didn't take pleasure in killing things. Odd, maybe, that he'd wound up in the FBI, where there were bound to be times when he had to kill a person. He wasn't sure what a shrink would think about that.

He'd been hunting enough, though, to learn a fair amount about tracking.

And he didn't need to be the finest tracker in the world to be able to verify what he thought he'd seen when he'd been out with Charlie.

Flattened grass, broken twigs and a scratch on the windowsill, as if someone had tried to pry at it.

He hunkered down and studied the ground by the window. He was pretty sure whoever had been there had covered their shoes, explaining the vague shape and flatness of the indentations in the earth. That made him equally sure they'd been wearing gloves.

That would have stood out if they were downtown, where people were everywhere. But out here where Charlie lived, most houses were set on several acres. It would be easy to dress like Godzilla and go unnoticed. Gloves and bootees were nothing.

He stood, went back in and studied the house's security measures. Good windows that closed tightly, latches snug, and locked, bolts on the doors. Even so, no place was impregnable, and there was no alarm. That wasn't good.

He had a gut feeling that tonight had only been a trial run. Someone had been checking to see just how hard it would be to break into this house. He was pretty certain no one was coming back tonight, at least.

Even so, he elected to sleep on the sofa, closest to the doors. He'd learned to sleep lightly, a useful skill for nights like tonight.

As he lay down, he thought about Charlie, sound asleep in her room upstairs.

He couldn't help but remember her face as they'd waited for the police that night ten years ago, her leaning against the grave marker, himself leaning against a tree.

And then the killer, bursting suddenly out of the woods like a berserk, heading straight for Charlie, as if he knew she had something to do with the end of his spree.

She had stared at him, as he raced toward her, and started to rise in defense. She would have fought like the devil, he knew. He'd seen the emotions fly across her face: terror, anger, determination, and the look that meant she wouldn't go down without fighting.

He didn't remember actually thinking about anything himself. He just flew at the man, glad he played football and was a good tackle.

Someone had asked him once if he feared the dead.

He didn't.

He feared the living.

And he hadn't been haunted by the dead for the last ten years.

He'd been haunted by memories of Charlie.

* * *

When her alarm woke her early the next morning, Charlie could hear Ethan downstairs. Of course he was up. Not that she really knew his habits, but for some reason she'd doubted he was a late sleeper.

That meant she had to hurry. She quickly called Clara, hoping her friend would answer.

“Charlie! Hey, you good?” Clara asked anxiously.

“I'm good. Just reporting in,” Charlie said, relieved that her friend had picked up.

“Did anything else happen?”

Charlie told her about the strange noises she'd heard the night before—and about calling Ethan. “Probably got spooked by a squirrel,” she said.

“I'm just glad Ethan is there,” Clara said. “And you don't need to worry. After I talked to you last night I told Alexi what's going on, and we made some calls.”

“To?” Charlie asked.

“There's a new guy who took over recently as head of all entertainment at Celtic American. I worked for him when I first started with the company, and he was entertainment manager for the ship I was on. Anyway, to make a long story short—”

“Too late,” Alexi said, having seized the phone. “Charlie, we can get on the
Journey
as Southern belles—and you should join us. We've already talked to Jackson Crow, and he's going to run it past Adam Harrison. I'm not sure how soon we can start, but we'll get back to you as soon as we know something.”

“You two are incredible,” Charlie said.

Clara laughed softly. “Well, we like to think so, anyway.”

Charlie glanced at her watch. “Call you later today, okay?”

Then she dressed quickly and went downstairs.

Ethan was in the kitchen. He'd had no problem figuring out the coffeepot, and the smell of fresh coffee was nearly as appealing as the man.

“Good morning,” she said, helping herself to coffee.

“Morning. You slept okay?”

She smiled. “Helped a lot that you were here. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. And, as it happens, I'm going your way this morning.”

“You can't be. I'm due on site in...” She paused and glanced at her watch, a gift from her mom. “I'm due in makeup in forty minutes.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“I'm filming a scene with the oil-company boss and the senator.”

“I know.”

“There are no extras in it.”