Darkest Journey (18 page)

“Charlie, remember, there's truth—and then there's what people perceive. You take care, extreme care. I've a feeling in these old bones. People might think you know what you don't. Never trust in what you see, always look below and realize what others see is never the same, you hear? And, Ethan, you watch out for her—watch out good. You both understand me?”

Charlie was surprised by the chill that went through her. Terese wasn't trying to scare her, but as the old woman gripped her hand, she felt a cold seep into her blood. “I'll be careful, Tante Terese, I promise,” she said.

Terese wagged a finger at Ethan. “And you watch over her, watch over her with every second of your life now, son.”

“I swear,” Ethan promised. “Now, go back inside and—”

“Oh, hush, I'll watch you into the car. I'm fine right here. This has been my house, my place in the world, forever. You're staying at your folks' place, right?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ethan said.

“Good, good.” Terese smiled. “It's so good to finally see the two of you together.”

Charlie felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “Oh, we're not...”

“We're just working on...”

“No, no, I wanted Ethan to... A dead man spoke to me, and...”

“We're going on the
Journey
as part of my investigation,” Ethan finished, sounding almost apologetic.

Terese smiled. “As I said, good to see the two of you together. Ethan, you get on back to your folks' house now. They want me to move in there with them. One day, maybe. Not yet. I'm still strong and kicking. Now, get. You have a full day tomorrow.”

Ethan kissed her cheek, and Charlie did the same.

When they headed out to the car, Charlie still felt the same chill in her bones—and the hot flush in her cheeks.

But she was also smiling awkwardly.

“What?” Ethan asked.

“She's the only person I've ever known who could put you in your place so perfectly,” Charlie said.

“What? I don't need to be put in my place!” he said.

Charlie just smiled, but then the smile vanished as she realized that she was afraid. Of something. She didn't know what. She also felt a strange nervousness, as if electricity were zinging along her nerves.

Terese knew. She always could read people. She knew how Charlie felt about Ethan.

But as for Ethan and what
he
felt...

She'd forgotten that she'd said she had to go to her own place until, just minutes later, he turned on to Dauphine.

“Here we are, so let's go get your things,” he said.

She thought about what Terese had said to her about lying.

But this was not the time.

“I'll only be a minute,” she said. “You can wait here, and I'll be right back.”

“I'll go in with you.”

Of course he was. She was apparently never going anywhere alone again.

“Okay. That's me to the left. Though I'm sure you already know that.”

He shrugged. “Charlie, your address isn't secret. It's listed online and in the white pages.”

“And even if it wasn't, you would have known it anyway, right?”

“Probably. I
am
the FBI, after all.”

Both front doors opened on to Dauphine, with the building forming a U around the courtyard.

The front door led into a hall; the parlor and dining room were to the left, and a stairway on the right led up to the second story.

“Um, make yourself at home,” she said. “I'll be right down.”

She was glad she'd left everything neat, and she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of in the way she'd decorated the place. It was filled with art, much of it done by local friends who displayed their work in Jackson Square. She had one friend who did wonderful charcoal sketches of famous actors and actresses, several of which were displayed on one parlor wall. As she hurried up the stairs, she figured she would grab a few more jeans and shirts, since she'd packed mainly casual dresses.

She had to get something else, too.

She dug into a drawer and had just slipped her quarry into her pocket when she turned around and was surprised to find that Ethan had followed her upstairs and was standing in the doorway.

“So you really did need more clothes,” he said.

“Of course.”

“I thought you just wanted to be with me.”

She hesitated, then threw a pair of jeans on the bed. “I really did want to see Terese,” she said.

“What else is real, Charlie?” he asked her.

She stood still, looking at him, then shook her head and said softly, “No matter what things look like, I know my father. And he didn't kill anyone.”

He nodded and walked into her room.

She was really glad she hadn't left it trashed.

She stared as he stepped closer, watching her.

Studying her.

And then he came straight over and drew her into his arms. His eyes barely met hers before he bent and kissed her, his mouth a seduction, the firm pressure of the kiss so unexpected that for a moment the sensations it aroused rippled through her, too strong for her even to think straight.

She didn't pull away.

Instead she savored the kiss as his tongue parted her lips and warmth flooded through her in a rush that felt as powerful as the Mississippi. His hand cupped her cheek, and she wound her arms around his neck, returning touch for touch. She felt as if something, too long held back, had ripped free in a turbulent explosion. She didn't want to think, she wanted to explore his mouth as he did hers, let the hot liquid fire of the kiss consume them.

And then, breathless and torn, they pulled back at the same time, but they didn't break the embrace.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “No...no... I'm an idiot. I've gone all these years remembering what I felt for you. It's just...”

“You have the right to close the door, walk away. Maybe you should. I don't think you ever understood how hard it was for me when I was the one who walked away. Maybe you
should
walk away, for your own sanity, or for...”

She laughed, loving everything she saw in his eyes. “For revenge? Honestly, Ethan, I think we're both too old for that. But I'm afraid. I've had a life. I mean, I didn't join a cloister or anything, but... I just never found anyone like you.”

He smiled and smoothed a stray strand of hair from her face. “I never found anyone remotely like you, either,” he breathed.

For a long moment they simply stood there. Charlie realized she was shaking. She had wanted him, dreamed about him, for years, and now...

Now he was holding her. Now he had kissed her.

And then he let go of her and stepped back. “We have to go,” he said huskily. “We have to get back. We're in the middle of a murder investigation. And while I'm sure my coworkers would understand, they'll be calling out every agent in New Orleans if we don't get back soon.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, glad she still had a voice.

She grabbed some clothes, tossed them into a tote bag and then started to brush past him to reach the door.

He pulled her back.

One more kiss. Deep, sensual, provocative—and filled with promise.

She returned that kiss with vital hunger and need...

And a promise of her own.

Dreams did come true. Even in the middle of a nightmare.

* * *

Ethan felt his phone buzzing in his pocket as they headed back; he picked it up quickly. As he'd expected, it was Jude.

“Sorry, I should have called,” he answered, glancing at Charlie. “We're headed back now.”

“Great. We'll wait until you're in, then lock the place down. Luckily your parents have a good alarm system.”

“They have an FBI agent for a son,” Ethan said, then added a quick goodbye and hung up.

After Ethan parked, he hurried around the car to open the passenger door. When and where he'd grown up, it was the thing to do—and it was a hard habit to break, even though it offended some women he'd come across.

Charlie wasn't offended—she'd grown up in the same place at the same time, after all—but she didn't move, either.

She looked up at him, something unreadable in her eyes. “I have to tell you the truth,” she said softly.

“That you did go behind my back to arrange your little undercover stunt on the
Journey
?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I mean, yes, I wanted to do that, because Anson McKee pointed to the river, and I'm sure he meant that's where we'll find the answer. But, no, that's not what I meant.”

“Okay, what
did
you mean?”

She turned to look at him, blue eyes tormented. “I saw Selma Rodriguez.”

“I thought you might have. You had that deer-in-the-headlights look in your eyes when we came into the office. I figured you'd say something when you were ready,” he said. “So...?”

“She said Corley mentioned meeting my father—Dad was good friends with both Farrell and Albion,” Charlie said, then quickly added, “My father had nothing to do with this. I don't care what it looks like. My dad...my dad is a good man, a man who would help anyone. He's not a killer.”

“Look, it's natural that you don't like hearing anything that implicates your father. Yes, he's an ass to me sometimes. And the evidence is really shaking me, but in my heart I still don't believe he did it—and that has nothing to do with the fact that he's your father. So don't worry, okay?”

She smiled. “Good,” she said softly. She looked at the house, and color flooded her cheeks. “So...where am I sleeping?”

“Well, I
was
trying to take things slow,” he said.

“Yes, exactly.”

“But even so, I was kind of hoping you'd sleep in my room. It's not terribly exciting. I was out of the house when my folks moved to New Orleans, so none of my old
Sports Illustrated
and heavy-metal band posters are on the wall, but my mom did buy me a really comfortable bed.”

Charlie looked at him and laughed. “This is what you call taking things slow?”

“We
were
slow. We left your place and came here.”

At last Charlie smiled, so he offered his hand and she stepped out of the car. “Got to check in with Jude and Thor first,” he told her as they headed to the front door.

That was going to be easy enough to do, seeing as Jude opened the door as they reached it. “Glad you're back. It's always good to know everyone is accounted for.”

“What's going on here?” Ethan asked Jude.

“I was just making coffee. Want some?” Jude offered.

“Sure.”

“I guess I'll go on up,” Charlie murmured.

He refrained from telling her where his room was and potentially embarrassing her in front of Jude. She would figure it out.

“Thor, Alexi and Clara have already gone up,” Jude said. “I'll hang down here until Thor comes down. You can have the six o'clock watch. Work for you?” he asked, looking at Ethan.

“Sounds good,” Ethan said, following him into the kitchen.

“Anything new?” he asked Jude. “You talk to Jackson or anyone?”

Jude nodded, pouring coffee and handing Ethan a cup. “Jackson has spoken with the
Journey
management. They're feeling pretty stressed, can't believe another of their ships might be involved in a murder. They're happy to cooperate with us in any way.
Journey
security—a small, four-man force—has been alerted to our presence. There are only going to be 402 people aboard, including crew and entertainment.”

“I can't imagine this killer is a casual cruiser.”

“No, I'm pretty sure what's happening is happening in port. Which doesn't clear Jonathan Moreau.”

“Yes, and I believe, based on the implications of what Charlie said, that Albion Corley was planning to see him.”

“You know that because...?”

“Charlie saw Selma Rodriguez.”

“I had a feeling. I'm glad she was ready to tell you. She has to learn to trust us. And she will.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, rinsing out his cup and setting it in the drainer. “I guess I'll go up, then. Good night.”

“Good night.” Then, after a moment, Jude said, “Hey, Ethan.”

“Yeah?”

“I don't know Jonathan Moreau, but you do. Charlie does. And if you're sure he didn't do this, that's enough for us to be looking at why someone thought they could make use of him when setting up the murders.”

“Thanks. And, yeah, I'm sure,” Ethan said.

He left Jude in the kitchen and started up the stairs. He realized his heart was pounding as if he were a kid again. All he had to do was think about Charlie, and it seemed he was kinetic with electricity.

She might not even be there; she could have changed her mind.

It was a big house. She might have found a different room.

His bedroom door was closed. A good sign?

He paused, knocking on the door.

“Ethan?”

He barely heard her whisper, and he was almost as quiet when he answered, “Yes.”

“Come in.”

He walked into his room, quickly shutting the door behind him.

She was there, very much there. It was like a replay from a decade ago.

A beautiful, unbelievable replay.

She was stretched out on his bed, chestnut hair spreading over the pillows. She was propped up on one elbow, facing the door, naked and waiting for him, just as she had been a decade ago. For a moment she appeared to be the absolute height of sensual sophistication, and then she said nervously, “I thought I'd better make sure it was you. I mean, I had a friend who did something like this once. There was a knock...and she told the UPS man to come in.”

“No, it's me,” he said huskily.

“I see,” she said softly. “And if you walk out that door this time, you'll never get this chance again.”