The Dead Tell (Magical Temptations Collection) (12 page)

The
—

A dark image stood in front of him, flashed closer.
Dark hair, flowing and whipping around her face. Her whole being was shadows. He heard her scream just as he was almost upon her. Her face was right in front of his, in the car. He yelled and jerked the wheel.

He felt the car veer.
Felt the tilt, the roll, as the car careened over the embankment. Metal scraping and screeching, glass breaking.

His head slammed into the steering wheel,
blurring the world around him even as the water rushed in. He blinked and tried to focus, but things were fuzzy.

Water gurgled, no
, rushed.

That wasn
’t right, it wasn’t flooding, now was it? Car, he was in the car. He needed to get out. He grabbed the door handle and shoved, but the door wouldn’t budge. He was upside down. He tried to get his seatbelt off. Tried to press the plastic, but it wouldn’t depress.

The belt seemed to tighten as water rushed in now touching his head.

He glanced to his window, saw nothing but murk, but then her face was there again. Dark, pale, shadowed. Angry. She floated closer, her dark eyes glowing with black fire. Closer. Closer. The skin peeled and flaked off her face. She opened her mouth to kiss him.

He yelled but no one heard.

Mike paced the room.

“
Calm down,” St. Cyr told him.

He didn
’t even bother looking at his partner.

“He
has
her. Do
not
tell me to calm down,” he bit out.

The bastard had Paige
. He had her. They knew it. She was supposed to meet him at three, was supposed to be back around two with Sammy, but she hadn’t showed, and hadn’t answered her texts. The one vague text sent, wasn’t her.  Something about it was off. Even Sammy had thought so. There had been too many abbreviations for Paige, who spelled everything out. After that, nothing. Silence. Calls went straight to voicemail and she hadn’t answered any text either he or Sammy sent.

They couldn’t even find a signal from her damned phone.

Sammy had called her brother and St. Cyr. Now the Riggios were looking, the police were looking. They’d only found the bastard’s house an hour ago.

So many photos.
Eight women total. Five local women. Three they knew about. The fourth was in Donaldsonville; the cops there were sending in what they knew, which was very little. The house, no one had let him in the house, though St. Cyr had let him know that her clothing was found. He’d only known that because they’d asked him what she’d been wearing that day and he knew.

But now?
Now, he was pacing. They wouldn’t let him look in the other room. No blood was found. He’d taken a swing at St. Cyr, who, along with the oldest Riggio, had pinned him to the wall. No blood, no sign of struggle, but her clothing. Her purse.

No phone.

“Where are they? Where did the bastard take Paige?” he asked no one as he continued to pace.

There was
blood in another room. Another room down the hall, barren.

What it all meant, he had no idea. He only knew he had to find her. What was the bastard doing to her?

“You need to calm down. We’ll find them.” St. Cyr spoke to another crime tech.  People bustled around him in a familiar dance he didn’t understand.

“No sign of her phone yet?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

St. Cyr just leveled a look at him. Mike growled, raked a hand through his hair and kept pacing. They’d find her soon.

They had to find her soon. He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
lose her now.

“What exactly are we doing?” he asked.

Nick Riggio leaned against the wall. “Crime techs are gathering evidence. We’ve looked at the photos, those are being studied by the cops and my firm, a couple of fed friends. Everyone is trying to find them. Local and state boys are on the lookout for a car he likely rented, though the receptionist at the rental counter wasn’t positive.”

“Does anyone know any—“
His phone dinged with a text.

He jerked it out of his pocket, swiped the screen, and saw the text was from Paige.

“Thank God!”

“
What?” Riggio asked.

He pressed the app to read the message
, and saw
you can find…
beside her name. “Another text from Paige. Let’s hope she actually sent this one.”

When it came up,
it took a few seconds for a photo to load. Two bodies lay next to a tombstone.

“
What the hell?” he asked.

He froze.

No.

No.

God, no.

Breath squeezed from his lungs and the blood iced in his veins. “No!”

Someone ripped the phone away from him.

“
You can find my muse at the old mission cemetery off...” He heard part of what St. Cyr said, but not all.

Movement scuffled all around him.

“We’ll go—”

“
I’m going.” He blinked and focused on his partner. “She’s mine. I’m fucking going.”

St. Cyr held his gaze then nodded.
“Fine. You ride, we’ll check it out and...”

“
I’m going,” he said already jogging for the door.

St. Cyr
cursed. Riggio followed them.

They and a couple of state troopers piled into their vehicles and took off, while he punched the location in the navigation system.

He looked again at his phone, the text still up on the screen, the tiny photo chilling everything in him.

“Hold on, babe. Just hold the fuck on,” he whispered.

It took forever, or seemed to take forever, as St. Cyr drove and ordered an ambulance and units out to the old cemetery. The radio squawked and sputtered, but he ignored it all.

Too damned long, it was taking too damned long.

“Can you drive faster?” he asked St. Cyr. They needed to hurry, time was running out. He knew it.

“I’m pushing ninety now,” St. Cyr muttered.

Let them get there. They had to get there. God, what had he done to her?

Please let her be alive.

The exit off the interstate took them down into bayou country.

“I hope to hell we don’t need a damned boat,” St. Cyr said.

Mike checked the navigation. “We won’t. Should be there in fifteen minutes.”

They beat
everyone else there.

He was out of the car before anyone could stop him.
Even with the limited light, he saw her, as he cemetery wasn’t that large. The posed women were near the front gate. Pale and dressed in white lying on the ground against an old tombstone.

“
No!”

Mike
ran, jumped over a grave and another tombstone. He lost his footing as the ground was damp, but kept going.

“
Killian!”

He ig
nored the shout and slid to his knees beside Paige. She was pale, so pale. So still. “No. No. God, baby, no.”

He reached out, noticed his hand trembled, and settled his hand on
her chest.

It took about two seconds, but he felt it.
Felt the rise on inhale, the quick beat of her heart. He then pressed two fingers against her neck. Yes, her pulse pounded there as well.

She was alive.
He gathered her into his arms and rocked her.
Thank God. Thank God. Thank you, God.

He frowned.
“Baby. Come on. Wake up.”

“
Killian?” Someone asked.

“
She’s alive.” He rolled her onto her back as someone crouched beside the other woman.

“
This one’s cold,” Riggio said.

This one was not. His girl was
not
cold.

She was warm. Breathing.

“She’s alive,” he repeated.

He heard her moan and it was the sweetest sound he
’d heard. He held her until the ambulance finally arrived. Once the EMTs were on the scene, they took over. He fought with them over him riding back to New Orleans with Paige in the ambulance. He didn’t want to leave her. She still hadn’t awoken and he didn’t want to leave her. Couldn’t leave her, couldn’t let her out of his sight.

The local sheriff and state boys wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t have time.
He didn’t.

“Let them do their job, Mike,” St. Cyr told him, his hand on his arm.

“I can’t leave her alone,” he muttered.

“You won’t.
Follow the ambulance into town. I’ll take care of this.”

He couldn’t let his partner do that, but he couldn’t just…

“I’ll drive you back,” Nick Riggio said.

He nodded.

They left St. Cyr there with the local sheriff
’s office and raced behind the ambulance. It was an even longer drive back to New Orleans.

“
You think he meant to leave her alive?” Riggio asked.

“
No idea. Don’t care. Only glad she is,” he answered. He’d damn well make sure she stayed that way.

* * *

The faint hush, quiet beeps
pulled her awake.

Where was she?

Carefully, she opened her eyes
.

Where was he?

Something beeped faster.

Darting looks to the corner of the room, she didn
’t see… Didn’t see…

Cohen.

The sounds filtered through from outside her room and she glanced to the side, noting the IV stand. She followed the line down to the needle in the back of her hand.

Hospital. She was in the hospital?

Her head ached, and it was dark.

There were dark shadows on the end of her bed.

“Shhh,” a voice said beside her.

Paige t
urned her head to the right. She frowned and tried to focus. The other women stood there.

“
Thank you. We’re safe now. We’re all safe. You’re safe,” the woman in white said in her soft echoing voice. “You were right. We worked together.”

She still wore
a red scarf but it was brighter somehow. Other women were standing with her. The woman in a forties outfit, another who looked like a Harvey Girl, and one dressed like a Victorian woman. A dark shadow shimmered in the corner behind them, seeming to draw all the energy from the room.

She shivered.

“We took care of him. No one ever has to worry again,” the woman in white whispered.

The lady. T
he ghosts. Cohen. His ramblings. The fear. She remembered it all. How did she get here?

She was alive. Alive and in a hospital
, but how had she gotten here?

Her breath came faster.

What if she was dead and didn’t know it, like they hadn’t known at first?

The woman smiled at her.
“You’re not dead. You’re safe. We are all safe now. He’s gone...”

They all stood quietly in the corner.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked them.

They smiled.  “Move on.”

“Go into the light?” she asked.

Soft laughter filled the air.

“Probably,” one of them answered.

“
Have fun over there,” she told them.

“You have fun over here
,” the lady in white told her. “Enjoy your life. Do
not
take it for granted. You never know when it’ll end.”

“
Okay,” she whispered with a nod.

A warm breeze filled the r
oom and the women were gone.

“
Paige?”

She knew that voice.
Mike.

“
Paige?”

She turned to look at him.
“I think it’s over.”

His
green eyes held her. She really liked his eyes. “Depends on what you’re talking about, babe.”

She blinked and looked again at the corner.
  “How did I get here? Why am I here?”

For a long minute he di
dn’t say anything. Then he stood, lacing his fingers with hers, and leaned in. Just at her mouth, he said, “Because I’m very, very lucky, baby.”

His lips softly kissed hers and something tense in her settled
, loosened, eased.

She pulled back a bit.
“We’re okay, aren’t we?”

“
Oh yeah. Better than okay now that I can see your beautiful hazel eyes.”

She smiled at him.

“No I mean, we’re all okay.”

“
Whoever is all okay? You’re okay, that’s all that matters to me.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “God. God. Just. I need a minute.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek.

“
I’m all right, Mike. I’m okay.”

He didn
’t say anything for a long, long minute. Just pressed his forehead to hers, his hand squeezing hers.

“
I’m warning you now. Chances are, I’m never, ever letting you out of my sight.”

She smiled. They
’d see about that.

“
They helped me, you know.”

He leaned back and sat on the edge of her bed.
“Who helped you?”

“
Them.”

His brows arched. He didn
’t ask who, he knew.

“
They’re okay too, now. We’re all fine.” She knew it. Felt it.

S
he’d learned something. No one was alone. Sooner or later even those who had passed on spoke. The trick was to listen.

From now on, she
’d be listening.

“
Love you, babe,” Mike said, his eyes bright, a muscle bunching in his jaw.