Blood on the Bayou

  “Why? What kind of—”

  “There are things I absolutely can’t tell you. Please.”

  I dig a fist into my flip-flopping stomach. “You’ve met this guy, haven’t you? It wasn’t just a note. You—”

  “Stop.” He rubs a hand down his face, as if he can wipe our conversation away. “I can’t say anything else. I have no idea who could be listening.”

  The hair at the back of my neck prickles. “Why?” I ask, then mouth silently, “Are you wearing a wire?”

  “No. I’m not wearing a wire,” he says out loud, eliminating the possibility that the truck is bugged.

  I relax. A little. “Okay . . .” I scan the area outside, but see nothing but road and trees and bayou and a single nutria slinking through the tall weeds and into the water with a slick splash. “So . . . I don’t get it. Who’s going to be listening? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yep.”

  “And we’re alone.”

  “It appears that way.”

  My brow furrows, and the seed of a wonderful, horrible suspicion plants itself in my mind. Horrible, because the thought of Hitch being a player in the Invisible Drama is horrible. Wonderful, because I might not be alone. There might be someone I can talk to about all this. Someone who, unlike Tucker, is not the enemy.

  At least I don’t think he is.

  “I need you to explain,” I say.

  “I can’t tell you anything else.” His jaw clenches, and a hint of his usual stubbornness hardens his expression.

  “You can,” I insist.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should care.”

  “I need to—”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Tell me, goddamnit!”

  “I can’t!” he shouts. “And you wouldn’t believe me, anyway!”

  “You don’t know that. Think about this for a second, Hitch. I told you I can manipulate matter with my mind. And I really can. My game is off today, but I swear I’m telling the truth.”

  “Annabelle—”

  “I can work magic.” I refuse to let his pitying expression divert me from my course. “And I’ve seen other people do even wilder things. So please . . . try me. You might be surprised what I’ll believe.”

  He hesitates, but only for a second. “This is different.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t,” he says. “You have to drop this, or I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”

  “It’s too late for safe. It was too late the minute you asked me to help you.”

  “I’m sorry.” A hint of guilt creeps into his voice. “I needed someone who could get information, and I didn’t have time to find someone else I could trust. I swear I would never have put you in danger if—”

  “I don’t care,” I say, simultaneously touched and confused by his “trust.” How can trust exist amidst all the lies we’ve told each other?

  Unless . . . maybe . . .

  Maybe trust isn’t inextricably tied to truth. Maybe trust is like faith, something you believe in without necessarily knowing all the facts. Something that feels right and real, even when the supporting arguments are weak and the evidence sketchy at best.

  Maybe I should trust Hitch, and quit pushing. Maybe I should trust in how good it felt to be with Cane last night, and mark spying on him off my schedule. Maybe I should don a habit and devote my life to the church and swear off meat and potatoes and liquor and men and lead a life of quiet contemplation as the bride of a god I’ve never seen and rarely felt on the off chance that heaven is real.

  For some people faith is enough, but I know myself better. I need facts.

  “I’m fine with being in danger.” I turn the key in the ignition, shutting down the Land Rover and our forward progress until I get what I’m after. “The truth is worth a little danger.”

  Hitch sighs, and I see the war he wages with himself played out in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Wrinkle, smooth, wrinkle, smooth, and then finally he says, “Whatever this man gave Stephanie isn’t the only biological weapon he developed before he left the lab.”

  “Okay.”

  “He has others. And one of them . . .” He breaks off with a frustrated sound. “This is pointless. We’re wasting time. You’re never—”

  “What’s the weapon do?”

  His looks up, resignation and misery mixing in his eyes, and I know I’m about to get the goods. “It makes people appear . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Not . . . there.”

  My heart lurches. “You mean . . .”

  “Invisible.” His laughter is tight, breakable. “It makes people fucking invisible.”

  The world does another sloppy omelet flip, but this time Hitch and I are on the same side of the pan, sizzling together, trapped in the same hot bed of insanity and magic.

  There’s only one question left unanswered.

  I open my mouth to ask him who he’s been in contact with: the Big Man, Tucker, another Invisible I’ve yet to meet—because I’ve been assured there are more. But before I can speak, a shadow falls across the hood of the car. A shadow with a head and arms and manly shoulders, but no body attached.

  None that we can see, anyway . . .

  The shadow shifts and stretches as whoever’s standing in front of the car circles around to the driver’s side. I instinctively reach for the keys to start the truck and get the hell out of here, but Hitch’s hand whips out, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t. Let me talk to him.”

  “You know this person?”

  “If it’s the person who’s been following me since I left New Orleans, yeah.”

  “And what if it’s not?” I hiss, cringing away from the window as the shadow spills across my lap. “There’s more than one of them.”

  I feel Hitch’s surprise in the flinch of his fingers, but before he can say a word, the shadow knocks at the window and a familiar voice drawls, “Come on out, girl.”

  Tucker. I pull in a ragged breath, but don’t know whether to trust the relief rushing in my chest. Tucker has been friendly lately—more than friendly—but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to kill me. And maybe Hitch, too. Why else would he be out here?

  How is he out here? I didn’t hear a car behind us and there’s no way he could have followed us on foot all the way from Donaldsonville.

  “Is this the person who’s been following you?”

  “No,” Hitch says. “But the man I talked with said he’d send someone else to take care of me if—” He breaks off with a curse. “I knew better. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “You should have,” Tucker pipes up from outside, proving he could have heard every word we’ve said. “But that’s all right. Annabelle’s a friend of the cause. Aren’t you, Belly-welly?”

  Belly-welly? I can understand him skipping “Red” on the off chance Hitch remembers my “cousin” called me Red, but really. Belly? Welly? He should be shot. For the crime of uttering that nickname alone.

  “I don’t even know what ‘the cause’ is.” I can’t hide how angry I am. How could Tucker do this? Threaten the life of an innocent child?

  “You know him?” Hitch shifts closer to the passenger’s-side window. The atmosphere in the car shifts perceptively, shock and horror swelling like a balloon about to pop.

  I face him, knowing turning my back on Tucker for a few seconds won’t get us in any more trouble than we’re in already. “Don’t freak out on me,” I warn. “I tried to tell you the truth. I would have told you more, but you kept trying to have me committed! You thought I was crazy.”

  Hitch’s eyes slide from me, to the window where Tucker is still patiently waiting, and back again. “What was I supposed to think?”

  “You were supposed to believe me,” I say, exasperated. “You knew all about these weird bioweapons and invisible people and you still couldn’t connect the—” I almost say, “the shots and the people threatening to kill me
if I talk, to the weapons and the invisible people threatening to kill you if you talk,” but bite my lip at the last second.

  I’m not sure Tucker knows I’ve spilled the beans about the shots. On the off chance that he doesn’t, I can’t risk saying too much. Instead, I settle for, “You still couldn’t connect the dots?”

  Hitch’s gaze flickers again, but I can feel him starting to relax. “Guess I couldn’t.”

  “Well I guess you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

  “No, I’m not as smart as you think I am.” Hitch nods his head toward the window. “This person is a friend?”

  “No, not a friend,” I assure him, not wanting Hitch to think I’m buddy-buddy with the people who have put his child’s life in danger.

  “Aw, Belly-welly, that hurts.” Tucker’s easy laugh makes me want to strangle him. On some level I’ve acknowledged that Tucker is a dangerous man, but I honestly never believed he’d kill me, let alone a baby. He’s going to have to make this right. Now. Not after Hitch blows up this stupid lab.

  I meet Hitch’s eyes and make him a promise. “I’ll do whatever I can to convince him to help Stephanie and the baby.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you have to promise me you’ll stay here in the truck until I get back.”

  Hitch shakes his head. “No. I’m not letting you go out there without backup.”

  “Hitch, please, I—”

  “Just because I can’t see this guy, doesn’t mean I can’t make him bleed.”

  “Now I’m startin’ to feel offended.” Mean frosts Tucker’s tone. I’ve always guessed he could pull off menacing. Now I know. And fear. For Hitch, mostly, but I have to admit I’m not looking forward to getting out of the truck.

  What if Tucker’s talk about being a friend of the cause is pure bullshit? What if he’s planning to kill me as soon as I open the door?

  “He only asked me to get out, and this will go a lot better if it’s just me and him.” I know better than to say Tucker’s name. Hitch hasn’t connected this voice with my “cousin” and it’s better if it stays that way. The less Hitch knows, the safer he’ll be. “I don’t think he’ll hurt me.”

  “Now I’m flat-out offended.” Tucker’s drawl is humorless. He’s genuinely angry, and I need to get out there and do damage control before he gets any angrier.

  “Stay,” I warn Hitch. Before he can say a word, I’m out the door and slamming it closed. Tucker steps back a pace or two, but he’s still close enough for me to smell his salty, grassy, sun-baked scent. He always smells like the best of a summer day, but right now it’s not comforting.

  I can feel how angry he is; hear it in the stiff scuff of his boots as he leads me away from the truck. I follow his creeping shadow and the puffs of dust rising from the road, refusing to look back and give Hitch any encouragement to come after us. Still, as the road bends and Tucker keeps walking, I start to worry. There’s no way Hitch will stay in the truck if I walk out of his line of sight.

  “We’ve gone far enough.” I stop. “He won’t be able to hear us.”

  Tucker’s shadow pauses and shifts in a circle as he turns around. “But he’ll be able to see us. Won’t he, Red?”

  I shrug. “So?”

  “And he’ll be able to shoot me if he gets the mind to.”

  “He won’t shoot you.”

  “You sound pretty sure of him.” Tucker’s footprints puff closer, and his shadow falls across my face. “Why don’t you sound that sure of me?”

  I look up, guessing at where his eyes would be if I could see them. “Why should I sound sure of you? The first time we met you broke into my house and stabbed me with a needle.”

  “For your own good.”

  “And since then all you’ve done is sneak around, spy on my private moments, and make lying to me your new hobby.”

  “I’ve never lied to you.” He has the balls to sound hurt. Like this is about his feelings or my feelings or that feelings matter when a woman and a baby’s lives are at stake.

  My lip curls. “You’re even crazier than I thought you were.”

  “I’m not the one telling secrets that aren’t mine to tell, or inviting the FBI into the Big Man’s business. Seems to me you’re the—”

  “Hitch is already involved in the Big Man’s business, and you know it,” I say, voice shaking with anger. “How could you be a part of this?”

  “A part of what?”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Tucker. I want to know who did it.” I cross my arms, dig my fingers into my strangely cool skin. “Did the Big Man do the job himself, or did you drive down to New Orleans and attack a pregnant woman in her own home? And poison her? And maybe murder her and her baby if Hitch and I don’t find this stupid cave in time?”

  “You’re not going to find a cave down that road,” he says, bypassing my questions. “That’s the way to the Big Man’s compound. You drive into the middle of that, and he’ll kill you.”

  “What?” My arms fall to my sides. This can’t be right. It can’t be.

  “Maybe he’ll kill you now. Maybe he’ll decide to let you and the spook go about your business for him first, and kill you later. But you’ll be dead. He doesn’t want you knowing any more about his operation. Not anytime soon. And he sure as hell doesn’t want the FBI knowing where he’s based.”

  “That’s . . .” A part of me wants to keep pushing about the poisoning, but I can’t, not if what he’s saying is true. I point back over my shoulder. “Someone told me that was the way to the cave. Down that road, and then right, and then the second left.”

  “Someone told you a lie. Keep to those directions and you’ll land in the middle of the Big Man’s secret hideaway.”

  “Fuck.” That fucking fairy bastard. He was trying to get me killed. No wonder he called off his winged assassins. He set me up to walk into the jaws of death on my own two feet.

  “Who was it?” Tucker asks. “I can arrange for him or her to feel really bad about lying to you.”

  I pull off my sunglasses, ignoring the faint pain that flashes through my head. “Don’t ever offer to hurt anyone for me,” I whisper. “It makes me sick. I hate what I’ve learned about you today. Hate it.”

  “You haven’t learned anything about me,” he says. “I didn’t hurt that woman. And I won’t—Hold up.”

  I feel his fingers on my chin and flinch away. “My eyes are messed up again. Like right after I was bitten. That’s one of the many things I was trying to talk to you about while you were busy fondling Barbara Beauchamp.” Which reminds me . . . “Why are you even here? Did your massage therapist call in sick? Or did you decide to skip the rubdown to come spy on me?”

  “Barbara passed out on the couch in the parlor,” he says, confirming Fernando’s stories about Barbara’s taste for Kendall Jackson Chardonnay for breakfast. “I could tell you wanted to talk, so I came looking for you. I saw you and Hitch headin’ through the gate, and I followed you on my scooter. I wasn’t—”

  “You ride a scooter?”

  “Hybrid scooter. Goes forever on a tank of gas. Quiet, too.”

  Guess that explains why Hitch and I didn’t hear him following us. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time the Big Man offers me a present. You know, if my eyeballs don’t explode before then.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he says. “You’re just burning through the injection too fast.”

  “Why?”

  “Probably need to lay off the hard alcohol. It interferes with protein absorption near the end of a cycle. You should start feeling better once your body processes whatever you’ve drunk, but you’ll need another shot sooner than later.”

  “So it’s a protein.” I decide it’s not the best time to bring up the fact that I’ve lost track of the injections. Hopefully, now that we’re on the same page, I’ll be able to convince Hitch to tell me where he hid the shots and their loss will be a nonissue.

  “Yeah. It’s a protein. Partly,” Tuckers says. “So?”
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  “Just good to know. I was starting to wonder if I was shooting up some kind of bioweapon,” I say, taking a stab at confirming Hitch’s theory. “Like the one that makes you invisible.”

  Tucker snorts. “Your doctor friend really is dumber than you think he is.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Blinking out is part of being what we are,” Tucker says. “Has nothing to do with bioweapons.”

  Okay. But then . . . “So why can’t I disappear?”

  “I don’t know if we’re ready to talk about that yet.”

  “Jesus, Tucker.” I kick the dirt at our feet, making it swirl around his legs and settle in the folds of his jeans, giving him shape from the knees down. “Why don’t you grow a set?”

  “I have a set. I also have orders.”

  “Right.” I roll my eyes hard enough to make my headache worse.

  “Damn right, that’s right.”

  “Really, Bubba,” I say, voice oozing contempt. “Can you even take a shit without the Big Man leaning over the toilet telling you it’s coming out okay?”

  His hands are on my face again, but this time I can’t pull away. His fingers dig into my neck, holding me still as his blue, blue eyes swim into focus. Only his eyes, like an overgrown Cheshire Cat. “If the Big Man wants to own someone, he owns them, Annabelle.” It’s the first time he’s ever said my name, and it makes me shiver. “He’s got no moral shame. If anything or anyone gets in his way, or even thinks about gettin’ in his way, he takes care of the problem. Do you understand me?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Don’t ever love anyone more than you do right now.” His grip gentles, becoming more caress than capture. His fingertips trace the line of my jaw with a tenderness that makes me ache for him, for whomever it is he loves, for the person I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get to touch like this anymore. “Don’t ever let him have that on you.” His floating eyes are full of pain, and I want to offer some kind of comfort.

  But you don’t hug a man who does the things Tucker does.