CHAPTER ONE
“Please don’t let me break down here,” Marie Robichaud pleaded. The knocking in the engine of her 1998 Camry had started about a hundred miles outside of Dallas, but the clanging was new. Her high beams hit nothing but highway and her rearview mirror was dark—no street lights, no other traffic. The latter wasn’t a surprise given the hour—3:20 a.m.
She stroked the dashboard. “Come on, baby. Please get me to Shreveport.” Which, according to the sign she’d passed less than a mile back, was thirty-three miles ahead just over the Louisiana state line. “After everything we’ve been through together, don’t let me get stuck in Texas.”
A couple of hundred yards later a boom under the hood became a death rattle of grinding metal.
“No! Not here. Not now.” Her hands trembled on the steering wheel and tears stung her eyes. The exhaustion she’d been fighting for a thousand miles stole the last of her energy. So close and so far.
She popped the hood and armed herself with a pen light from a techie tradeshow. Her door emitted a half groan-half squeak and she paused to stretch multiple stiff muscles. After driving for two days through desert and ranch land, she could almost taste the sweet, humid air of New Orleans. No matter where she went, in her heart she’d known she’d return home one day. Louisiana was in her blood—the crawfish and gumbo and jazz and voodoo. In the desert, she’d even missed the swamps—crazy people, alligators and all.
And now the damned Toyota had died in Texas.
Even before she lifted the hood, the stench of burnt metal assaulted her. The last time she’d put in oil was Las Vegas—fourteen hundred miles ago. If any of the dashboard gauges worked, they might have warned her of impending doom. They’d died fifty thousand miles ago along with her faith in mankind.
Lots of smoke but no fire, so she climbed back in the car to wait, cursing her decision to leave her cell behind so Lance couldn’t trace it. She hadn’t had enough money for a burner, or anyone to call on it for that matter, so waiting was her only option. And hoping whoever stopped wasn’t a serial killer or rapist.
Marie’s stomach growled. Checking for any missed fries in the bottom of the Dairy Queen bag from dinner, her fingers came out empty and greasy. All that remained of the candy bars and donuts from the gas station in Wichita Falls were sticky wrappers.
She sighed and swigged warm water from the bottle she’d bought in Amarillo. No way was she going to think about the all-you-can-eat Paradise Buffet or start wishing she was back in the furnished apartment with Lance. He’d cheated her, then cheated on her. Just another forgettable loser in a long line of disappointments. But this time was different. The grand prize was tucked safely in her tote and about to change her life forever.
Headlights grew in the rearview mirror. Nervously she pressed the hazards, which miraculously started blinking. A gazillion grisly tales, all starting out with a woman stranded on a deserted highway, began looping through her brain. She fidgeted with the Derringer in the cup holder. Why hadn’t she appropriated Lance’s 9mm on her way out?
The vehicle slowed as it approached, then pulled over in front of her, engaging its flashing lights too. A white SUV with California plates. In the eerie blinking lights the man who got out was tall enough that his face remained shadowed. He was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, nice physique, not old. In a nutshell, physically capable of overpowering her. As he approached, she palmed her pistol and got out.
“Car trouble?” His voice was smooth, deep, with the hint of a British accent.
“The ole girl’s been leaking oil. I figure she ran dry and burnt up.”
He sniffed and grimaced. “Smells like you killed it all right. Can I give you a ride?”
She studied him. Getting in the car with him was risky. Clearing her mind, she concentrated on sensing his thoughts and got nothing. Uh oh. That rarely happened and when it did, things usually turned out badly.
He held out his hand. “I’m Victor Durand.”
She stayed where she was. Clearly he hadn’t seen the same TV shows she had.
“I’m a good guy. Promise.”
“You’d say that if you were a serial killer.”
“Probably. But it’s true.”
He smiled, and her stomach did a little flip. Really? Hadn’t she sworn off the whole male gender, especially the gorgeous, charming variety? And yet she trusted her ability to read auras and he wasn’t putting off a negative vibe.
With an inward sigh she shook his still-outstretched hand. “Marie Robichaud.”
“Have you called anyone to come for you? Triple A? A friend? The police?”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Lots of people don’t have cell phones.”
He nodded like she’d said lots of people have two heads. “How about this—you can use mine and I’ll wait with you until your ride comes.”
What he held out didn’t look like any phone she’d ever seen. “Is that a new iPhone?”
“No. It’s a prototype made by another company. All you have to do is hold it like this…” He placed it in her hand. “And say ‘Call’ then recite the number.”
Which would be great if there was anyone for her to phone. And given what was in her tote, summoning the police was out of the question. She glanced at the inky horizon. “Where are you headed?”
“New Orleans.”
Her alternatives were nil and her instincts said he was okay. “Would you mind dropping me off at the Eldorado Casino in Shreveport? It’s only a few blocks off the highway.”
“A casino?”
“I’ve got friends there.” The lie came easily.
He eyed the smoking wreckage. “What about your car?”
“It’s dead and it’s not worth getting fixed.” She gestured to it sadly. “I’ll get my stuff? There isn’t much.”
In fact, everything she owned was crammed into two reusable grocery sacks and an overnight bag in the trunk. Made moving on easier. A day or two playing poker in Shreveport and she’d have enough money for a cheap hotel in New Orleans.
They transferred everything to the back seat of his vehicle and got in.
The tan leather seats smelled expensive and no fast food bags or empty coke cans littered the floor. Spotless interior, charming good Samaritan. She smoothed her travel-snarled hair. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome.” Victor started the truck. “Just one request.”
“What?” she asked warily.
“Please unload the gun and put it in your handbag. I’ve had a long couple of days and would prefer that you don’t accidentally shoot me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Marie frowned. “How did you know I had a gun?”
If Victor answered honestly she’d either jump out of the car or use the pistol on him. “Just put it away, please.”
Reluctantly she did as he asked and wedged her worn pink vinyl tote on the floor next to the door.
“Happy?” Her tone clearly declared she wasn’t.
“Thank you.”
Victor put the Macan in drive and pulled onto the highway. Whoever Marie Robichaud was, she wasn’t what he’d expected, even though he’d followed her cross-country for the last fourteen hundred miles. For one thing, there was no way this girl had the means or the skill to steal the Ameretat from the Getty Villa Museum. Second, she had a raw psychic talent he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
She folded her arms across her chest and sat stiffly, knees pressed together. With her short, pink tipped platinum blonde hair, tank top and cut-off shorts, she could have passed for a petulant teenager. The colorful tattoo covering her shoulder was surprisingly well executed—quite beautiful, if you liked that sort of thing, which he didn’t. Then there were the multiple piercings in each ear and the diamond stud on the side of her nose. He smiled as he probed her thoughts. She wasn’t afraid of him, just annoyed that probing his mind didn’t work.
“So what’s your business?” she asked.
“I’m a collector.”
“What do you collect?”
“Rare objects, curiosities, art, antiques, religious relics.” He paused for effect. “And antique jewels.”
Bingo. She swiveled her head and studied him in the dashboard lights. She didn’t know what she had in her possession, only that the gold and the precious stones were real and worth a lot of money.
He continued. “I picked up some unusual items in New Orleans last time I was there. I have a client with very deep pockets who will pay well for authentic mystical objects.”
She shrugged. “You’re heading to the right place. There’s all kinds of crazy shit down there. Most of it’s crap made for Voodoo tourists.”
“You can tell the difference between the real articles and the fake? Maybe you could help me locate some objects. I’d pay you.”
She shook her head. “I’m staying in Shreveport.”
“Think about it.” He took a business card from the center console and handed it to her. “I’ll be there for a week or so. Call me if you change your mind.”
She slipped it in her tote.
They rode in silence. Finding the Ameretat necklace was only part of his mission—it was tucked in the pink plastic bag six feet away. The other part was identifying who stole it. Marie was no mastermind, so how did she come to have it?
“I don’t have to be in New Orleans any particular time,” he said. “And I could use a shower and food. I’ll rent a room, and if you want, you can stay there overnight after I leave.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she snapped.
“I don’t expect you to. You said you don’t have much money, so I offered. Your choice.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and found her studying him.
She nodded to the upcoming Shreveport sign. “This is our exit.” She fingered one of her earrings. “You’ll really let me stay in your room when you go?”
“Yes.”
Her chin lifted slightly. “And you won’t come back later wanting sex?”
“Are you inviting me?” He was beginning to enjoy himself.
“Hell, no!” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
He feigned indignation. “I’ve been told ‘no’ before but this is my first ‘hell, no.’”
“No offense but good-looking men are trouble I don’t need.”
“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
Her deep sigh conveyed her impatience. “Like you’ve never looked in a mirror.” She waved a hand. “And with this car, your clothes and that watch, you might as well wear a sign that says RICH. Guys like you use girls like me.”
“The voice of experience?”
“Something like that. Hang a left and this road’ll take us to the Eldorado.”
Marie squirmed in her seat as they approached the casino.
“You’ve been here before?” His job would be finished faster if he used his telepathy, even if it was an invasion of her privacy. He probed her thoughts anyway.
“A while back. Nothing much changes in these parts.” Although she was hoping the dealer who had hit on her was gone. She pointed at the Self-Parking sign opposite the casino entrance. “It’s cheaper to park in the garage.”
He pulled in and found a spot. Marie hopped out of the Macan and yanked open the back door. She slung the grocery bags over one shoulder and her overnight bag over the other.
“I could help you with those,” he said.
“I’m good.” With the handles of the ugly pink tote hanging from her wrist, she watched him lift his leather bag out of the back of the SUV. He wasn’t surprised that she recognized his Hermes weekender.
Check-in went smoothly—a standard king room and two keys. The woman at reception eyed them knowingly and Marie bristled. Victor smiled at her reaction—clearly Marie picked-up on the woman’s assumption that Marie was a cheap hooker to Victor’s wealthy john.
“What did you expect her to think?” he asked as they walked away. “Your luggage consists of two Las Vegas grocery store bags.”
“What do you mean?” The impact of her scowl suffered from her flip-flops slapping as she trotted to keep up with him.
“You know damned well what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” She was trying to convince herself he couldn’t know about her ability. No, there was no way. Maybe she should slip out of the room while he was in the shower. But then what would she do with her stuff while she was playing poker?
Victor eavesdropped on her internal argument all the way to the room. He was tempted to just take the necklace and telepathically force her to tell him how she got it. The theft had been highly professional and expensive, like several other heists around the world over the last two years. And like the others, the Ameretat necklace had mystic properties that interested both the Durand family and their enemies. He firmly believed the means justified the ends. He also believed in the restorative power of a hot shower and a decent meal.
He shoved the key card in the slot. His hand brushed across the side of her tote bag when she entered the room. The Ameretat’s power tingled on his skin through the vinyl—a soothing, energizing sensation.
“This is nice,” she said. “Real nice.”
A glance over her head at the décor confirmed his expectations. The furniture was tired, the brown and orange patterned carpet sported some suspicious stains, and he wouldn’t be surprised if a black light turned up all kinds of repulsive fluids on the bedspread. “Glad you like it.”
She dropped her bags on the floor next to a dented armoire and stretched out on the king size bed.
Victor cringed. “Do you want to take your shower first?”
She pulled a pillow under her head. “Go ahead. I’m happy for now.”
###
Of course Victor had taken his bag into the bathroom with him, crushing her hope to rifle through it. The guy’s story was crap. Nobody that smooth and sophisticated drove to New Orleans with vague plans to buy voodoo shit. And he had money. Who stripped the name and insignia off their Porsche? She didn’t know much about cars, but she recognized the Porsche symbol on the corner of the floor mat.
She slid off the bed to explore the room. The armoire held a TV and a mini-bar she’d raid later when she was alone. The closet held the usual laundry bags, hangers and a tiny safe. For a moment she considered stashing the necklace there while she played poker, then discarded that idea. No way the necklace was leaving her possession in this place.
She pulled the jeweler’s box from her tote and opened it. The intricate gold work and precious stones glowed on the black velvet, begging her to try the necklace on. The metal was warm as she hooked the clasp behind her neck and gazed into the full-length mirror in the closet door.
The reflection was her. Who else would it be? And yet her eyes were more green and gold than hazel and brown, her skin smoother and more vibrant, and even her travel-weary, bleached hair looked shiny and healthy. She stuck out her chest and smoothed her tank top over breasts that appeared fuller and sexier than they had before. She cupped them and felt their weight. Maybe it was the light or maybe just wearing a priceless necklace made her feel beautiful and powerful. No wonder rich women loved their diamonds.
The stones sparkled with an other-worldly light she could almost hear flickering. The chilled air tingled against her skin and assaulted her nose with countless smells she couldn’t identify.
The shower was still running. She could hear the splashing of water against the walls, on skin. Victor’s skin. Involuntarily her imagination conjured the image of him naked—the broad muscled shoulders, chiseled chest that his light knit shirt had fit so snuggly. Her body responded with a need she hadn’t felt in a long time. They were in a hotel room. Alone. Together.
She shook herself. What was she thinking? He was trouble she didn’t need. Reluctantly she took off the necklace and carefully laid it back in its box. With a final brush of her fingers over the center diamond, she closed the cover and the latch clicked. Thanks to her unconventional upbringing, she knew people in New Orleans who would pay well for the jewels, no questions asked—which was why she was headed there. That necklace would fund her new life and give her the chance to be something more than a card shark in third rate casinos.
Marie shoved the box to the bottom of her tote. She opened her overnight bag and rummaged in it for her white jean skirt and a yellow blouse in some man-made fabric that didn’t wrinkle badly. If she was going to win enough money to get to New Orleans, she needed to look respectable and harmless. She smiled to herself. It had been a long time since she’d been either.
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