The Betrayed (14 page)

Danae sucked in a breath.

“Hit both my shoulders like a freight train,” Amos continued. “I took a step back, trying to get my balance, but he’d hit me too hard. I twisted my ankle on the way down, then banged it pretty good on the stone patio.”

“Who shoved you? Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Because no one would have believed me.”

“Why not? You were turning around. You had a clear view of your attacker.”

Amos shook his head, his eyes wide. “Wasn’t no one there.”

“I don’t understand. You said someone pushed you...”

“Yep, and that’s the God’s honest truth. Felt his fingers pushing into the tops of my shoulders, but couldn’t see a thing.”

She sucked in a breath. “You’re saying a ghost pushed you?”

“I know what it sounds like, which is why I lied. But I don’t want to lie to Ophelia’s girls, and I don’t want any of you in danger in that house.”

“And you think we’re in danger?”

Amos nodded. “Your stepfather was a nasty man. I ain’t got no proof of it, but I’d dare and say he was evil. I stuck around all those years because I knew one day you and your sisters would return. I knew it in my heart. But after your mother passed, things felt different. Heavy, like something was constantly pressing down on me, trying to smother me.”

Danae nodded. “It’s an oppressive atmosphere.”

“Exactly. Your stepfather never liked you girls. Never liked anyone being in the house unless it couldn’t be helped and took darn near an act of God to get him out of it.”

She stared at him. “You think my stepfather is haunting the house?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t think he’s ever left. That feeling I always got when I was alone in the house with him is still there. And I could swear I smelled Wild Turkey when I fell. He was always drinking Wild Turkey. I haven’t been able to stand the smell for over twenty years.”

Danae took a deep breath and blew it slowly out, trying to make sense of what the caretaker said. His expression—half earnest, half afraid—told her that he believed every word he’d said. But was his aging mind playing tricks on him?

“Why would my stepfather haunt the house?”

Amos shook his head. “My granny used to say that your spirit only stuck around on this earth if your body died and your soul was vexed.”

“Like if someone was in a highly emotional state or a crisis?”

“Yep.”

“But that doesn’t make sense for Purcell. He had a mansion to live in and didn’t have to work. What could be keeping him here?”

“Anger.”

She stared at Amos, the conversation with Carter playing back in her mind. “Carter found out Purcell didn’t have free access to the estate money—just an allowance and the ability to buy assets of approved value. Carter thinks he was buying stuff and then selling it for the cash.”

Amos nodded. “That very well could be. Whenever he’d show himself, he was usually grumbling about being stuck in the house. I always thought it was odd that he stayed as he didn’t seem to like anything about it, but if what you say is true, then I guess he couldn’t leave.”

“Not unless he wanted to support himself, and apparently, he was willing to give up his life to avoid work.” She shook her head. “I’ve known some lazy people in my day, but never anything like that. It doesn’t make sense.”

Amos narrowed his eyes at her. “It does if he was hiding from someone even worse than him.”

The conversation with Amos ran through Danae’s mind a hundred times on the drive to her cabin. Carter’s cursory check into Purcell’s background had yielded almost nothing but maybe he’d find more in New Orleans. Maybe the fingerprints would give them some information about the mysterious man who’d removed her mother from society and given away her children as if they were unwanted pets.

Maybe Amos was right. Maybe Purcell used Ophelia’s remote estate to escape a worse fate. When she’d died, he probably thought he would collect an amount of money that allowed him to go to the far reaches of the earth to hide from his past. And when he heard the terms of the will, he got angry.

His escape to Calais became his prison.

Chapter Fourteen

Carter paced the interview room at the New Orleans Police Station, his coffee sitting forgotten and cold on the table. His former captain hadn’t even hesitated when Carter had asked him to lift and run the prints, and he’d been astounded when Carter told him about all the trouble going on in the tiny town of Calais.

The captain had warned him the lab was backed up and it might take a while, but Carter didn’t have any business in New Orleans other than Purcell and no other leads if the fingerprints didn’t provide them. He reached for the coffee and sighed when he felt the cold cup. Maybe he should take a walk around the block—something just to get out of the building.

Just as he made up his mind to leave, the door opened and the captain walked in, carrying a stack of paper. His expression left no doubt that not only had he found something, but that he also didn’t like it.

“You’ve really stepped in the middle of a hornet’s nest,” the captain said. “Those prints hadn’t been loaded five minutes before the computer screen started whirling so fast I was afraid it would fry. I printed it all out and hurried in here before the phone calls start.”

Carter stared. “Who was he—D. B. Cooper?”

“Close enough. His real name was Raymond Lambert, and he was a hit man for the Primeaux family. They run a lot of the adult-trade business in New Orleans and dabble a bit in threats and extortion. Got a couple of politicians in their pocket, if you ask me, but I haven’t been able to put a case together yet.”

Carter slumped onto the table. “You’re kidding me. What the hell was a hit man doing in Calais?”

“My guess is he was hiding. Says here that word on the street was old man Primeaux put a price on his head, but no one has ever heard why. Lambert simply disappeared twenty-five years ago and everyone figured someone from the Primeaux family had caught up with him.”

“That definitely fits with what little I know about the man. Everyone assumed he was agoraphobic, but maybe he was just lying low to avoid the risk of being identified.”

“Seems an odd choice to make for a man in his mid-forties, but some people will do almost anything to avoid an honest day’s work. He probably figured he could eventually talk the widow into leaving Louisiana.”

“Probably,” Carter agreed. “The police didn’t look into his disappearance?”

“Of course—we’re cops. But you know how those families operate. They close ranks and you can’t get anyone talking, not even about each other.”

“So he left New Orleans and became Trenton Purcell and romanced a young widow for her fortune.”

“Looks like. What I don’t understand is, why didn’t he leave Calais after the widow died?”

“I can answer that one,” Carter said and gave the captain a rundown of the terms of the estate.

When he finished, the captain whistled. “I bet he was madder than a hornet. Probably thought he’d won the lottery when she passed so young, and then finds out he’s tied to those four walls in the middle of the swamp unless he wants to leave with the shirt on his back. That probably didn’t do anything to improve his disposition.”

“He was a nasty man. The more I find out about him, the more I wish he was still alive so that I could throttle him myself.”

The captain nodded. “There’s a name in the file—an FBI agent who was working up a case against the family about the time Lambert disappeared. He’s retired now, but still lives in New Orleans. I wrote his name and phone number on the top of the printout. Thought if you had time, you might want to talk to him.”

Carter took the printout from the captain and glanced at the name and telephone number penciled on the top sheet. “Yeah, that would be great.”

The captain extended his hand to Carter. “It was good seeing you, Trahan. If you ever change your mind about coming back to the force, I’d be happy to have you.”

Carter shook his hand and nodded. “Thanks, sir, but I think Calais is where I belong.”

The captain shook his head. “Seems your attempt to move to a simpler place has failed you all the way around.”

“Seems like,” Carter agreed. “But I’m going to fix that.”

* * *

D
ANAE
STUCK
HER
HAND
out of the shower and reached for the towel hanging on the hook next to it. The hot water had done wonders for her neck and back, both of which had grown increasingly tighter as the day had worn on, culminating with all-out knots after her conversation with Amos.

She dried off her body then wrapped the towel around her head before stepping out of the tub to grab the shorts and T-shirt she’d draped across the vanity. A draft of chilly night air wafted through the bathroom and she quickly pulled the clothes on. The days were still warm and humid, but the temperatures dropped at night, especially in the swamp.

As she reached for her hairbrush, she heard the floor creak at the front of the cabin. Immediately, she froze, trying to lock in on the noise. Then it came again, the faintest creak of the floorboards.

Someone was in the cabin with her.

Mentally cursing herself for leaving her pistol in her purse, she scanned the bathroom for anything that made a viable weapon and grabbed the scissors from the vanity. She inched over to the bathroom door and eased it open, praying that the hinges didn’t squeak. When the door was open enough for her to edge through it, she peered down the hall toward the living room, but couldn’t see anything moving.

The sounds of the swamp were the only things that broke the still night air, and she wondered if the intruder had gone. Or maybe she’d been wrong and no one had ever been inside with her. Maybe the stress of her situation and her overworked imagination were getting the best of her.

She eased down the hall toward the living room, clutching the scissors and praying she’d blown the entire thing out of proportion. When she reached the opening to the living room, she scanned the room as much as possible without stepping into it, but nothing appeared out of place.

You’re an idiot.

Shaking her head, she stepped from the hallway into the living room, and that was when he sprang. In an instant, he grabbed her shoulder with one hand and wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling it so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

Before her mind could even process what was happening, instinct kicked in and she stabbed his arm with the scissors. He let out a roar and released her, shoving her into the hallway as he ran for the door.

She stumbled backward, barely managing not to fall, then rushed back into the living room as the intruder yanked open the front door. She lunged for the kitchen table and grabbed her purse, pulling her pistol from inside. Before she could get off a round, the intruder dashed out the front door.

She ran across the room and scanned the front of the cabin, but couldn’t see anything in the inky blackness. Still clutching her pistol, she slammed the door and locked it, then grabbed her cell phone and started to dial Carter when she remembered he was in New Orleans. Cursing, she punched in Zach’s number, praying that the connection was strong enough on both ends for the call to go through.

It was all she could do to keep from crying out in relief when he answered on the second ring.

“There was someone in my cabin,” she blurted out before he even finished his greeting. “I heard something when I got out of the shower and I thought I’d imagined it, but then he grabbed me and I stabbed him with my scissors. Then he ran and I grabbed my gun, but it was too late. He disappeared into the swamp before I could fire.”

Her breath came out in a giant whoosh and she realized she’d been holding it through the entire delivery.

“Are you all right?” Zach’s voice sounded as panicked as she felt. “I’m on my way. Lock the doors and don’t you dare put down that gun. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Don’t hang up, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Danae hurried to the corner of the living room opposite the door and sank down into a squatting position next to the couch. This way, she had the advantage over anyone entering the room. A quick scan of the living room and kitchen revealed no broken glass, and she was certain she’d drawn the dead bolt on the front door as soon as she’d entered the cabin. Clearly he hadn’t entered that way, but it didn’t look as if he’d come through a window, either, so where had he gained access?

Part of her wanted to get up and look for the point of entry, but the other part wanted everything to do with self-preservation and nothing to do with things that could wait until Zach arrived.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m in my truck, but I’m going to have to put the phone down. I need both hands to negotiate the roads at high speed.”

“Okay,” she said and clutched the phone even tighter. She could hear Zach’s truck engine and silently willed it to move faster, but she knew speed was next to impossible on the winding, bumpy roads.

A second later, her phone beeped once then went silent.

“No!” She looked at the display, but service had dropped to nothing.

Surely he was almost there. It had been several minutes since she’d called, right? It felt like longer than that, so he had to be close.

Breathe.

Realizing that she was beginning to panic, she took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Never had she felt so vulnerable, so completely exposed, as she did right now, and it was a feeling she didn’t know how to handle.

The crunch of gravel had her springing up from her hiding place, and she ran to the window to peek outside. Relief flooded her when she saw Zach jump out of his truck and run for the door. She managed to get it open just as he arrived and he rushed inside, then clutched her shoulders, looking her up and down.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

The worry and care in his voice and expression were so clear that it made her heart ache. She shook her head, afraid to speak, and a single sob escaped. Instantly, he drew her into his arms and held her close to him, running his hand down her hair and whispering in her ear that she was safe.

She clutched him, her arms clenched around his strong back, and buried her head in his shoulder, crying openly and afraid she’d never be able to let him go.

Finally, the last tear ran down her cheek and her breathing began to return to normal. She pushed herself back enough to look at him.

“I’m sorry—” she began.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “Someone attacked you in your home. Anyone would have been terrified.”

“I was,” she said and looked down, almost embarrassed that she’d been so scared.

He placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head back up until she met his gaze. “But you fought back and got away,” he said. “You’re a strong, brave woman.”

Her heart pounded in her throat, and more than anything, she wanted him to kiss her. No matter how hard she’d tried to resist her attraction to Zach, her body always betrayed her. It came alive when he was close to her, in a way she’d never felt before. Her heart beat stronger, her skin was more sensitive and her head felt as if she were walking on the moon.

She felt her body lean forward, anticipating the kiss, but instead, he released her and scanned the cabin.

“How did he get in?” he asked.

Her mind leaped back to reality and she realized they could be at risk standing here.

“I don’t know,” she said, her fear returning. “I started to look around after I called you but then I thought it was smarter to remain stationary with a clear view of all entry points.”

He smiled. “Definitely smarter. Most people wouldn’t have thought of it. Let’s check the cabin.”

She nodded. “There’s not much to it, so that’s an advantage. I drew the dead bolt on the front door as soon as I walked inside, so he didn’t get in that way.”

He scanned the floors in the kitchen and living room. “I don’t see any glass, but let’s check the windows. I’m sure you keep them locked, right?”

“You know it,” she said as she moved to check the window on the far wall as Zach checked the front living-room window.

“All locked tight,” he said and moved into the kitchen to check the small window over the sink. “This one, too.”

They walked down the hall and checked the two bedroom windows but they were locked tight.

“I don’t understand,” Danae said. “The bathroom window is no more than a vent slot. Only a very small child could fit through there and they’d have to have a ladder to reach it. So how did he get in?”

Zach frowned. “My guess is through the front door.”

She sucked in a breath. “He was already inside when I got home. I literally locked him inside with me. How many keys to LeBeau property are walking around this town?”

She dropped down onto the edge of the bed, her mind racing with all the possibilities of what could have happened. “But that makes no sense. When I got home, I headed straight for the shower. He could have attacked me then and there’s no way I could have defended myself.”

“I know, which leaves us with two possibilities—either he was trying to scare you or you aren’t what he was here for.”

“But what else is there? This cabin doesn’t hold the collectibles that the main house does. Every stitch of furniture and decor in this place probably wouldn’t bring a hundred dollars at a garage sale.”

“Maybe he thinks you have something valuable.”

“A café waitress? Not likely.”

“An heiress,” he corrected. “Far more likely.”

She shook her head. “Not yet. Everyone in town knows we haven’t inherited yet. There’s no reason for them to expect I have anything of more value than I came to town with, and I haven’t had any trouble until now.”

“Maybe he thinks you took something of value from the house.”

She frowned. “I suppose that’s possible, but all I took was paperwork. The paperwork!”

She jumped up from the bed and ran into the kitchen, but the box of paperwork still sat next to the dining table.

“Is it all there?” Zach asked.

She reached into the box and pulled out a stack of paper. “It looks like it, but I thought I put those notebooks you took from Purcell’s bedroom on top. Now they’re wedged below some other papers.”