Bayou Heat Page 9

  “I had to check the tapes, Erin. I’d have returned them.”

  “Why? Belisaire? Or because there is something on there that could incriminate you?” The accusation was finally put out between them.

  She’d expected him to look angry or guilty. Nothing at all.

  But hurt? No. Not once would it have occurred to her she could hurt him.

  The resignation that quickly followed tore at her even more deeply. How many times had people not had faith in him? And why?

  “I have my reasons, Erin. One was to protect you.” She snorted, her empathy for him quickly dissolving.

  He raised his hand to touch her, but when she flinched he dropped it, then looked away. She tightened her grip on her towel to stop herself from doing something stupid. Like reaching for him.

  “But you’re right, that wasn’t my main motivation in coming here tonight.” He looked back to her. “There are things going on here you know nothing about, Erin. And I’m not about to enlighten you. For everyone’s good. Just do your research and leave the rest of it to me.”

  “It’s none of my business, right?” “Something like that.”

  She studied him for a long moment. Just what was really happening in the bayou? And what was his role? She shook off the questions. He was right. “Fine. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my research either. But there is one thing I want to make clear. I’ll trust that you know how to handle things down in Bayou Bruneaux, but the next time you have something you want from me, ask me.”

  “Be careful what you ask for, Erin.” With no more than a handful of softly spoken words and a look, arousal returned full force.

  He moved closer. “Are we done arguing for now?” For now. Implying they would again. Implying there would be other kinds of activities they would do together again. And again. “I think you’d better go, Teague.”

  “And I think you think too much.”

  “Teague—”

  “I’ll go.” But just as she let out a sigh of relief, he closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands. “But you’re going to deal with this, Erin. With me. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Or the next night. Or the next morning.” He rubbed his thumb over her lips, then pressed it inside. “Taste me again, Erin. I want more.” He slid his thumb out and replaced it with his mouth. His kiss was intoxicating. When he lifted his head his breathing was as erratic as hers. She marveled she was still able to stand.

  “What are you doing to me, Teague Comeaux?” she whispered.

  “Not a fraction of what I want to do, Dr. Erin McClure.”

  “But we shouldn’t, we aren’t—”

  He stopped her with another kiss. She groaned and clutched at his arms for support as she returned it with everything she felt, her confusion, her arousal, her need.

  When they broke apart this time he released her altogether. She swayed but held her own. He didn’t look any steadier than she did. It was little reassurance. Very little.

  “Yes, we are.” His voice was raw. “And we will. Oh yes, mon chèr, we most definitely will.”

  He walked to the bathroom. She saw him collect his shirt and shoes and ease silently out the French doors. A black panther sliding back into his milieu. The dark, hot night.

  “Teague.”

  He turned at the last second, one hand gripping the doorframe so tightly she saw his bicep muscle jump. He said nothing, simply stared at her.

  “Why?”

  He held her gaze for what felt like eternity before finally answering. “Because you’re good for me, Erin. And I never do what’s good for me. Just this once, I want to. With you.”

  Then he was gone, leaving her to deal with the naked truth of his words. And the fact that she felt exactly as he did.

  EIGHT

  Erin felt the heat the instant she opened the door to her apartment. She stopped the inward motion of the door and rested her head against it. She’d left the air-conditioning on high. So that meant only one thing. Teague was here.

  It had been ten days since he slipped off her balcony into the night. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

  Taking in a deep steadying breath—which did absolutely nothing to calm her suddenly racing pulse—she pushed the door open the rest of the way.

  Without looking in the bathroom or balcony, she knew instantly he wasn’t there. She didn’t feel him. Purposely ignoring that unsettling thought, she moved to the window unit. Maybe the thing had finally caved in to the overwhelming forces of nature. But it was humming just fine.

  A motion caught her eyes, and for a second her mind was awash in the vivid images of her first night in this apartment. Was he here after all?

  She walked to the bathroom door and froze. Dark splotches covered the walls. Even the mirror was splattered. Her gaze swung to the tub, but it was empty. The French doors however, were wide open. Frowning, she closed them, then turned her back and rested against the glass.

  Then she looked up, saw what had been left in her sink, and screamed.

  Teague took the steps three at a time. It usually took over thirty minutes to drive there from the bar. Erin had called the Eight Ball approximately eighteen minutes before.

  Which in his book was still about seventeen minutes too long. Her voice had been so hollow and flat, devoid of all the vigueur that was so unique to her. He’d hated hearing her like that. Hated even more the ball of dread that had settled in his stomach.

  Actually, the dread he could handle. It was the large mass of fear that went along with it that had thrown him for a major loop.

  He rapped once on the door, but didn’t wait for her to answer. “Erin?” he called out as he strode into the apartment.

  “In here.” Her voice echoed from the bathroom.

  Calm. To another man, she would sound perfectly normal. All systems under control. But Teague knew better.

  He took one step into the bathroom and stopped despite himself. Erin had been rational enough on the phone, but she’d declined to describe exactly what had been left for her.

  Teague didn’t have to get closer to know exactly what it was.

  And exactly what it meant.

  “Go on into the other room,” he said without looking at her. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “No.”

  He turned then to find her leaning against the French doors.

  “Erin, we can talk about this later, but—”

  “But nothing,” she said in that maddeningly flat voice. “I didn’t call you to come rescue me from the big bad voodoo threat.”

  “Well excuse me, chèr, but that’s how I heard it.” He didn’t say that the fact she had called him for anything had sent a rush through his system that was far too powerful to be good for him.

  “I’ve studied voodoo and seen enough bush tribes to understand the nature of the threat.”

  “Then why did you call me?”

  “Because I don’t know enough about this particular following to read it completely.” She looked at the petro gris-gris desecrating her sink. “I figured you were the one person who could explain this to me.”

  Suspicion settled like a cold fist around his heart. “And why is that, Erin?”

  “You may have been gone for a long time, Teague, but I doubt Belisaire’s followers have changed their rituals.” She shifted her weight to her other leg, looking for all the world like the weary cynic she should be, but he knew damn well she wasn’t. He wanted to yell and argue with her, drag what she was thinking out of her, and refute it for all he was worth.

  But even stronger was the urge to close the distance between them and pull her into his arms. To protect her. Which made no sense since she’d made it perfectly clear from day one that she was quite capable of taking care of herself.

  He hadn’t felt so at a loss since the day Belisaire told him his mother was dead.

  “You can tell me what this means, can’t you?”

  “Yes, I can.” He opened his mouth, then closed it
again. The urge to pull her from the room was almost too strong to ignore.

  He’d seen the results of ritual sacrifice before. The ground bones and feathers, the spirit offering of alcohol to the loa, or voodoo god being called upon, apparently red wine in this case, the cleansing of blood from the chicken that had been decapitated during the ritual.… None of this was new to him. But what bothered him was that it was Erin’s walls that had been splattered with fresh sacrificial blood, her privacy that had been violated by practitioners of the darker, violent side of the voudoun religion. This was no idle threat.

  His jaw tight, his hands in fists, he said, “Erin, let me take care of this. It has to be done in a … certain way. You can question me to your heart’s content when I’m finished.”

  He saw the surprise in her eyes and answered her question before she could ask.

  “I’m not an initiate, ange. Not like the others. But I’ve spent too much time with Belisaire and her people, seen too many things I can’t explain or rationalize away to ignore this.” He stepped toward her, his control slipping. “Just trust me.” He traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. She shivered, triggering a similar reaction deep in his belly. How had he gone a single day without touching her, much less ten?

  “Please?” he said quietly.

  She let out a shaky sigh. And before his eyes, she seemed to crumble, all her defenses falling in on her. With a low groan he pulled her against his chest.

  “Aw, chèr.” He pressed his lips against her hair, and felt the fine tremors racing through her. “It’s okay. Let me take care of this.” He tilted her chin up. “I want to.”

  “I know enough to understand this is more than a mild warning. Someone wants me to butt out. But of what? Belisaire’s people? The bayou? My research? I mean, I’m studying plants for God’s sake. How is that threatening anyone?”

  “You’re studying plants and how they are used in voodoun rituals. This is a notoriously closed society, chèr. They may not appreciate someone trying to demystify their beliefs.”

  “But that’s not what I’m doing. I don’t want to educate them or teach them or change them. I don’t even expect them to read my results. I just need their cooperation to do my job. My findings are scientific, hopefully beneficial to the medical community, but it has nothing to do with wanting them to alter their beliefs. Belisaire understands that, or she’d never have agreed to help me.” Erin’s eyes widened. “You don’t think because of the note and me talking to Bodette, that Belisaire would—”

  Teague shook his head sharply. “No. This is black magic. This isn’t the work of Belisaire or her people.”

  “Well then, who is warning me? And why? If she approves of me being there, would any of her people do something like this on their own? Or do you think this is related to the note somehow?”

  Teague was way ahead of her on that train of thought. He was certain the two were related. He’d spent a large part of the last ten days trying to track down the source of that note. With no luck. But there was no way he could share his suspicions.

  “I don’t know, Erin. But this wasn’t put together by an amateur.” He slid his hands down her arms and stepped back. “Until I get this figured out, I think you should pack up and change locations for a while.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Until you figure this out? Since when did this become your problem?”

  “Since you picked up that phone and called me, ange.” She moved away from him altogether, and he had to steel himself against the instinct to pull her back into his arms. But her uncustomary vulnerability was gone. The Erin McClure he knew was back. He couldn’t escape the wistful thought that he liked both sides of her.

  He sighed softly. “I’m the one with the contacts, Erin. I’m your best bet to get to the bottom of this.”

  The skeptical look she shot him dug in worse than he’d have expected it to.

  “I could ask Belisaire myself. I agree, I don’t think she’s behind this. If she wanted to warn me, she’d have done it directly.”

  “Belisaire rarely does the expected, but her way is always direct. I disagree about confronting her with this though. She has other interests to look out for besides her own, or yours.” He clearly wasn’t convincing her. And the last thing he needed was her poking around the bayou. “Give me a few days to see what I can find out. Then you can do whatever you think is best. Okay?”

  “Why do I get the feeling that no matter how I handled this, we’d have ended up at this same point.” Before he could comment, she went on. “Three days. Then I talk to Belisaire.”

  Teague didn’t bother to tell her that he was almost 100 percent certain Belisaire knew all about this by now. Of course, Teague was also certain that unless it benefited Belisaire, she wouldn’t be budged. But he didn’t intend to ask her anything.

  “Fine,” he said. “Now you go pack while I take care of this.”

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I thought we had this settled.”

  “No, you thought we had this settled.” She raised her hand to forestall his response. “I agreed to let you take this … thing, out of here. And to let you look into who and why it was put here. But I’m not leaving.”

  “If this is some stupid female pride thing—”

  She laughed. “No, it’s a stupid money thing. I have an arrangement here I’m not willing to give up. Mr. Danjour was very generous with the lease. And if things go well and I get additional funding based on my preliminary findings, he’s already agreed to extend it at the same rate. I can’t leave, Teague. I won’t leave.”

  “You don’t have to give up the apartment altogether, just vacate until I give you the all clear.” Until I make sure you aren’t in deeper trouble than you can ever imagine.

  “Teague, I can’t pay on this place and another one. I’m talking a really skinny shoestring here. Even a few days would eat too much into my budget.”

  “We’ll figure something out.” He’d already decided exactly where she was going—to the one place he knew she would be safe—but now was not the time to spring it on her. He could barely come to terms with his decision himself.

  “You’re not paying a hotel bill for me.”

  That made him smile. “Now tell me this isn’t a pride thing.”

  “Would you let me if the situation was reversed?”

  “It’s not, so there’s no point in arguing.” He had a bad feeling about all of this. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but his sixth sense told him it was time to get gone. “Pack, Erin.”

  “Well, when you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?”

  “You want me to do it?”

  She shifted around him and walked out of the bathroom, careful not even to glance in the direction of the sink. She was more scared than she’d let on.

  Fifteen minutes later, he doused the last of the flames in the sink and carefully disposed of the remaining ashes. He flipped off the light and stepped into the main room, more than a little relieved to find Erin sitting on the bed, tucking the last of her notebooks into her satchel.

  “Let’s go.”

  She stood and lifted her gear. “Do we go out the front, or should I toss these over the balcony railing?”

  “Very funny.” He slid the duffel off her shoulder and walked to the front door. Erin might be spooked, but she didn’t let anything slow her down for long. He respected the hell out of that.

  She strolled by him and scooped up a backpack she’d left on the chair by the door. “Since you’re playing the strong hero here, you can carry this too.”

  She dumped the backpack in his arms and headed into the hall. Teague stared after her. He was worried about his operation, about Belisaire, and now, about Erin. So why was he standing there grinning like an idiot?

  Erin knew she was gawking. “You weren’t kidding, were you.”

  Teague barely glanced at the palatial southern estate as he pulled his truck around the circular drive and parked right in front of the massive white pi
llared home.

  She turned to him as he shut off the ignition. “You grew up here?”

  “Almost impossible to believe, I know. Welcome to Beaumarchais, the Sullivans’ humble abode.”

  She was tired, more disturbed than she wanted to admit even to herself, and very confused about her feelings for the man seated next to her, but she found herself smiling at him anyway. “Well, most pool hall owners I know live in slightly more modest digs.”

  “You know a lot of them do you, chèr?”

  His quiet teasing went a long way toward soothing her nerves. “Where is Marshall? Did he say he’d meet us here?” Teague had stopped for gas and made a few phone calls after they left Erin’s some thirty minutes before.

  “Something like that.”

  Erin’s gaze narrowed as the light dawned. “Marshall still lives here. I don’t know why, but I always assumed he lived on campus or nearby.” She laughed shortly. “Which is ridiculous, I guess.”

  “You can’t imagine anyone giving this up willingly?”

  “Not without a good reason.” She paused, not sure what to say.

  “It’s okay, Erin. I’m well aware you probably know my whole sordid story.”

  “Actually, I know very little. Just enough to know that if anyone had a good reason to make some major life changes, it was you.”

  Teague held her gaze, and she felt a tremor shoot through her.

  “I’m sure you did what was right for you,” she said. “And that’s the most important thing.”

  He was silent for several moments. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Acceptance.”

  There was a wealth of emotion in that one word.

  “Well, I know a little something about that, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you do, ange.”

  And she knew that he truly did understand.

  “You’re not exactly the conventional type yourself,” he added.

  “Not so you’d notice.”

  Teague smiled and Erin felt the heat clear across the cab. “Oh, I notice everything.” He covered her hand with his. “And I do like you, Erin McClure. All of what is you.” He laughed. “Even the parts that drive me crazy.” His gaze shifted to their hands and the way she’d unconsciously woven her fingers with his. He looked back up. “I think it’s those parts I like best.”