Don't Say a Word (7 page)

For the devil had owned his soul most of his life.

Like an off-key song you couldn't get out of your mind, his father's vile descriptions of the devil's wrath burned in his head. He would pay for his transgressions. Burn for his sins. Spend eternity being punished.

Despair made his chest ache, and he dropped to his knees beside the bed, lowered his head against the mattress and prayed to the heavens to help him last another day. To help him find his way into the light. To allow him to atone for his sins by watching over Crystal.

For she was in grave danger.

Dr. Pace pretended to care, but Lex knew his lies. Lex had seen the man's other side. He, too, had been possessed by the devil.

I
T TOOK
D
AMON ANOTHER
week to get in touch with Dr. Pace, a week of anxious hell for Antwaun and the family.

“Dr. Pace, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.” Damon settled into the leather wing chair across the plastic surgeon's desk. Although Pace consulted and sometimes took on patients not associated with government projects, many were of a confidential nature. He also worked with universities on the latest research techniques involving plastic surgery and had assisted in cutting-edge work with facial reconstruction on severely injured patients, including infants with birth defects.

“Yes, well, we do have a history, Special Agent Dubois.” Pace stared at him over his reading glasses. “So, to what do I owe this visit? Your team have another problem you want me to take care of?”

Damon swallowed at the reminder of his secret military missions. The E-team, the Erasers, had been a special-ops elite squad, carefully chosen for their individual skills. Damon, a tactical leader as well as an explosives expert; Max Levine, helicopter pilot and computer genius; Calvin Norris, sniper and search-and-rescue leader; and Lex Van Wormer, security specialist.

If there was any problem the government wanted taken care of, sanctioned or not, the E-team was called in to erase it. No one was to know of their existence. Even Pace didn't know the details of their work. And no member would ever tell.

Tell and you die
.

“I'm with the bureau now,” Damon responded.

Pace nodded, a small grin splitting his face. “Yes, that's right. FBI.”

Damon almost laughed. Pace didn't believe him. The team was tight-knit and was virtually impossible to escape. But when he'd left, the three guys on the original E-team had formed a private business after they'd left the military, conducting government missions as well as taking on private cases. Max had said some of the new members were even needlessly violent, and had asked about his defection.

Damon had opted out and left, although the others hadn't liked it one damn bit.

“I need to know any information you may have on a man named Karl Swafford.” Damon watched Pace for signs of recognition. But not so much as a blink of an eye or a twitch. Of course, the man was trained in scrutinizing body gestures and hiding them as well.

“I've heard of him, as most of the people in New Orleans have.”

Damon grunted. “I have reason to believe that he faked his death and disappeared. And that you helped him.”

Pace's eyebrow arched upward. “And where did you get this information?”

“Let's just say that the death of a certain reporter brought it to light.”

“You mean Kendra Yates, the woman your brother is accused of murdering.”

“Antwaun is innocent,” Damon said. “And I need your help, Reginald. If Swafford is alive, he may have killed Miss Yates. I also think he has someone on the inside who helped frame my brother for her death.”

“Interesting theory. I wish I could help you, but I can't.”

“Did Kendra Yates question you about Swafford?”

“No. And I did not perform plastic surgery on him either.”

Damon silently cursed, then withdrew the photo of Kendra and placed it on the desk. “Look at this carefully, Reginald. Are you sure this woman didn't approach you? She might have worn a disguise.”

Dr. Pace made a token show of examining the photo, then exhaled and leaned back nonchalantly. “No, I've never seen her before in my life.”

Damon understood the reason for Dr. Pace's secrecy. His silence protected not only himself, but the members of the E-team, government VIPs, witnesses in the WITSEC program and current patients. Hell, his secrecy had kept Damon alive.

But the tiny tremor in the doctor's eyelid gave him away this time. He had seen Kendra Yates, but he didn't want to admit to it.

Possibilities floated through Damon's head. What if Kendra had threatened to write about Dr. Pace in the paper?

Perhaps he'd panicked and killed her. Or he might have reported her snooping to the military or another fed who'd decided she needed to be diposed of.

His gut tightened. What if the insider who'd killed her and set up Antwaun wasn't with the local police department but was one of his coworkers at the agency?

* * *

C
RYSTAL FELT AS IF
she were crawling out of her skin. She had to get out of the room.

The sidewalk was dimly lit, the woods creating shadowy nooks that offered privacy. Surely the garden would be empty, and she wouldn't have to worry about being seen or the pitying gossip.

She dressed in a cotton warm-up suit and slippers, then padded down the hall and out the door. Unable to stop herself, she glanced in the window, searching for her reflection, but the frosted glass only allowed for small patches of her features to come through. The swelling had gone down. She couldn't tell much, but she thought she looked almost normal.

And why hadn't Dr. Pace allowed her to see herself? Was the image distorted?

A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the tupelo trees and colorful pansies danced in the flower boxes flanking the brick walkway that wove through the garden. This slice of heaven was her reprieve. She hugged her arms around her waist as she examined each section of flowers, sniffed the delicate petals of the lilies, inhaled the scent of magnolias and honeysuckle, and finally stopped to admire the roses. Thankfully all her senses were freed for such enjoyments, unlike after the accident when the only thing she could smell was the strong odor of antiseptic and charred flesh.

Suddenly a shiver rippled through her, and she glanced toward the dark woods beyond, knowing dangers lurked there, hidden and waiting to pounce. Gators floated just beneath the murky Mississippi, their yellowed eyes piercing the darkness, teeth gnashing and sharpening as they waited to strike. Snakes slithered through the mossy banks and water, curling in the trees, silent vipers that could kill a person with a single bite. And the legends of other monsters, half human, half beast—like the Swamp Devil who'd combed the murk—haunted her with what-ifs.

What if she left here and one of those monsters came after her?

Sometimes she ached to leave, while other times she feared she wouldn't be safe if she did. In her nightmares, her accident hadn't been an accident at all. Someone had tried to kill her, had caused her disfigurement intentionally when they'd tried to take her life.

She spun around, feeling a bit agoraphobic, anxious to retreat inside to the safety of her hospital room, when she spotted a man exiting the back sliding glass doors of the solarium. He looked huge in the shadows of the door frame, stood well over six feet with muscled broad shoulders, thick dark hair clipped neatly on his high forehead, and he wore a dark suit and tie. He glanced around the property, his stance rigid and determined, then he seemed to zero in on her. Suddenly he moved toward her, his body controlled, yet he reminded her of a black panther stalking his prey.

She froze, frantically searching for some place to run, to hide, but he saw her and was coming closer, and there was no way to elude him. Again, that tingling of recognition rippled through her, as if they'd met.

He had an odd expression on his face, as if he knew her, too.

* * *

D
AMON STARED AT THE WOMAN
walking alone in the garden, the blood pumping through his veins. She resembled the woman in the photo he'd just shown Pace.

A faint streak of moonlight illuminated her through the weeping willows, making her look like a
petite fleur
in the night. Except this
fleur
had her arms wrapped around herself in a defensive gesture that reeked of pain and fear.

The moment she saw him, she stiffened and began to tremble.

Wavy brown hair fell across her shoulders, slight hints of red and gold shimmering in the moonlight as if it had been finger-painted in. She was small, probably around five-four, slender but with just enough curves to make a man groan. She backed away, butting into the brick wall as he approached. Dressed in a pale blue summer jogging suit, she shouldn't have looked sexy, but his libido woke up and screamed. Touching her would be pure heaven to his tortured soul.

He hesitated, had to regroup. He was here on business, to save his brother, not react like a teenager in lust toward a
jolie fille
.

Her fragile stance alerted him to the fact that she was quite afraid of him. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he said in a deep, throaty voice. “I'd just like to talk.”

Her breathing quivered, rattling in the tension-laden quiet. In the distance, cicadas sang and frogs croaked, other night sounds of the bayou whistling in the wind.

“You're the agent from the news report?”

He nodded and removed his badge and ID to show her. So she'd seen the report about Antwaun's arrest and hadn't come forward. “Special Agent Damon Dubois.”

“The brother of the man who was arrested?”

He flinched, and her eyes widened. Then she finally lifted her face, and his heart thumped wildly, adrenaline racing through his blood.
Bon Dieu!

She was Kendra Yates—the woman he was inquiring about. The one whose mutilated hand he had seen with his own eyes. The fingerprint must have been wrong—or had the cops faked them?

Could it be possible that she was Kendra Yates? And if so, why was she hiding out here while his brother took the fall for her murder?

* * *

C
RYSTAL CLUTCHED
the brick wall, a mixture of fear and excitement racing through her. Her first response was wariness that this man might find her hideous in appearance. Now that she could see his face, she realized just how masculine and sexy he was. God, she'd been shut away so long that she'd forgotten what sexy looked like.

It looked like this man. Dark-haired, tall with broad shoulders, a square jaw, eyes brown as dark chocolate, and prominent cheekbones that sculpted a strong face. An intensity radiated off him that screamed of raw, primal male. He was not only a cop, but the hard commanding air in his expression made her think he'd been military as well.

Dr. Pace had told her he'd alerted the police and FBI to find her identity—was that the reason this federal agent was here now?

Nerves triggered butterflies to dance in her stomach. He didn't look as if he wanted to help her. Rather, anger radiated from his stark features.

What if he knew her identity, and she was some kind of criminal? She'd had nightmares about her past that seemed so real she sensed that something bad had happened, that she had been running from someone when she'd had the accident…

“If you saw the report about my brother's arrest, then why haven't you come forward?” Special Agent Dubois said.

She frowned. “I…don't understand. Why would I?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don't lie to me. You're Kendra Yates, the woman Antwaun is accused of murdering. You seduced my brother, and now you're hiding out here while he's sitting in a jail cell.”

Fear tightened her throat. “I don't know what you're talking about. Kendra Yates…She's the woman that was killed. I saw the report.”

“What happened, Kendra?” he asked harshly. “Did you get too close to Swafford, and he threatened you, so you decided to disappear? Or was it the dirty cop you were on to? Did he scare you enough to make you seek out Pace for a new identity?”

She shook her head. “I really don't know what you're talking about. Tell me why you think I'm this reporter.”

He jerked a newspaper clipping from his pocket, unfolded it and shoved it toward her.

She glanced down at the picture, studying the face of the woman. It was the same woman they'd shown on the news report. She had seemed familiar….

Could she really be this woman Kendra? And if so, what had happened to her?

He gripped her arms, and she stiffened, suddenly terrified by the fury in his eyes. “Tell me the truth, Kendra. You may be a pretty woman and you fooled my brother, but I know you had your own agenda.”

“I…am telling you the truth,” she said, trying to jerk away. “I don't remember what happened to me. I had an accident months ago, wound up here. I was severely burned, had several surgeries…”

A perplexed look tightened Agent Dubois's features. “You had an accident?”

“Yes. My car exploded and caught fire.” Her hand automatically went to her face, felt the sensitive new skin, and she angled her head downward. “That's why I…had plastic surgery. Why I'm scarred.”

His grip on her arms loosened. His breath rattled out as if he was weighing her statement, trying to decide whether or not to believe her.

“You have amnesia?” he asked.

She nodded, rubbing at her arms where he'd clenched them. An odd expression—regret maybe—inched onto his face. “Dr. Pace performed your surgery?”

“Yes. He says I need more, but I'm better now.”