And the pictures...
Ben had undoubtedly been right. She’d been hacked or tricked or played for a fool, somehow. She had just bought it on impulse at the electronics shop at the Miami airport, so some jerk there had probably fooled with it.
But how would anyone at the airport have known that she would be staying in the mountains, much less right here at this very ranch? She was certain she hadn’t said anything.
She let out a groan of self-disgust.
Getting shaky over this was ridiculous.
Scarlet stepped outside and started to close the door, but she paused and looked back, then said, “You all behave in here, do you understand me? I’m your best friend, preserving your history for posterity, so you need to listen to me, okay?”
Naturally, the mannequins did not reply.
She closed and locked the door and headed for her car, determined to think only about which restaurant to choose in town.
“The invitation will always stand,” FBI agent Brett Cody said, glancing over at Diego. “I’ve got to say, amigo, you’re the best partner I’ve ever had. So,” he added, “even if you don’t accept right now, we’ll always want you in the Krewe. And that really means something. No one gets into the Krewe by asking—it’s invitation only.”
Diego looked over at his partner. Brett was finishing out his last day at the Miami field office; he’d transferred in to the FBI’s Krewe of Hunters—the elite unit that investigated crimes that crossed over into the supernatural—when they’d closed a recent major case, a series of “zombie” murders that had rocked Miami.
Not only that, but Brett was also now engaged to Lara Mayhew, who’d been key in helping them solve the case—in part by calling in longtime friends who were part of the Krewe—after a truly whirlwind romance. Not that he should comment on that. He and Scarlet had gotten married less than two months after meeting.
Would they have made it, if not for the accident?
He didn’t know. And there was no reason for him to doubt Brett and Lara just because of his own failure.
His mind returned to the recent case, when they’d been aided by the ghosts of several of the victims. Brett had actually been visited by them, and though he’d balked, he’d finally come to believe.
Diego wondered why he himself really had no problem believing in ghosts. He’d seen the murdered couple—Miguel and Maria Gomez—and never questioned the reality of the experience.
Then again, he’d grown up Cuban and Irish, and between the two sides of the family, he’d heard stories about ghosts, pixies, chupacabras, espíritus and all kinds of otherworldly beings. Maybe because of that, he hadn’t even been shaken when he’d seen Miguel’s and Maria’s ghosts.
Maybe that was why he’d been invited to join the Krewe along with Brett. But the Krewe only had offices in New York City and Alexandria, with teams dispatched all over the country as needed, and for years he’d wanted to fight the good fight in his native Miami. Still, it was hard thinking that he and Brett would no longer be partners; they’d worked together for several years and had become good friends. He’d always felt safe knowing that Brett had his back.
Of course, for now Brett would be coming and going. Lara wasn’t giving up her job at the Sea Life Center, so they were going to be long-distance lovers for a while. And he knew that the Bureau could transfer him anywhere, but unless his bosses forced him to leave Miami, he just wasn’t ready to move yet.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Diego assured Brett. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”
That morning they’d arrested a human trafficker named Amelio Parva and his partner, known only as Pancho, in the act of betraying and abandoning at sea a group of Cuban refugees who’d paid handsomely to be brought safely ashore. With the bad guys in custody, the rescued refugees had been taken to a detainment center, where Diego and Brett had just arrived so they could sign off on the paperwork.
“Here’s hoping they all get asylum,” Brett muttered as he parked. The people being held here weren’t criminals, but even so, the facility was surrounded by barbed wire. Once inside, though, it wasn’t so much a prison as it was a hospital.
Diego finished signing, then handed the papers to Brett and wandered over to look through a window into a social room, where the newest refugees had been allowed to gather.
Diego noted a woman sitting in a rocking chair. She was probably about seventy, gray-haired, very thin, with sharp blue eyes. She noticed him, too, and stared at him hard.
She lifted a hand and beckoned him over. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew she had something important to say to him.
Brett touched his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked.
“Hang on. I just want to talk to someone for a minute,” Diego said.
“I’m not sure if we should—” Brett began.
A doctor exited the room just then, and Diego went over to him. “Hey, we were on the detail that found these people today. Mind if I go speak to one of them?” Diego asked.
“I don’t see why not,” the doctor said.
As Diego stepped into the room, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him.
The old woman was still watching him, and she lifted her hand to him again.
He walked over and hunkered down by her chair.
She smiled—a toothless smile that was still somehow beautiful. “Gracias, gracias,” she said, then picked up his hand and brought it to her cheek. “I will live out my days here,” she said in heavily accented English, smiling, and glancing up at Brett, who had followed and was standing just behind Diego. “Thanks to you.” Then she met Diego’s eyes again, her own bright and piercing. “But you—you must be very careful. And you must go where you are called. You understand? You will know. You must go where you are called.”
He rose, smiling, his mind spinning with thoughts. He wondered if she had been considered a bruja, a witch, back home, if young girls had come to her, wanting to know if they would marry the loves of their lives.
“Thank you, senora,” he told her. “Muchas gracias.”
She smiled sweetly. “You are a good man, but sometimes that isn’t enough. Listen with your soul and you will survive.”
“Thank you, senora,” he repeated.
He joined Brett, ready to leave, but stopped when she spoke again.
This time her voice was odd—it was suddenly deep and husky, and she sounded like a man. Stranger still, there wasn’t a hint of an accent as she spoke.
“I just want to protect her, too.”
Diego spun around to look at the old woman. Her head was down, her eyes closed, and she appeared to be sleeping. No one else was anywhere nearby.
He shook off his unease, and they left the facility. Diego was glad that his mother’s parents had come to the States when they had, aware that there was trouble ahead.
“She liked you,” Brett teased.
Diego shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
“You know, you are divorced, and Lara has a lot of friends,” Brett said.
Diego stopped walking and laughed. “No. No, no, no. I don’t need to be fixed up. I can find my own dates if I want to. I’m cool, okay?”
“Whatever you