скачать книгу бесплатно
The Vanishing
Jana DeLeon
PI Max Duhon will do anything to help sexy Colette Guidry close a missing person’s case, even admit how attracted he is to his client. But as their investigation deepens, Max finds himself protecting Colette from inexplicable terrors. It seems they may have come too close to uncovering a deadly secret – and dangerously close to each other.
“Once he found out what I knew or decided I didn’t know anything at all, he still would have tried to kill me. And he’ll try again, because he didn’t get the answer he was looking for.”
Max clenched his hands, not willing to think about another attempt on Colette’s life. “He’ll have to come through me to do it. We didn’t know how far he’d carry things before. We know now and we’ll be more prepared.”
“But how? We’re sitting ducks. He can just sit in the swamp and wait for us to leave.”
“I’m working on that. Just try not to worry about it. When I’ve worked everything out in my head, I’ll let you know.”
She nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
Lightning flashed, and he peered into the darkness, trying to ferret out any sign of movement. Any sign that the shooter had returned. He couldn’t see anything.
But he knew something was out there.
About the Author
JANA DELEON grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001 and focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day, she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana on her website, www.janadeleon.com.
The Vanishing
Jana DeLeon
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my recently married friend, Leigh Zaykoski.
May you and Phil have your own happily ever after …
Prologue
November 1833
The young Creole man pushed open the door on the shack and sat on a chair next to the bed. The fifty-seven-year-old Frenchman lying there wasn’t much longer for this world. The only thing keeping him alive was the news the Creole would bring.
“Have you found my son?” the Frenchman asked, then began coughing.
The young Creole winced as the dying man doubled over, his body wracked with pain. “Wi.”
The dying man straightened up, struggling to catch his breath. “Where is he?”
The Creole looked down at the dirt floor. He’d hoped the man would be dead before he returned to the village. Hoped he’d never have to speak the words he was about to say. Finally, he looked back up at the man and said, “He’s dead.”
“Nonsense! They’ve said I’m dead now for over a decade. Bring me my son!”
“Somethin’ bad went through New Orleans last year that the doctors couldn’t fix. A lot of people died.”
The anguish on the dying man’s face was almost more than the Creole could bear to see. “You couldna done nuttin’,” he said, trying to make the dying man’s last moments easier.
“I shouldn’t have left him there, but there was nothing here for him—hiding in the swamp for the rest of his life.”
“You did what you shoulda. You couldna known.”
The dying man struggled to sit upright. “I need for you to do something else. Something even more important.”
The Creole frowned. “What?”
“Under this bed is a chest. Pull it out, but be careful. It’s heavy.”
The Creole knelt down next to the bed and peered underneath. He spotted the chest in a corner and pulled the handle on the side, but it barely budged. Doubling his efforts, he pulled as hard as he could and, inch by inch, worked the chest out from under the bed.
“Open it,” the dying man said.
The Creole lifted the lid on the chest, and the last rays from the evening sun caught on the glittering pile of gold inside. He gasped and stared at the gold, marveling at its beauty. All this time, the Frenchman had been sleeping over a fortune. The Creole stared up at the man, confused.
“It’s cursed,” the dying man said. “I stole it, and now it’s taken my son and my life from me.” The dying man leaned down, looking the Creole directly in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll never let the gold leave that chest. It will bring sorrow to anyone who spends it. You must keep it hidden forever. I’m entrusting you and your family with this task. Do you understand?”
The Creole felt a chill run through him at the word curse. He didn’t want to be entrusted with guarding cursed objects, nor did he want that burden transferred down his family line.
“Promise me!” the dying man demanded.
But the Creole knew he was the only one in the village who could be trusted to keep the gold hidden. The only one who could be trusted to train those who came after him to respect the old ways. To respect vows made.
“I promise.”
Chapter One
The fall sun was already beginning to set above the cypress trees on Tuesday evening, when Colette Guidry parked her car in front of the quaint home in Vodoun, Louisiana. An attractive wooden sign that read Second Chance Detective Agency was already placed in front of a beautifully landscaped flower bed, but the sounds of hammering and stacks of lumber on the front lawn let her know that the office conversion wasn’t exactly complete.
She reached for the door handle and paused. Maybe this was a bad idea. She’d worked with Alexandria Bastin-Chamberlain, one of the partners at the detective agency, at the hospital in New Orleans before Alex resigned to open the agency with her husband. She shouldn’t feel self-conscious about asking for her help.
But what if Alex thinks you’re crazy, too?
And that was at the crux of it. The rest of the hospital staff and the New Orleans Police Department had already informed her that her concern over her missing employee was misplaced. Anna Huval had a history of skipping town with undesirable men and usually surfaced when the disastrous relationship had run its short course. Colette had intimate understanding of choosing the wrong man, although her choices hadn’t been near as wild or frequent as Anna’s. But her two disappointing whirls with noncommittal men had given her enough sorrow to be sympathetic to Anna’s heartbreak, even if it was self-induced.
But all that was in the past. With Colette’s guidance, Anna had turned her life around, and for the past six months, she had been on a path that guaranteed her a healthy, successful future. The only problem was no one believed it would last, and Anna’s disappearance was a signal to many that she’d relapsed into the behavior that was so familiar to her.
Colette understood exactly why people felt that way. Logically, it was the best explanation, and if Colette hadn’t gotten to know Anna so well, she would have bought completely into it, also. But despite the lack of evidence of something dire, and a seemingly logical explanation for what had happened given Anna’s past, Colette knew something terrible had happened to the young nurse’s aide.
She pushed the car door open and stepped out. The detective agency specialized in situations the police wouldn’t handle—giving concerned friends and family a second chance for answers. Anna’s disappearance fit that description. If Alex and her husband, Holt, didn’t think her case had merit, then they’d tell her, and that would be that.
The door to the agency was partially open, so she pushed it a bit farther and stuck her head inside. Alex stood talking to a contractor in the middle of what was probably going to be a reception area once it had paint, flooring and furniture. As the sunlight crept in through the open door, her former coworker looked over and waved when she saw Colette.
“Did you come to take my temperature?” Alex asked as Colette stepped inside.
“Why? Are you sick?”
“I must be to think I could handle the construction management myself.”
Colette laughed. “Well, I’m hardly going to accuse a psychiatrist of being crazy, so sick it is. Perhaps a mind-altering flu.”
“Sounds lovely,” Alex said and pointed to the only portion of the house away from the loud saws and other construction equipment. “My office is this way. It’s the only place with decent flooring and chairs.” She leaned over and whispered, “Plus, I have the gourmet single-serve coffeemaker hidden in my filing cabinet.”
Colette felt her spirits rise as she followed Alex into a pretty office with blue walls and white trim located in a corner of the building. In addition to being intelligent, attractive and empathetic, Alex was the most intuitive person she’d ever met. If there was help to be found, she’d find it here.
She took a seat in front of the desk and made small talk while Alex made them coffee, catching her up on all the hospital gossip since she’d resigned the month before. Then Alex slid into the chair behind her desk and gave her a shrewd look.
“While I am very happy to see you, I doubt you drove all the way to Vodoun to bring me up to speed on the latest inner workings of New Orleans General.”
“No. I have a problem … one I’m hoping you can help me with.”
Alex pulled a pad of paper and pen out of her desk drawer. “Tell me.”
“Anna Huval didn’t report to work on Friday. She was scheduled for the evening shift, but was a no-show/no-call.”
“You tried to reach her, of course.”
“Yes. I called her apartment and her cell. When I didn’t get an answer, I checked with the emergency room of all area hospitals, then when I came up empty there, I called the police. Fortunately, they had no Jane Does in the morgue that matched Anna’s description, and they let me file a report but said they probably wouldn’t look into it until Monday. Yesterday.”
Alex nodded. “Because most adults turn up within twenty-four to forty-eight hours and haven’t been victims of a crime.”
“Exactly.”
“So did they investigate on Monday?”
“I pestered them and they finally agreed to check her apartment. I’d already tried to get in but the landlord has gotten in trouble for letting unauthorized people into apartments before and wasn’t budging.”
“Did you find anything inside?”
“No sign of forced entry or a struggle, and her backpack was missing. Since she started nursing school, she carries it with her everywhere, sneaking in study time whenever she can.” Colette frowned. “But the thing is, her books were on her bed. Scattered like they’d been tossed there in a hurry. The bed itself was still made.”
“Could you tell if any clothes were missing?”
Colette shook her head. “I don’t know. There were no large gaps in her closet, so if she intended to leave, she didn’t take much, but then, she didn’t have much to begin with.”
“Tell me more about her cell phone.”
“She has a prepaid one that I’ve been calling every couple of hours, but it goes straight to voice mail. The police called the cell-phone company to track it, but they said it’s either turned off or not in range.”
“Did the police find any other reason to suspect she’d taken off on her own volition?”
Colette struggled with her own frustration and disappointment. Now that she was repeating the facts out loud, she could see exactly why the New Orleans police weren’t taking her seriously, and the next bit of information was not going to make the situation any better.
“Colette?”
She sighed. “Her bank said she withdrew four hundred dollars on Friday evening, a couple of hours before her shift was due to start.”
Alex raised her eyebrows and tapped her pen on the desk.
“I know how this looks,” Colette said. “If you take the facts and couple them with Anna’s reputation for hooking up with the wrong men, then you have a foolish girl adding one more wild weekend to a very colorful past. But I promise you, that is not the young woman Anna is now.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, I suppose no one can be one hundred percent sure, but I’ve worked with her every week for the last year. When she told me she wanted to turn her life around, I got her counseling with hospital staff as a start. After three months of therapy, she told me she wanted to be a nurse, and I helped her get grants for nursing school. She comes to me with questions on her courses, and I can see her interest and focus clear as day.”
“Maybe a family emergency …”
“She’s always claimed she has no family left, and I’ve never seen evidence of any since I’ve known her. Besides, if it was an emergency, why wouldn’t she call me? She trusts me. She knows I would help.”
“Perhaps it’s not the sort of emergency you would help with.”
“What do you mean?”
Alex sighed. “I know a little about Anna—some from the rumor mill at the hospital, some from Anna herself. If she’s involved in something she knows you wouldn’t approve of, she wouldn’t tell you. It’s clear from what you’ve told me that she respects you, and I got the impression that with Anna, respect doesn’t come lightly. If she thought telling you would damage that, she may choose to handle it alone.”
Colette slumped back in her chair. Everything Alex said made so much sense. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not in trouble, whether or not she chose to walk into it.”
“That’s true.”
“So will you take the case? I have the money, and Anna’s become … well, like a little sister to me. I have to do something.”
“Of course you do,” Alex said, and Colette could tell by her expression that Alex truly did understand.
Alex was the only person at New Orleans General whom Colette had ever confided in about the boating accident that killed her parents when she was young and being raised by her only living relative, a spinster aunt who never wanted children and who’d died years ago. More than anyone else, Alex knew the loss she felt at having no family and would understand why Anna had become so important to her.
“I have no problem with our taking the case,” Alex said.
Relief swept over Colette like a wave. “Thank you. I can’t even tell you how much this means that someone is actually listening.”
Alex leaned forward in her chair and looked directly at Colette. “But you have to be prepared for whatever we find—even if it’s not the answer you wanted.”
Colette nodded. “I can handle that. I just can’t handle doing nothing.”
“Good. As it happens, Holt’s half brother Max is starting at the agency this week. I’ll get all the information from you and bring him up to speed at dinner tonight.”
“Holt’s half brother?” Colette struggled to control her disappointment. “I was hoping you and Holt would do the investigation.”
“We’re busy on two other cases as the moment, but I promise you Max is an expert. He’s got ten years with the Baton Rouge Police Department and was the youngest detective in the department’s history. If anyone can find out what happened to Anna, Max can.”
“Okay. If you have that much confidence in him, then he must be worthy of it.”
Alex smiled. “He’ll probably want to talk to you tomorrow. Since you knew Anna better than anyone else, you’ll be a big help.”
“Anything I can do,” Colette said, hoping between now and tomorrow she could think of something—anything—that would help find Anna. If Alex’s assessment was correct and Anna was in some sort of trouble, then she needed Colette’s help now more than ever before.
MAX DUHON HANDED A BOARD to his brother Holt, who was up on a ladder replacing a rotted section of roof trim on his little cabin on the bayou. “It doesn’t sound like much of a case,” Max said.
