Mireille took it gently, running her fingers along the lines on her palm with surprising tenderness. “Your path is twisted. Too many choices made from pain. Too many roads walked alone. But here,” she tapped lightly on Drew’s palm and continued, “this line crosses again with someone from your past. Your heart doesn’t know whether to run or cling.”
Drew yanked her hand back, trying for a laugh that came out forced. “Sounds like a bad country song.”
Mireille leaned in, serious now. “I do not say these things lightly,chère. The gods whisper warnings, but they don’t repeat themselves. Something old stirs in the bayou tonight. Something not easily stopped. If you want to survive, you’ll need more than guns and grit.”
Cross moved quickly to the table where they sat, his arms folded tightly. “What do we need, then?”
Mireille looked at them both, her gaze darkening. “Grace. Trust. A little luck… and divine favor.”
She stood and crossed to the shelf over the counter and picked up a black candle, lighting it as she murmured a string of words in a language Drew didn’t recognize but somehow felt in her bones. Drew glanced at the candle, then at Cross, and raised an eyebrow.
He gave a small shrug. “This isn’t her first visit.”
Mireille stopped speaking and then hummed softly for a moment. “I will speak to my gods. I will ask them to protect you both. You’ll need their help more than you know.”
Drew exchanged another glance with Cross, her mouth dry and her usual sarcasm nowhere to be found.
“Thanks,” she said after a long moment, her voice quiet. “Seriously.”
Mireille turned back, her eyes warm. “Don’t thank me yet. The gods love a good story. Let’s hope yours doesn’t end in blood.”
“Me too,” Drew murmured.
Mireille turned and headed for the door. “Stay alert, Cross. And good luck,” she chortled as she went out the door and down the planks. A moment later, her boat engine caught, and she was gone.
Drew met Cross’s gaze. “You have the most interesting neighbors,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the moment.
Cross did not smile back. Instead, his face was marred by worry lines. “Mireille has never been wrong as long as I have known her.”
Drew’s smile faded as her stomach rolled. “Let’s hope there’s a first time for everything.”
CHAPTER 10
Cross stoodat the window of his shack, watching the moss draped on the trees sway lazily in the humid, late afternoon breeze. The air was thick—thicker than usual—and not just with heat. Something was coming. The impending danger crawled along the back of his neck like the swarm of mosquitoes that ruled this damn swamp. He was still being hunted. But by whom?
Rodriguez? Maybe. The bastard had reach, and with the size of the bounty on his head, it was like putting a neon sign on his back that saidCome get me. But Cross wasn’t sure it was just Rodriguez anymore. Mireille’s warning had stuck with him. She never said the name, but he and Drew both knew exactly who she meant. If that slippery son of a bitch was on their trail, it was only a matter of time. The Weasel didn’t need a reason. He only needed a paycheck. And now Drew was in the crosshairs, too.
Cross dragged a hand down his face. He hadn’t meant to bring her into this. Hell, leaving her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he’d had his reasons. She didn’t belong in his world of blood and betrayal. She belonged somewhere with blue skies, clean sheets, and air-conditioning. Somewhere where he didn’t have to worry about her every moment of every day.
Not here. Not with him.
The creak of the floorboards behind him told him she was awake. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her sitting cross-legged on the edge of the cot, her hair pulled up, skin flushed from the heat. Still beautiful. Still a punch to the gut.
He turned away and headed for the bathroom. The cold shower helped, but only barely. He’d just stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, when the scream echoed through the shack.
“Jesus!” Drew shouted from the main room. “It’s on me! Cross!”
He bolted out of the bathroom, heart hammering. “What is it?”
She was hopping around in a circle, swatting at her shirt. “There was a spider! With fangs! It looked like it wanted to file taxes and open a 401k!”
He blinked. Then burst out laughing.
Drew stopped hopping and glared at him. “This isn’t funny!”
Cross tried—and failed—to stop the grin. “You just screamed like a banshee over a wolf spider.”
“It was a demon, and I’m not even sorry,” she muttered, plopping back down on the cot.
