“Have you tried his grandmama’s place?” Ada Bradley wandered in and dropped a tray of coffees onto the desk. “I seem to recall her having a cabin out on the lake somewhere, maybe he still owns it.”
Jake looked up at the elderly desk clerk and sighed. “We’ve already checked, there’s nothing listed under Walcott.”
“This was before she married the chief’s granddaddy. Being a Creole, her name was Bachelier back then.”
Jake tapped a few more keys and still came up blank. “There’s nothing under Clare Bachelier.” He shook his head.
“Well, no, there wouldn’t be. Her name was Clea Bachelier. Chief’s granddaddy made her change it when they got married. He thought Clare was more appropriate.”
Jake tapped a few more keys and fist-pumped the air.
“Mrs. Bradley, I could kiss you.” He jumped up and grabbed his jacket. “The Bachelier place is on the northwest bank of the lake. I’ve got the address.”
“Let’s go then.” Mac nodded, and both he and Theo followed Jake from the room.
Olivia tried to raise her head, but it just bobbed on her neck as her eyes rolled back. She fought to stay awake, but he must have given her a pretty big dose of whatever was in that vial. She could feel herself slipping, and she knew she didn’t have long.
The sudden smell of the forest filled her nostrils and she breathed deeply. It was a sharp, clean smell, like the scent of the trees after heavy rain. For a brief second, the fog in her mind lifted, and she felt someone lean in close and whisper in her ear.
“You know what you have to do.”
Just as quickly as they had come, the feeling and the voice were gone. The heaviness returned, and her heart pumped sluggishly. She did know what she needed to do, she had to burn the drug out of her blood. Even now, she could feel it pumping through her veins like poison.
Allowing her eyes to close, she reached down to where her magic pulsed. It beat within her breast like a tiny second heart, pulsing with heat and light. She reached for it, but it seemed to be surrounded by a dark, wraith-like smog.
She reached for it again, but the darkness enveloped the bright strands of gold and red. Anger began to burn inside her, and the more she fed her fury, the brighter her fire pulsed. She focused on the pain, the unfairness, on everything that had happened to her since she’d come back to Mercy, and the ball of light grew. She grasped onto it with everything she had, and the ball burst into bright flames. Strands of yellow, gold, and red snaked through her veins like tentacles, burning the blackness as it went.
Olivia could feel her heart pounding in her chest, in her throat, in her ears. Her whole body felt like it was on fire as sweat poured from her, drenching her hair and making her clothes cling to her damp skin. Her mind cleared, and her eyes focused sharply on Walcott. He had his back to her and was once again staring out of the window.
The door to the cabin suddenly burst open. Walcott spun around, raising his weapon, and training it on the open doorway as he inched closer to Olivia. Charles Connell strode through the door with all the concern of a man out for a Sunday stroll.
“Chief Walcott,” he spoke calmly. “You do like to do things the hard way, don’t you?”
His eyes dropped to his daughter, who was taped to a chair, her swollen face bleeding and dripping onto a police issue jacket several sizes too big for her.
“Tommy, Tommy,” he tutted slowly, shaking his head. “I believe I made it very clear what would happen to you if you went after my daughter.”
“I’m not scared of you, Charlie,” he growled, aiming his gun at him, and pulling the mojo bag from under his shirt, clenching it in his fist. “You can’t use your magic on me this time.”
“I’ve no need to waste my magic on you. I could kill you with my bare hands if I wanted to, besides…” His smile was cold. “I didn’t come alone.”
Walcott suddenly felt the barrel of a gun pressed firmly to the back of his head. His eyes widened as he glanced across to the old shabby mirror on the opposite wall. It was cracked in one corner, and it needed re-silvering, but he could still make out the tall, slim, white-haired man behind him. Where the hell had he come from? There was only one door, and he was facing it.
“Put the gun down, Tommy,” Charles told him firmly.
“I could still kill you, and I really don’t care if I die.”
“I believe you, but believe me when I tell you Davis will have a bullet lodged in your brain before you can even pull the trigger, and I will walk out of here with my daughter.” His voice was low and menacing. “I win... you lose.”
“You son of a bitch,” he growled as he lowered his weapon, and it clattered harmlessly to the floor.
“So I’ve been told.”
He glanced over Walcott’s shoulder with the barest nod of his head, and Davis smashed the butt of the gun down, knocking Walcott out cold.
Charles moved closer to Olivia and crouched in front of her. Slowly and carefully, he moved a lock of damp, matted hair from her eyes, taking in the injuries to her face.
Olivia watched him silently, her eyes clouding with pain and confusion as she looked into the eyes of a man she hadn’t spoken to in over twenty years.
