Either way, this mission needed to be wrapped up quickly. Things were snowballing now. Not only was Heather in danger, but he’d also tangled Agent Henderson into the mess. He straightened his jacket, shaking off the dread.
This would work. Nothing bad would happen to Agent Henderson. Not on his watch.
Chapter Thirteen
Drake turned on the barstool, tipping his head to Greyson as he entered Bob’s Seafood. “Thanks for coming.”
“You knew I wasn’t going to pass up a free drink.” Greyson swung a leg up onto the next stool.
One-Eyed Bob came out of the kitchen and grinned. His capped, dazzling white teeth still shocked Drake. In their mortal days on the Sea Dog, the cook had been missing a few teeth along with his eye. The new smile surprised Drake more than the glass eye Bob wore in this lifetime.
“What can I get you, mates?” He wiped down the already clean bar.
“Two rums, and leave the bottle,” Drake replied.
“All right.”
Bob busied himself collecting glass tumblers and the bottle while Drake glanced over at Greyson. “There’s a coven of witches after me.”
Greyson’s eyes widened just before his grin. “No way. Why would a bunch of magic workers want a carpenter?”
“Hell if I know, but they can control ghosts from your past. There’s a banshee wail that only I can hear, and the sound in my head lays me out.”
Bob set the glasses and the bottle down on the bar, his good eye narrowing slightly. “Banshee means death is coming.”
Drake nodded slowly. “I think they’re trying to kill me or drive me to kill myself.”
“So they don’t know you couldn’t die even if you wanted to.” Greyson poured himself a finger of rum and knocked it back. “I’m back to my original question. Why you? If they wanted money, they’d go after Flynn or John Smyth.”
Drake filled his glass and took a swig of the rum, enjoying the sting in his empty belly as the familiar warmth spread through him. “Maybe it was random. The ghost they torment me with is my nephew. He was lost at sea.”
He gripped the glass tighter, holding back the rest of the story. The captain knew about the stowaway, but if the others didn’t, he wasn’t ready to put his guilt and pain on open display.
Grayson lifted a brow. “Seems like a stretch, mate. Unless that’s the only spirit they can control, what good would killing you do for their coven?” He chuckled, lifting his glass again. “Maybe they want your woodworking tools.”
Bob hustled into the kitchen and returned with a plate of steaming hush puppies. He put it between the three of them and locked eyes with Drake. “There used to be a legend about Davy Jones.”
Drake bit into a hush puppy and barely held back a groan. No one made hush puppies like Bob. He’d had lifetimes to perfect his recipe. There wasn’t a better comfort food this side of heaven.
“There are plenty of legends about Davy Jones.” Greyson leaned in closer to Bob. “I don’t recall one about helping witches control ghosts.”
Bob shrugged and gave a halfhearted nod. “Maybe not helping them, but I remember tales of the figurehead of the Dutchman singing a song only the dead could hear. Her eyes would glow, hypnotizing and enslaving souls to become deck hands on the Dutchman.”
The hush puppy hit Drake’s gut like a boulder. “Are you saying these witches learned the song?”
Bob poured himself a glass of rum, his hand trembling. “All I’m saying is many of the old sea legends are truer than landlubbers would like to think.”
Greyson rocked back on his stool. “Bullshit, Bob. Even if the legend were true, how the hell would a coven of witches get their hands on the figurehead of the legendary Flying Dutchman? A ship that big coming ashore without it hitting every paper across the country? No way. Maybe these witches have a medium…” His words faded as he turned toward Drake. “Are you sure you can trust Heather?”
A bolt of rage shot through Drake’s belly. Lack of sleep had his temper jagged and raw. He clenched his fist, struggling to contain his emotions. “I’d trust her with my life.” He glanced at the cook. “Bob’s known her longer than me. He can vouch for her.”
Bob raised his glass. “There’s not an evil bone in that woman’s body. She’s been nothing but kind even when the world didn’t show her any kindness in return.”
Greyson’s gaze flicked between them. “Didn’t mean to offend anyone. I liked her well enough.” He focused on Drake. “You called me here tonight to tell me witches are after you. Why me?”
“Because when the attacks come, I can’t protect Heather. I need a backup I can count on.” Drake poured another rum. “You own a security company. I want to hire you to look after Heather when I can’t.”
Greyson smirked. “I’m happy to help, but it doesn’t sound like you can pull out your phone and call me once the witches attack.”
“That’s why I want you to shadow her for now. Keep her safe if I’m not able to.”
Silence descended on the three of them. Greyson swirled the last of the rum in his glass and lifted his eyes to Drake’s face. “Have you talked to her about this? She wasn’t pleased to find me lurking around with a gun last night.”
“I will. I’m seeing her tonight. I’ll tell her then, but I want you nearby. Until we find these witches and stop them, I need to know she’ll be protected.” Drake held his breath. Heather wouldn’t like it, but she’d understand. He’d make sure she did.
Greyson finished the rum, set the glass down, and nodded. “All right. I’ll do some digging into the covens around Savannah, too. Maybe I can find something about psychic attacks.”
“Heather’s safety comes first.” Drake clasped his
