And darkness always came at a steep price.
She crossed the gangplank onto the ship, following Drake. He hadn’t spoken another word since they got out of the car. They’d left his truck parked at the Juliette Gordon Low house in the historic district after she persuaded him to let her drive him to River Street. If he had another attack while behind the wheel of his truck, he might not survive it.
Once she stepped onto the deck of the ship, she marveled at the solid construction. Drake built this? Impressive. Not that she thought of herself as any kind of nautical expert, but she’d played enough hours of Skull & Crossbones online to feel somewhat knowledgeable, even if this was her first time on an actual pirate ship.
Drake cleared his throat, and she turned to find him rubbing his forehead. “The others are coming, so you don’t need to stay. One of the crew can take me back to my truck.”
His voice was still raspy, but stronger.
She frowned. “Did you hear what I said back there before you fell?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t hear anything over the banshee in my ears.”
At least he didn’t try to lie. Heather glanced around the deck. “Maybe you should sit down.”
He chuckled. “No deck furniture on this vessel.”
She looked up and caught the hint of a smile on his face. Heat blossomed low in her belly. She reined that unwanted energy back in before it had a chance to break free. The last thing she needed was a man. Especially one with a grin that made her knees wobble.
She’d sworn off love, and she’d been much happier since, or at least, safer.
Heather scanned the deck. He was right. Not a single chair. “Even pirates need to sit sometimes. There must be something around here someplace.”
He crossed in front of her. “Follow me.”
He led her through a door that opened into a small, efficient-looking kitchen and pulled over two stools. “This is One-Eyed Bob’s galley.”
“Bob didn’t tell me you both play pirate on the Sea Dog.” Suddenly she had a million questions. The night she discovered Drake and his friends in the Bonaventure Cemetery, she’d gone with Agent David Bale. Her ex. No. Her colleague. It was better this way.
David kept many secrets, and because of his top secret work for the government, she didn’t dig for answers. She’d stumbled onto his true age through her communications with one of his dead informants. Through some magical herb concoction, David had been able to halt aging and heal from bullet and stab wounds. Even though he didn’t look a day over forty, David had started working for Department 13 before the Kennedy assassination.
And the night she accompanied him to the Bonaventure Cemetery, he’d been trying to stop one of his brother’s descendants who’d come in contact with Pandora’s Box. The legend was very much real and contained enough evil to lay waste to the world if someone opened it. They saved humanity, but she never did find out why Drake and the others were there.
His shoulders tensed as he sat on the stool. “Bob and I don’t play here, we sail.” He broke eye contact, staring at the door. “So what did I miss when the banshee wailing started?”
Heather slid her hands into the pockets of her cape. “I started to tell you I’m a medium, and a spirit asked me to protect you.” She waited for him to look at her before adding, “It was a boy. He called you his uncle.”
All the color drained from Drake’s face. He stood up quickly and clasped the back of his neck. “Protect me from what?”
“I’m not sure exactly. He said they were witches. He said they’ll make you think it was your fault. Does that mean anything to you?”
He rubbed his forehead and met her eyes. She recognized the body language instantly. Her clients had the same reaction when she told them something they weren’t ready to admit to another soul.
“No. Sorry.” His jaw clenched in resolution. “I’m no one’s uncle.”
She studied him for a moment, taking in the tightness in his broad shoulders, the way his rough hands balled into fists at his sides, and the strong angles of his handsome face. There was something about him. Yes, he was nice to look at, but he also tugged at her soul. She recognized he was hiding something, although she barely knew him, and being near him kindled a yearning to help that didn’t make sense.
Ugh. The last thing she needed was a broody, secretive man in her life. Two years ago, when federal agent David Bale walked out of her life, leaving behind a spectacular fireball of emotional wreckage, she swore to herself she’d never repeat that mistake.
Whatever haunted Drake, he wasn’t ready to face it, and she didn’t have the fortitude to guide him through it.
“I guess I’ve done all I can, then.” She stood and lifted the hood of her wool cape over her head, covering her silver hair.
Drake opened his mouth to speak, but another man’s voice filled the void.
“Drake? Where are you?”
“In the galley, quartermaster!” Drake called without taking his eyes off Heather. “Colton owns the Sea Dog.”
A tall man about Drake’s age walked through the door, ducking his head as he came inside. His eyes widened when he noticed her. He glanced at Drake. “You’re not alone.”
“I was his ride.” She offered her hand. “I’m Heather Storrey.”
Colton shook her hand without hesitation, arching a brow. “The woman who speaks to the dead.”
She chuckled with a shrug. “I’ve been known to.”
Colton looked over at Drake. “You two know each other?”
Drake crossed to her side, the heat from his body radiating right through her cape.
He nodded. “We met in the Bonaventure Cemetery.” His voice was stronger now, a good sign. “She was helping Agent Bale.”
Colton turned her way. “You know Bale, too?”
“Yes.” She shrugged, intentionally leaving out the part about how David stomped all over her
