Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(23)

“Jake and I have known each other since we were kids. We were in a band together at one time.”

“And now?”

“We live in Virginia.”

“But you’re locals.”

“Yes.” She shrugged and decided to say at last, “My name is Ashley Donegal.”

“Wow. Wow. Nice! I mean this house, I love it, but Donegal Plantation, that’s cool. Really cool.” He frowned. “They have G-men working on plantations now?”

“Trust me—NOLA has an office. With great agents. But Jake is part of a special unit. They’re in Virginia.”

“I see. I think.”

Jake came back to them, finished with his calls. “We’ll be splitting things up for the next twenty-four hours. NOPD and FBI,” he explained. “Officer Jacobs will be here soon.”

“How do we know we can trust him?” Showalter asked.

Jake frowned. “I thought you were all for the police.”

“I am.”

“So?”

“Can we trust him?” Showalter asked anxiously.

“I think so. He’s the nephew of the lead detective on the case—Detective Parks. Parks is great and intuitive—I’m glad to be helping him out. If he’s sending his nephew, he trusts his nephew.”

“And then?”

“Tomorrow, you’ll have a Krewe escort until…well, until we get where we need to be and you’re safe.”

“Krewe? Hey, it’s not Mardi Gras. I don’t need—”

“Krewe of Hunters. It’s a moniker for my special unit. You’ll be in good hands,” Jake promised him.

Showalter walked to the bar cart and offered them a drink. They refused.

“Fine. I’ll drink alone. No problem.”

He sat down, then nearly leapt up three feet when he heard the buzzer from his gate.

“That’s Jacobs,” Ashley said softly.

“Oh, okay. The key is there.” He pointed to the coffee table.

Ashley started to get it but Jake was ahead of her, sweeping it up and going back out to open the gate.

“I’m Larry Jacobs,” the young man in uniform was saying as Jake led him into the room. “Detective Parks sent me. Guard duty.”

He was young, lithe, and looked to be sharp as a tack. His hair was reddish and his eyes were a deep, intense brown. He looked around briefly and then asked, “Alarm system?”

“Yes,” Jake said, then he hesitated. “I don’t think anyone will come for him here—alarms cause a ruckus, though even the most sophisticated can be thwarted. This is precautionary. Just in case.”

“Understood. Nice to meet you,” Jacobs said to Ashley.

“A pleasure. And thank you,” Ashley said.

He nodded and held a hand out to Richard Showalter, who immediately offered him a drink.

“Not while I’m looking after you, sir,” Jacobs said.

Showalter seemed to appraise him, then nodded to Jake. “I like this kid.”

“Good. He’ll be with you until tomorrow, mid-morning. And don’t worry, someone else will be with you then,” Jake assured him.

“Until you all get tired of watching out for me, right?” Showalter took a swig of his drink.

“We don’t get tired of watching out for people,” Jake said.

Richard Showalter lifted his drink in a mock toast to Ashley. “And to think, for a moment I thought I was going to have a magical night.”

“It was a magical night,” Jake said curtly. “You’re alive.”

Showalter’s hand shook as he hastily put his drink down, slopping whiskey. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you both. I think.” He grimaced. “Maybe they were just clowns.”

“Good night,” Ashley told him softly.

“Goodnight, y’all,” Larry Jacobs called, and they bid him good night as well.

When they left, Ashley asked Jake, “You really do think the clowns were the witches, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” he told her. “They ran like hell when they saw me—instinct, I guess. I haven’t figured it out yet, but…”

“Vigilantes,” Ashley said. Jake seemed distant and—she thought—still upset with her. “But where does Shelley fit in? Or does she?”

Jake didn’t answer. “Tomorrow. I’ll get back on it tomorrow.”

He had said “I’ll.”

She wasn’t being invited into the city tomorrow.

She understood his worry. The clowns had stopped when they saw her. And the outfit she had chosen did resemble the one worn by the woman in the painting by Shelley she had purchased. The painting now in the backseat of the car.

When they reached Donegal, she was exhausted. “I’m going on up,” she said softly.

He stood in the foyer—between the two winding staircases where she had planned for them to marry—lost in thought.

“Jake?”

“I’ll be up in a bit,” he said.

But he wasn’t.

She showered and lay awake. He didn’t come.

But the dream did come. Again.

She was back on Bourbon Street, once more headed from Canal toward Esplanade. Hawkers were about, people laughing and talking. Music blared.