Phantom Evil (Krewe of Hunters #1)

Phantom Evil (Krewe of Hunters #1) Page 9

“What’s been written about us being in the house?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, just that the senator has brought in a team of investigators. People believe that he’s so heartbroken, he had to do something to try to prove that his wife didn’t commit suicide.”

“Did you know her?” Jackson asked.

“No. But, I’ve seen her. She was really loved here—just like the senator. Hey, he’s like a breath of fresh air. Especially in Louisiana.” Jake’s wry grin deepened. “The people loved Huey Long because he shook things up and worked for every one despite his carousing. Senator Holloway, he’s loved the same way. He wants big money to take care of big-money problems, and he wants to create work for everyone. And he was an honest-to-God family man.”

There was a sharp intelligence beneath the laid-back exterior of the man, Jackson thought. He might prove to be a far greater asset than Jackson had imagined at first sight.

“Politicians, in one way, seem perfectly understandable, but then it’s always hard to tell what is lurking in their minds, they’re so accustomed to wearing masks,” Jackson said.

“True, but I do know New Orleans, and a lot of the players here,” Jake offered.

Conversation paused. Jackson had the curious feeling that they were being watched, and he turned to see why.

Angela Hawkins looked down at them from the second-floor landing. It struck him again that she was an exceptionally beautiful woman, far too angelic looking, really, to have been a cop. Despite last night, she retained a reserve that was no less daunting than a suit of armor. Though beneath it all, he sensed her capable of a smile that would light the world. Studying her personality was an intriguing and appealing concept.

“Hi, there!” Jake called to her.

“Angela, Jake, Jake, Angela.”

“So, how did you sleep? Any ghosts prowling the halls?” Jake asked. He might have been asking her if a shopping mall had been busy.

“I was out like a light last night,” she told him. “Welcome to the crew!”

Jake smiled at her. And Angela returned it. They seemed to have an instant, easy rapport. He was surprised to find himself envious.

“Thanks. It’s good to be here.”

“I can get Jake up to speed on what I know about the house,” Angela offered.

“Sure.” Hmm. He heard the tension in his voice. What he was feeling was ridiculous; they were peers. He knew better than to feel a macho, ego-driven need to be the divine leader, most respected and most admired—and liked. He found himself thinking about his last team; they had worked so well together for so long. Each member with his or her own specialty and all of them learning to work like a well-oiled machine. But, he had to remember, they’d been together five years. This was a new team; despite his lingering feelings of pain for his last coworkers, he had to make himself start fresh, and give each member of this new team a chance to fall in—just as he had to learn to lead again, as smoothly as he had in the past.

“Sure,” he said again. “That will be great.”

He almost managed to laugh at himself as he headed back to the kitchen, to finish the notes he had been making after his conversation with Andy Devereaux, and after they had discovered the bones of Madden C. Newton’s probable first New Orleans victim.

Almost. It was one thing to understand the way the human mind worked. It was another to buck against it when you were the human in question.

“I play a lot on Frenchman Street,” Jake told Angela. “Things have changed a lot since our season of storms. The demographics in the city have changed, and it’s kind of like a movement for survival. Let’s face it, the history here is great, but tons of the tourism comes because of Bourbon Street, for people to have a good time in the old Big Easy. So, now, you don’t hear all the different stuff you used to hear—well, not as much. The bars on Bourbon mostly have pop—Journey, Bon Jovi, hard-hitting fast stuff. Of course, everything is a contradiction. Next thing you know, the best sax player known to man will show up working at one of the tourist places!”

“It’s always been a city of contradictions,” Angela assured him, liking the young man very much.

“You know it well?” he asked, arching a brow as she led them at last to the entertainment slash family room. He sat at the end of the sofa and she perched at the other, winding her legs beneath her as she faced him.

“From college,” she told him. “I grew up in Virginia, but I absolutely love New Orleans, so it does feel just a little bit like coming home. Despite the gruesome reason.”

“So, tell me, Miss Hawkins, what do you do?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I guess I’m a ‘finder,’ too. That’s what you do, right?”

He nodded, shrugging. “I guess I have a certain sense for…finding people.” He lowered his voice, looking toward the door.

“Do you?” she asked. “How do you mean?”

He hesitated a minute, then said, “Friends of mine almost went insane. Their five-year-old was kidnapped, and two boys had been kidnapped right before. One’s body had been found. I had a dream about a child holding my hand, taking me down into an area of bayou near Slidell. I found the body of the second. And it was amazing, because when I found it, I also found the old swamp house where they were keeping my friends’ little boy. He survived. I was so grateful, but the experience shook me up—that was for certain. But I didn’t dwell on it. Knowing things, seeing events and people—it isn’t always good. Some people turn away from you; they think that you’re out to hurt them, or they want to put some distance between you and them, because there might be something really odd about you.” He paused again. “I think I lost a best friend that way.” He laughed softly. “Actually, the love of my life. But…well, if you have experiences like mine, you stay sane yourself by learning to use whatever talent you have, gift or curse, to do what you can to help stop some of the depravity and evil in the world. New Orleans is my home, so my talents came in handy when the city was in trouble.”

“Do your ghosts come in dreams,” she said.

“Sometimes. Yours?”

She found herself looking to the door as well. “I get feelings that seem almost like a divining rod—and yes, I get the dreams. I—I saw something when my parents were killed in a plane crash. I saw them walking toward the light, along with a lot of other people. The therapist who worked with me afterward told me that I saw what I needed to see in order to be able to bear the grief.”

“But you never believed that.”

“No, but my time with the therapist made me extremely careful about what I say to other people!”

He laughed, his green eyes still bright. “Well, I do know people who see them—ghosts—and see them easily.”

“Really?” she asked.

“I’ll introduce you,” he said.

“They live here?”

He nodded.

“Does Adam know about them? Why wouldn’t he have brought them in on this team?”

“Well, frankly, Nikki and Brent have three small children now. I’m sure Adam would have liked to have them on a team, but they’re busy parents. I don’t believe they would work away from the city, not with their children growing up. They have their schools, their church, their sports teams…they’re good people, though. I met Adam through them, actually…” Jake paused in thought.

“I see. And I understand—I think. Adam wants a team that will stay cohesive for a while, a group that starts out together and learns to work together,” Angela said.

“You think Regina Holloway committed suicide?”

Angela simply looked at him for a moment and admitted, “No.”

“You think the house is haunted?” he asked her.

She laughed. Once again, she chose her words. “Say I believe that a house can be haunted. Perhaps things go bump in the night—or ghosts prowl the hallways. I don’t think that ghosts pushed Regina Holloway over the balcony.”

“Good conclusion.”

The voice came from the doorway and Angela turned quickly to see that Jackson Crow had finished whatever work he was doing and stood there, watching them. She felt color flood her cheeks. Just how long had he been there?

“I wanted you to let Jake know that he needs to go ahead and pick a room,” Jackson said, his blue eyes as enigmatic as ever. “The rest of the crew will be arriving soon. You might want to get settled. The two maids who worked in the house when Regina was alive won’t come back to work here, but they should be here in a few minutes to show us where the linen can be found, towels, cleaning articles, all that.”

“All right, I think I’ll go ahead and take that third room in the hallway where you two are,” Jake said. “And I’m pretty good at picking up after myself. I can cook, too,” he assured them.

“I’ll help you,” Angela said.

“I just have my guitar and my bag,” he said.

“I’ll get the guitar for you—and treat it like gold,” Angela assured him. “You wouldn’t want to drop it on the way up the stairs.”

“Sure,” he said, and they both walked past Jackson. Angela felt that he watched them, and she wondered why. She was equally curious as to why she was suddenly trying to avoid him.

Because the meeting over the pickax remained between them—and she didn’t really want him knowing that, despite her credentials, she definitely still had her vulnerabilities.

She wasn’t sure. She was confident, and she knew how to keep her own counsel. But there was something about the way that he looked at her…

She usually didn’t care, she realized. She wanted Jackson Crow to like her.

“Hi!”

The fourth member of his team, Whitney Tremont, had just rung the bell. She’d been born and bred in New Orleans just like Jake, but with the difference that Jake came from an “English” background and Whitney was pure Creole.