"What's wrong?" she asked. "What happened?"
"Is Nick Bastille here?" Alcee said.
Nat's heart began to pound. "Why? What's happened? Is it his father?"
Alcee gave her a dark look:. "Nat, answer the question. Is he here?"
"I'm right here."
Nat spun at the sound of Nick's voice and watched him descend the steps, his expression taut and wary.
She heard the slide of steel against leather as both Duncan and Alcee drew their weapons. "Stop right there. Bastille. Put your hands up where we can see them," Alcee said.
Nick stopped in the center of the living room and raised his hands to shoulder level. "What's this all about?"
"We have a warrant for your arrest." Alcee nodded at Duncan. "Cuff him."
Nat couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Arrest for what?"
Nick stood quietly with his hands raised, his expression totally devoid of emotion. Knowing he'd spent six years in prison for a crime he hadn't committed, she could only imagine the thoughts running through his mind.
Chest puffing out like a mean little rooster, Duncan crossed to Nick. "Turn around. Nice and easy. And give me your wrists."
Nick was a good three inches taller than Duncan, so the other man had to look up slightly to make eye contact. Taking one long last look at Nat, Nick slowly turned and offered his wrists. "What's the warrant for?" he asked.
Duncan tugged the cuffs from his belt. Once the bracelets were in place, he faced Nick and proceeded to pat him down. Since Nick was only wearing jeans, it didn't take long. But Duncan was thorough and purposefully rough, pulling his pockets inside out and leaving them that way.
Humiliating him, Nat thought, and anger surged through her. Adrenaline sent her across the room where she got in Alcee's face. "Why are you arresting him?" she demanded.
Alcee looked pained. "He's wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of Hunter Ratcliffe."
She felt the words like a punch. Hunt. Dead. She couldn't believe it. "My God. How? When did it happen?"
"I can't get into the details with you, Nat." Alcee looked at Nick and sighed. "We're going to take him to the station. If you want to help, I suggest you make sure he gets a good lawyer."
"He didn't do it," she said.
For the first time, Nick looked directly at her, his expression, hard. "I don't want you alone. Call Faye Townsend to stay with you."
She stared at him a moment, then crossed to Alcee. "He was with me all night."
The chief glared at her. "Nat, don't say anything you're going to be sorry for later. This is a serious matter."
"I' m telling the truth," she said. "He was with me. All night."
"We'll take a statement from you later," Alcee said. "Right now, all I've got to go on is a dead body and a dozen witnesses telling me Nick threatened him. I'm bound to take him in."
She glanced at Nick, but his eyes were already on her. She thought she'd never seen a man look so cold, so emotionally dead. "As soon as bail is set, I'll get you out," she said.
"Be careful," he said.
The phone clipped to Alcee' s belt chirped. He glared at it for an instant. “’Scuse me," he said and walked out the door and onto the front porch.
The instant Alcee was out of earshot, Matt Duncan drew back and rammed his fist into Nick's stomach. A quick, brutal punch to the solar plexus. She heard the sickening whoosh of air from Nick's lungs, then he bent forward and his knees hit the floor.
"That's for throwing my revolver in the pond, you fuckin' convict."
"Stop it!" Glaring at Duncan, Nat crossed to them and dropped to her knees at Nick's side. But he didn't look at her as he tried to catch his breath.
"Why did you do that?" she asked Duncan.
"He deserved it. Now get out of the way, or we'll take you in, too, just for being stupid enough to go to bed with this piece of convict scum."
Nat knew better than to get into a confrontation with the police. But she had no respect for cops like Matt Duncan. Getting to her feet, she stepped between the two men. "I'm going to make sure Alcee knows what you did."
Nick got to his feet. "Nat. Damn it. Back off."
Duncan's expression flashed mean. "If I were you, I'd worry about getting my own alibi in order. Your convict here wasn't the only one who argued with Hunt the other night at The Blue Gator."
The words frightened her more than she wanted to admit. Not for herself, she realized, but for Nick. A dozen or more people had seen him argue with Hunt Ratcliffe. Now they were taking him to jail, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
"Then why not arrest me?" she asked.
Duncan sneered. "Because we found Dutch Bastille's rifle at the scene."
Nick sent Duncan a hard look. "That rifle was locked in the gun cabinet."
"Save it for the judge, lover boy."
Nick ignored him, his expression growing concerned. "Has anyone checked to see if Dutch is all right? If that gun was used, that means someone broke into the house and stole it."
"Alcee talked to him, but that crazy old man of yours don't know nothin' about no gun." Pushing his cuffed hands up between his shoulder blades, Duncan shoved him toward the door. "Let's go."
"I'll check on Dutch," she called out to Nick.
He looked at her over his shoulder. But the eyes that met hers were not the eyes of the man who'd made love to her so tenderly just a few short hours ago. They were the eyes of a stranger, cold and hopeless and as hard as stone.
She wanted badly to go to him, to tell him this wasn't going to be like before. But everything about him screamed for her to keep her distance. She'd never seen him look so detached. So distant. So utterly dangerous.
"I'll meet you at the police station," she said.
''I don't want you alone," he said. "I mean it."
'What about a lawyer?"
''I’ll take care of that when I get my phone call." He gave her a meaningful look, and she realized he didn't want to talk in front of Duncan. "Nat, damn it, be careful."
''I will,” she promised.
"Someone tried to kill you last night." He lowered his voice. "Maybe that same person found a way to get me out of the picture."
Realization dawned, bringing a rise of gooseflesh to her arms. Before she could say anything more, Duncan shoved him out the door.
Chapter 26
The first rumble of thunder shook the windows as Nat dashed up the stairs and into the bedroom. No time for a shower, so she quickly washed up, then darted to the closet and chose jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. She couldn't believe Hunter Ratcliffe was dead. She couldn't believe Nick had been arrested for his murder.
But she knew Alcee Martin well enough to know he wouldn't have done such a thing unless he thought he had just cause. Nick's being an ex-con combined with the argument he'd had with Hunt was bad enough. But the real problem was the rifle that had been found at the scene. What if Nick's prints were on the gun? Even if he'd handled it during a routine cleaning, it could spell very bad news for him.
The image of the way he'd looked at her when Duncan cuffed him struck her like a blow. She could only imagine what had been going on inside him. He'd spent six years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. He'd been branded a murderer. His life and reputation had been ruined. His dreams had been crushed, six years of his life stolen. He'd lost his little boy while he'd been locked away. Now, it seemed the nightmare was happening all over again.
She desperately wanted to believe she would be able to get things straightened out. To consider the alternative was unthinkable. But Nat knew from experience that Fate didn't always play fair. She knew that sometimes innocence and truth were not enough. She was Nick's alibi. But there was a small part of her that was terrified no one would believe her, that the gun and Nick's reputation were enough reason for the charge to stick, for a jury to deem him guilty and send him away for the rest of his life.
Slipping into her shoes, she took a final glance
in the mirror and dragged her fingers through her hair. A swirl of vertigo sent her back a step. The glass rippled like water. A stone being dropped into a well.
Dear God, not now . . .
She lost her sense of depth perception, and for a moment felt as if she were tumbling into that well a hundred feet down. The ensuing dizziness hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. In her peripheral vision, the furniture began to spin, as if it were being sucked into a giant vortex. She was aware of her body going rigid. Her balance toppling. She grasped the edge of the dresser for support.
Words and dark emotions whirled inside her head. Vaguely, she was aware of her left hand grappling with something rigid and cold. In the last weeks she had trained herself to mentally reach for Kyle when the trance descended. She tried to do that now, tried to draw him inside her mind.
Come to me, baby . . .
A hundred emotions struck her at once. Violent blows that dazed and confused and left her shuddering with horror. An animal sound tore from her throat as she descended into the turmoil of a terrified mind. And then her left hand was moving quickly, frantically. Words pouring like blood. Red on her fingers. Darkness closing in. Time running out . . .
Nat came to on the floor in front of the bureau. She was lying on her side with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was choking back sobs, her entire body trembling. A headache hammered behind her eyes. Nausea roiled in her gut. She could hear the rain pounding outside, thunder rattling the windows. The bedroom was dark, and she realized belatedly the storm had taken out the electricity.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, she grasped the bureau and pulled herself to a sitting position. Lightning flashed, reflecting light in the mirror. She saw red on the glass and gasped.
Uncle Travis Mad Danger.
A chill swept through her at the sight of the words written on the mirror in bright red letters. She glanced around, saw the tube of lipstick lying on the floor. She must have pulled it out of her purse.
"My God." Reaching out, she set her fingertips against Kyle's second-grade handwriting. She didn't know what to make of the message. Was he trying to warn her that Travis was in some kind of danger?
Rising unsteadily, she stumbled to the bed and sat down, her mind reeling. There was no love lost between her and the Ratcliffe family. But if for some reason the murderer had targeted Travis, she needed to warn him. Not just to keep him safe, she realized, but because she knew this might be her best chance of catching the killer.
A crack of thunder made her jump. She could hear the sharp tap of hail against the roof. The bowl of wind through the trees in the front yard, the branches clacking together like bones. A glance at the alarm told her it was almost four-thirty A.M. The dead of night. But she knew Travis would be awake. Everyone at Ratcliffe Plantation would be awake because the mansion would be filled with the grief of losing a loved one.
Taking a deep breath, Nat reached for the phone beside the bed and dialed the number from memory. She held her breath, dread building inside her with each ring. On the sixth ring, the butler answered.
"Bernard, this is Nat Jennings."
"Ms. Jennings ... " His cultured voice was hushed as if to keep someone nearby from hearing with whom he was talking.
"I heard about Hunt," she said. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."
“Thank you. I'll pass along your condolences to the Ratcliffe family."
Knowing he was about to hang up, she spoke quickly. "I need to talk to Travis."
"I'm afraid he's not here."
"Can you tell me where I can reach him?”
"He's gone to the hospital in Covington, where the police . . ." He sighed. "Where they took Hunter."
She didn't have Travis's cell phone number and didn't think Bernard would give it to her, but she had to ask. "Can you give me Travis's cell phone number?"
"Ms. Jennings, I don't think that would be appropriate--"
“This is an emergency, Bernard. I think Travis might be in some kind of danger."
"Danger? What kind of--"
"Look. I can't say. It's just ... really important that I talk to him."
The ensuing silence lasted so long that for a moment she thought he would hang up on her. "Bernard?"
"It's 884-5667,” he said. "I didn't give it to you."
"Of course."
He hung up.
Sighing, Nat set the phone in its cradle. She looked at the alarm clock and thought about Nick. ''I'm not going to let you go to jail for something you didn't do," she whispered.
Grabbing her bag, she started for the stairs. The house was dark as she crossed through the living room. The silence seemed to enhance the tempo of the storm raging outside. Trying to ignore the uneasiness tugging at her, she walked into the kitchen and unplugged her cell phone from the charger.
She grabbed her keys from the hook above the desk and started for the door, dialing Faye's number as she went Faye picked up on the fifth ring with a groggy. "'Lo?"
"I'm sorry for waking you." Fumbling with her keys, Nat opened the front door. "Nick's been arrested. I was wondering if--"
Shock flashed through her at the sight of Travis Ratcliffe standing on her porch. His clothes were soaked. Rain streamed down his face to drip off his nose and chin unnoticed. He looked as if he were in shock.
"I'll call you back." Nat hit the End button on her phone and shoved it into her bag. "Travis ... what are you doing here?"
"Hello, Natalie. I figured you'd be awake. It seems like most of Bellerose is awake tonight, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry about Hunt," she said.
He looked away, but not before she saw the emotion slash across his face. "God, I can't believe it. Shot dead. Jesus."
A pang of sympathy went through her. No one knew better than she did the agony of losing a family member. She started to step back to let him inside, but something in his eyes made her hold her ground. "Are you holding up all right?" she asked.
"For the most part I just feel numb. I can't believe this happened."
"How is Elliott?"
"Inconsolable. Angry. Ranting. You know how he is."
Remembering Kyle's warning that Travis could be in danger, she took a deep breath. ''I tried to call you earlier."
"Yeah? What about?"
"After hearing about Hunt, I just ... wanted to tell you to be careful."
He gave her a wry smile. "You think some madman is picking off us Ratcliffes one by one? God, it seems that way, doesn't it? First Ward. Then Hunt. You think I'm next?"
"Just be careful, okay?"
He was studying her closely now. A little too closely, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. Nat felt guilty for wanting him to leave, but she needed to get to Nick. "I was just on my way to the police station."
"So you're aware that they arrested Nick Bastille."
She nodded. ''Travis, I know you don't like him, but he didn't do it."
"The police found his father's rifle at the scene. Hunt and Bastille argued. He was in prison for murder."
"He was in prison for manslaughter. and he was innocent."
That wry smile again. "Ah, Nat, you put way too much faith in people."
"He didn't kill Hunt."
"How do you know?"
''He was with me." Realizing she'd probably said too much, that this was a conversation she didn't want to have with him now, Nat glanced at her watch. ''Look, I'm sorry, but I've got to go."
"All right." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I have to get back to the house, anyway. I was going to the hospital to ... see what's happening with Hunt. But the police are having to call in the coroner from Tangipahoa Parish, since I'm related ... " Sighing, he let his words trail. "I'll walk you out.”
Leaving him standing on the porch, she crossed to the coat closet for a light jacket and umbrella, her mind already jumping forward to Nick.
“I just can't figure out why you came back, Natalie."
She jumped at the closeness of his voice and spun to se
e that he' d followed her into the living room. The coat closet was recessed in an alcove. He was standing too close, crowding her, blocking her in. Lightning flashed, and for the first time she saw his face in full light. The strangeness in his eyes and the utter blankness of his expression sent a chill through her.
"I always figured Bellerose was the last place you'd want to be after what happened to your husband and son," he said.
Nat stepped back, something terrible niggling at the back of her mind. "What are you doing?"
"Protecting my interests."
She tried to step around him, but he blocked her way. That was when she spotted the club in his hand. It was fashioned from wood and shaped like a miniature baseball bat. "I think you should leave."
"I'm afraid I can't do that." He shook his head. "Why couldn't you just stay gone? Why did you have to come back and start asking questions? Digging up things that shouldn't be dug up?"
Realization poured over her in a vicious rush, as cold and shocking as a plunge into ice water. Her heart was like a battering ram against her ribs. Her throat was so tight she could barely speak. Never in a million years would she have suspected Travis . . .
"You ... " she choked, but her throat was so tight she couldn't finish the sentence. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear him.
"Yes," he whispered. "Me. Isn't that a shocker?"
She glanced to her left. If she could get by him, she might be able to make it to the kitchen, then to the back door.
"Don't even think about trying to get away." He raised the baton, studied it with a fondness that chilled her. "It might look small, but it will stop you cold. Just ask my old man. He used it on me plenty when I was a kid." He slapped it against his palm. "It will break a bone, but it's not nearly as messy as a gun or knife."
The words rang hollowly in her ears. "Travis, for God's sake, what are you doing?"
"Come on, Nat. You know exactly what I'm doing. I see it in your eyes. I don't know how you figured it out. It was so fucking perfect." His smile raised gooseflesh on her arms. "It's almost as if you've been talking to the dead. But we both know that's not possible, don't we?"