had no idea what excuse he was going to give his uncle for requisitioning the sheriff department’s airboat and cruising around the swamp all day.
But he was going to have to think of something.
He didn’t think for one minute that a witch on an island in the swamp had taken Erika, but he didn’t quite believe Bobby had, either. That left him in a quandary, and Holt didn’t like unanswered questions. This situation was full of them.
Reaching into the desk drawer, he pulled out his uncle’s whiskey bottle and poured himself a shot. He wasn’t about to admit to Alex that Sarah’s story had unnerved him just a bit. He’d have liked to blame his upbringing—a superstitious, overprotective mother and an absentee father—but it was more than that. During his time overseas with the military, he’d been special ops, and he’d spent some time in places the military wasn’t technically supposed to be.
He’d seen a lot of things he couldn’t explain. So many that he stopped dismissing ideas just because they didn’t compute in a traditional way, the way he had when he’d been a boy in Vodoun. Maybe Erika had found the doll somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and that was why she lied, but it was far more likely that a stranger had given Erika the doll. Sarah, being a good parent, would have cautioned Erika not to talk to strangers, much less take something from them, which was why the girl would have lied.
None of that explained who had given a thirty-year-old doll to a little girl, where Erika or Bobby were, the mysterious staring crow or the birds falling from the sky. Except coincidence.
And Holt hated coincidence even more than he did unanswered questions.
Chapter Four
Alex pulled up to the dock at five minutes till six, already nervous about the day before it even started. The local weatherman had reported a disturbance in the Gulf of Mexico that was due to hit Vodoun that evening. The sky was already gray and overcast and made everything seem even grimmer.
Holt stood on the dock talking to one of the local fishermen, and Alex couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in ragged jeans, a black T-shirt and steel-toe boots. Time certainly hadn’t erased his sex appeal, and that frightened her.
But not as much as their destination.
Twenty years ago, Alex had promised herself she’d never set foot in the swamp again, and all these years she’d kept that promise. Erika and Sarah were the only reason she was going there now.
Let’s get this over with.
She climbed out of the car and reached back inside for the two coffees in the center console. The fisherman was still talking to Holt, who gave her a nod as she approached. When the fisherman saw her, he wrapped up his conversation and headed to his boat.
“I hope that’s strong and black,” Holt said.
Alex handed him one of the cups. “Is there another kind?”
“Not in my book.” Holt took a sip of the coffee. “You ready?”
She sat her coffee down on the pier. “Yeah. Let me grab my things.”
She hurried to her car and pulled her backpack from the passenger’s seat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed back to the dock.
Holt looked down the bayou, then back at her feet. “This is going to be rough. I’m glad you wore good boots.”
“Just because I live in the city doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what the bayou’s like,” Alex said.
She placed her backpack on the pier and removed a nine-millimeter from the side pocket. She checked the clip for the third time that morning, then slipped the gun back into the pocket, zipping it tight.
“I don’t remember nines when we were kids,” Holt commented. “Or is that something you picked up in the big city?”
“Actually, it belongs to Ms. Maude. I paid her a visit last night after I got Sarah to sleep.”
“Ms. Maude? The crazy old cat lady on Miller Lane?”
“No. Ms. Maude, who likes cats, whose father was a Precision Military Weapons Specialist and who happens to have a target gallery in her barn.”
“That explains a lot,” Holt said, “especially about her single status.”
“So what you’re saying is that Ms. Maude might have married if all the men in Vodoun weren’t a bunch of wimps?”
“I think it’s safer if I don’t say anything else at all.” He took another drink of his coffee and glanced down at her mug, which was still sitting on the dock.
She placed her backpack in the boat and scooped up her coffee. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I’d kill people for less.”
Holt sighed and untied the airboat from the dock. “I don’t know how far I’ll make it on one cup of coffee.”
Alex stepped into the airboat. “There might be a full thermos in my backpack, but you’re going to have to earn it.”
Holt pushed the boat from the dock and jumped in with a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He leaned over, preparing to kiss her.
Alex put one hand on his chest to stop him. “Not like that.”
“That used to be the way I earned things.”
“The price has increased. Inflation, you know?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I guess that’s what happens when things age.”
Before Alex could retort, he started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat. Alex turned around and looked over the bow of the boat as Holt took off from the dock. She waved at a couple of fishermen as they made their way up the channel from the dock. At the end of the channel, where the fisherman turned left to the open waters of the lake, Holt turned right into the narrow bayous and inlets that led deeper into the swamp.
Holt slowed as they progressed through the tiny channels, the edges of the airboat sometimes scraping the bank on both sides. It was denser than Alex remembered. Moss clung to almost every branch of the cypress trees that created a canopy over the bayou. The deeper into the swamp they went, the more dim the light became until it seemed almost as if twilight had come, even though it wasn’t yet seven a.m.
The darkness seemed to set upon her like a wet blanket, weighing her down and making breathing more difficult. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it slowly out. She’d known that coming here again would affect her, but she’d underestimated by how much. She’d spent a lot of years in New Orleans concentrating on her education and then her practice. And even more years trying to put the swamps of Mystere Parish out of her mind. Apparently, it had been wasted time. It seemed that for every hundred yards they moved deeper into the swamp, she could feel her heartbeat kick up just a bit.
Alex glanced back at Holt and the grim look on his face didn’t help calm her at all. For more reasons than one, he probably regretted agreeing to do this. If he hadn’t known how absolutely bull-headed Sarah could be, Alex knew, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. But checking it out himself
