Crossroads Shadowland (9 page)

"Yes, you must channel him,
contact him or whatever it is you do,
convince him the boys must be returned."

Frank didn't miss Rand's
shudder and knew he was reliving his ordeal
from last night. "That's a very tall order."

"With God all things are
possible, Frank. Gain Valmont's trust. Call him
by name, strike a bargain with him."

"Bargain?"

"Yes, tell him he'll be
granted eternal peace when he releases Brent and
Charlie."

Frank shook his head.
"Whether dealing with human or spirit, I've
learned things backfire when you don't follow through on
deals you strike.
Could get
ugly."

"It's not in my nature to
deceive anyone, not even a misguided spirit,"
she insisted. "Persuade him to meet us here tonight so we
might bring those
boys home."

"
Us?
I can't agree to put you in
harm's way, Sister—"

Frank's new ally flashed a
mischievous grin. "The Sisters of Ursula were
placed in harm's way long before landing in New Orleans in
1727," she
interjected. "They survived
pirate attacks during the journey and the ravages
of disease aboard ship. After arriving, they
established schools, orphanages,
hospitals, and triumphed over cyclonic fires and vast famine.
We are a hardy
Order, Frank; more than
equipped to deal with a restless spirit. Besides, with
God, all—"

"—things are possible."

She squared her narrow shoulders and issued
a firm nod.

Damn, the wisp of a woman
had grit. "I'll attempt to make contact with
our ghost when we return to the hotel. If I'm successful in
convincing Doucet
to meet us here, I'll be
in touch."

"Good, it's settled then.
Rand has my phone number." She looked in the
direction of the entrance. "My driver will be happy to drop
you at the
Provincial."

Frank shook his head.
"Thanks, Sister, but we'll hoof it back; need some
fresh air."

With a final smile at Rand,
Sister Francoise marched off with a wave to
her driver, an indication she'd finished her task at the
cemetery.

Frank heard the engine come
to life and looked at Rand. "Who do you
suppose chauffeurs her around?"

"She said she never learned
to drive. By the time she wanted to, figured
she was too old. I think she introduced him as the
maintenance man for the
building."

"Our Sister Francoise is
quite the interesting character," Frank said
watching the vehicle until it pulled from the curb. "Let's
go. Sounds like I have some work to do."

Chapter Six

"I'm not leaving!" With his
arms in the air, his face flushed, Rand faced off with Frank in the
room. "I seem to remember another time we had this
conversation!"

"That was different. At the
time we were dealing with a real-life
criminal, not a powerful specter from another
world."

"Yeah, a killer with a .357 Magnum!"

"Rand, I knew my
capabilities then. Billy had entered my world and
leveled the playing field, but here, I'm out of
my element. After what happened
last
night, Valmont would like nothing better than to use you to
his
advantage."

Rand kicked the leg of the
upended desk at his feet. "My answer is the
same now; you send me away, I might not—"

"Goddamn it, do what you
have to do." When a look of incredulity
crossed his features, Frank wanted to retract the words.
Softer now, he added,
"I'm not shutting
you out. It's for your own good."

"You know what your problem
is? You think you're an island. It's Frank
McGuire against the whole fucking world."

"As long as I've been
drawing breath it has been." He didn't have time
for this bullshit with Rand right now. If he
didn't understand Frank's
motivation to
protect him, he must be denser than moss. "If you can't live
with
that, do something about it, but quit
threatening me."

Rand set his jaw, his
nostrils flaring. "Where's my ticket back to
Baltimore?"

"In my travel bag," Frank
said his voice weary. "This isn't the way to handle this, you
know." Without responding, Rand dug through the leather
bag, opened the tickets and shoved one into the
pocket of his shirt. "One night,
that's
all I ask. Go out on the town, see New Orleans and have a great
time."

Rand opened the dresser
drawer, and using both hands, shoved his
clothing into his shoulder bag. Reaching the door of the
room, he turned to
Frank. "If I wanted to
see New Orleans alone, I would have booked my own
ticket."

Frank's gut clenched. He
wanted to ask him to stay, but couldn't. When
the door slammed in his face, Frank had an unmistakable urge
to yank it open
and call him back.
Instead, he righted the wingback and fell into it with the
numb realization he'd saved Rand and lost him in
the span of ten
minutes.

* * * * *

Frank doused the light in
the room, locked the door and forced his tense
body to relax. Willing his body into a meditative state, he
attributed his slow
connection to the
screen to a number of factors—his fight with Rand,
overriding doubt of success and bone-chilling
fear.

After several attempts, the
monitor floated behind his closed eyes. As in
all prior instances, he didn't try to decipher the patterns,
but rather allowed
his mind to drift,
keeping the maze of colorful patterns at the forefront.
Rewarded long moments later when his sixth chakra
opened, Frank slipped into a higher level of consciousness and
willed his body to enter a boneless
state.
He knew he'd reached Valmont when the sound of a chair
scraping
across wooden planks filtered
into his brain.

The image flared, faded and
then returned before a deep, resonant voice
blared like a megaphone in the room. "You bore witness to my
violated resting
place."

Frank collected his
courage. "Yes, Valmont, I saw the broken headstone." For the first
time Frank saw not only the man's beard, but every feature of
his
face—strong jaw, brown eyes and hair
the color of wheat.

Valmont leaned forward and tapped the
bayonet on the floor. "Was all I had left, a white stone marking my
time on earth."

"A stupid, reckless undertaking without
thought to their actions."

"You're dead," they said. "You're dead and
must accept your fate."

"They're children, Valmont,
didn't mean it; didn't understand the
repercussions from such a deed."

"Now they bear witness to
their lies. They see with their own eyes that
I'm not-not dead."

Frank paused and wondered
from what angle he should approach the
subject. If he said, 'Yes, you are dead,' the session could
be over before it
began. "You fought
bravely in the Battle of New Orleans, but you surrendered
your life raising the Confederate flag that
day."

Pride and sorrow meshed and rang in his
voice. "24 April 1862."

"Yes, Valmont, you died
that day, courageously. Now I'm asking you to
perform another act of courage."

With narrowed eyes, Doucet
shook his head. "Like me, they walk the
halls of oblivion now because of their actions, their words.
'Get out', they said. 'Get out of New Orleans and accept your
fate.'"

Frank expelled a rush of
air as a mental image of what happened that
night took shape in his mind. "You were twenty-two when you
made the
choice, you knew the risk. Brent
and Charlie are only fourteen, weren't told of the consequences
beforehand." Frank lowered his tone, his voice a whisper across the
great expanse of time and space. "They made a terrible
mistake."

"It's a cold, dark and lonely place."

Frank's hope rose. At least
Doucet hadn't shut him down outright. He
jumped in with both feet. "I've seen this cold, dark place
you speak of, see it
again now, but I know
of a way for you to leave the desolate halls you
wander."

Valmont arched his neck back. "You mean to
trick me?"

"No trick. You return the
boys and you'll be granted everlasting peace, I
swear."

A strangled growl filled the hotel room.
"You have one chance, and only one to convince me."

"I'll take it." Frank held
his breath. "Do you remember the Ursuline
nuns? They tended wounded soldiers, administered last rights
at their
convent."

"They saw to my wounds,
wiped my fevered brow." He looked at the
floor. "They too are all gone now."

"Not all," Frank said.
"Sister Francoise Genevieve of the Ursuline order has given her
word, you relinquish the boys and she'll personally commend
your soul to God."

His voice died out. "One chance."

"Wait! Meet me tonight at
your grave, but I need to see Brent and
Charlie first."

Growing fainter, Valmont's
words scattered like morning mist. "You
gave your word and I have given mine."

* * * * *

Suffocating on his anger,
Rand passed the desk and charged through the
front door of the hotel. When would Frank stop treating him
like a milk-l
ivered Sally? The
thick-skulled jackass had pushed his back to the wall again,
and this time he couldn't back down.

In the back of his mind
he'd worried about lines blurring once he
became Frank's partner. Would the man waffle when the heat
came down and
don his shining armor to
protect him or would he handle things with his usual
fearless composure? Rand would worry no more.
Frank had unequivocally
drawn the line. He
could hang around when things were cool, but had to hit
the road when the shit hit the fan.

After kicking the cement at
his feet, he drew an imaginary line with the toe of his tennis
shoe. "I can map out boundaries too, prick. See this,
McGuire,
you just fucking crossed
my
line." He turned,
looked toward the window of
their room and
shouted, "I'm not a dog you rescued from the shelter that
wags
its fucking tail every time you
speak."

Lost in black thoughts,
Rand almost missed the three short beeps and
frantic hand-waving out the car window. "Hey, buddy, over
here!"

Rand walked toward the
idling vehicle. He didn't know the man
slouched down in the passenger seat, but peered through the
window and
recognized Martin, the desk
clerk from the Provincial.

"Rand, not leaving New
Orleans before you've seen the sights, are you
pal?"

"Seen enough; I'm catching a flight back to
Baltimore in about an hour."

"Ah, sorry to hear that.
Ringo and I are headed that way. Let me give you
a lift."

Rand looked down the street
and frowned. Not a taxi in sight. "I don't
want to impose."

"No bother, get in."

Before he had a chance to
grab the door handle, Ringo popped out of the
front seat and into the back.

"Come on, the airport is just down the
road," Martin said.

Rand pushed the bag off his
shoulder, set it between him and Martin and
climbed in. With his anger abating, his thoughts drifted to
his fight with Frank.

In his heart he knew the
man had acted out of a need to protect him, but
he couldn't live with his I-don't-need-anyone attitude. If
McGuire wanted him
in his life, it had to
be for reasons other than lust and sexual need. Panic
washed over him. What if Frank didn't want him in
his life anymore?

For a split second he
wanted to tell Martin to turn the car around and
head back toward the Provincial, but stubbornness
won out. He had to get on
that plane, had
to prove to Frank once and for all he wasn't a damn piece of
furniture he could move around whenever it suited
him.

"What's up?" Rand asked.
"You said the airport was close to the hotel.
What are we doing in the suburbs?"

He heard the familiar click
of a gun before he felt the cold steel at the
back of his neck. "Why don't you just relax, pretty boy." The
cold-blooded tone in Ringo's voice set off alarm bells in his head.
"We'll let you know when we
arrive at our
destination."