Lucky's Lady (28 page)

“Yes,” she answered honestly.

He didn't respond to that, but turned and prepared to start the boat.

“We'll need to tell the sheriff about Burke too,” Serena said, finding practical ground safer footing than probing the uncertain territory of their relationship. “I think Burke is the one who paid Willis and Perret to—to—”

“No. He didn't. Skeeter Mouton says Burke was in the roadhouse when Willis and Pou left for their meeting this afternoon.” Lucky turned around and sat back against the console of the boat, crossing his arms over his massive chest. The look he leveled at Serena was serious. “I think you'd better face facts, Serena. Shelby did this.”

Serena's heart gave a painful jolt. “No.”

“You stood in her way, so she arranged to get rid of you.”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head. She didn't want to believe it. She didn't even want to consider the possibility. It was one thing to know she would never be close with her twin, it was something else to accept that her twin had tried to have her killed. She knew Shelby was emotionally unbalanced; there was no denying that after the scene over the power of attorney, but murder? Serena couldn't bring herself to believe that.

“How would Shelby ever have hired men like Willis and Perret?” she argued. “She wouldn't go near a place like Mouton's.”

“She wouldn't have to. All she need do is call up your ‘family friend' Perry Davis.”

“Perry Davis?” Serena said, bewildered. “But Perry is—”

“Crooked as a dog's hind leg,” Lucky finished. “He finances his nasty little gambling addiction by taking payoffs from poachers. He wouldn't have any trouble finding the right men for a dirty job. No trouble a'tall.”

Serena leaned over and rubbed her temples. This was all happening too fast. It was overwhelming. In the span of just a few days her entire orderly world had been flipped upside down and inside out. Now Lucky was telling her a man she would have trusted was a criminal.

“What was to stop Burke from using Perry as a middleman?” she asked, lifting her head as the question sorted itself from the chaos in her mind. “He wouldn't want to be linked directly with people like Willis and Perret. It doesn't mean anything that he didn't meet with them himself. He paid them to start the fire and he paid them to kidnap me.”

“I don't think so, sugar,” Lucky said. “But we'll find out soon enough.”

They arrived at Lucky's house sometime later. Serena had no idea of the hour. The night had taken on an endless quality. She sat huddled in the passenger seat of the boat with the blanket wrapped tightly around her while Lucky quietly piloted the boat through the swamp. Neither spoke. When they reached his dock, Lucky tied the boat and carried Serena into the house.

Serena didn't even think of protesting. The aftershock of what had happened, the knowledge of what might have happened, the questions of who had caused it all to happen bombarded her nerves until it was all she could do to keep from falling completely apart. Having Lucky hold her was the best medicine she could have thought to prescribe.

He carried her into the bathroom and undressed her carefully. She kept her eyes on his artist's hands, long and strong and infinitely gentle, as they peeled away her torn, soiled blouse and the whiskey-soaked bra. She thought of the way Willis had touched her and shivered.

“Are you afraid of me,
chère
?” Lucky asked softly.

Serena shook her head. “No. It's just that—” She broke off as another shudder of revulsion trembled through her and tears swam up to blur her vision. “He . . . touched me. And I feel . . . so . . . dirty.”

Lucky bent his head and kissed the teardrops falling from her eyes. He whispered to her in his low, soothing voice. “It's all right,
chère
. I'll take it all away.”

He filled the small clawfooted tub with warm water scented with a fragrant oil taken from a mysterious brown bottle in the medicine cabinet. When the water was ready, he finished undressing Serena and carefully placed her in the tub.

The water felt like heaven, warm and soft and soothing The fragrance of the oil drifted up in the steam, filling her head and taking away the remembered smells of sweat and liquor and fear. Serena closed her eyes and leaned back, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Lucky leaned over her with one arm around her shoulders and carefully washed away all the dirt. He ran the cloth gently over her face, soothing her with his touch as he washed all the places that had been scratched and bruised. With infinite care he touched the cut at the corner of her mouth, ran the cloth down her throat, stroked it over her breasts. As he pressed soft kisses to her temple, he brought the warm, scented water up in his cupped palm to pour it down over her skin again and again in a cascade of cleansing, healing fluid.

Serena didn't speak for fear of breaking the spell. She allowed Lucky to touch her, to try to take away all evidence and memory of what had happened. She leaned into his strength, absorbed his gentleness, soaked up the love he was giving her, hoarding it away in her heart. Tomorrow loomed on her horizon like a storm gathering at the edge of the swamp, making these moments all the more precious to her. She savored each one and prayed what was left of the night would last forever.

When the water cooled, Lucky lifted her from the tub and dried her, then wrapped her in a towel and sat her down on the commode to carefully comb the tangles from her hair. He tended to the worst of her cuts with more of the mysterious oil from the cabinet, then carried her to his bed.

Serena snuggled into his embrace when he slid in naked beside her, letting her arms find their way around his waist. Her head nestled into his shoulder as if it had been made to fit there.

“Lucky?” she whispered.

“Hush,
chèrie
,” he murmured. “You need to sleep.”

“No. I need you.” She lifted her head and found his eyes in the soft light from the candle beside the bed. “Make love to me, Lucky. I need to feel you. I need to have you love me. I need to have it feel good and right. Please.”

Lucky studied her face in the glow of the candle's flame. His heart nearly burst at the earnest plea in her soft, dark eyes.
Dieu
, he loved her so! He hadn't thought it possible for him to feel such emotion again, but now he ached with it in his muscles, in his bones, in his blood; he could taste it bittersweet upon his tongue. He loved her. And while there was precious little he could give her, he could give her this: his touch, his body, a memory of tenderness to take away the pain.

“Please, Lucky,” she whispered.

Turning onto his side, he lowered his head and kissed her slowly as he stroked his hand down her side. He made love to her with a patience he hadn't known he possessed, with a tenderness he had long denied. He caressed her and kissed her endlessly, until Serena took the initiative and guided him to the soft heat between her thighs. He slid into her, his breath catching at the exquisite sense of being one with her, and he loved her slowly and gently, until they were both replete.

He didn't withdraw from her afterward, but held her close, stroking her hair, brushing whisper-soft kisses to her temple.

“I love you,” she whispered as she finally gave in to sleep.

Lucky gazed down at her as the candle on the stand guttered and died and darkness swept in around them.

“
Je t'aime, mon coeur
,” he whispered into the silence.

CHAPTER
                        

19

“
I MUST SAY, I
'
M A TRIFLE BAFFLED BY THIS SUDDEN
change of heart,” Lamar Canfield drawled, his dark eyes wandering back and forth between the people who had summoned him to Chanson du Terre at such an unseemly hour of the morning. Young people had no sense of propriety. In the days when manners had still been in vogue, no one would have dreamed of calling on a person before nine o'clock.

He stared at the young woman seated behind Gifford Sheridan's massive cherry desk. She looked cool and composed in a forest-green suit with simple straight lines and a champagne silk blouse. There was a single strand of pearls at her throat. Her honey-blond hair was neatly contained at the back in a French twist. Her mouth lifted at the corners in a placid smile, but she twisted the large topaz ring she wore around and around on her finger, giving away her inner tension.

“It's really quite simple, Mr. Canfield,” she said with deliberate calm. “As you know, Gifford has granted me power of attorney. I am to settle this matter as I see fit. Now, I have examined all the options and taken into consideration all factors, and the only logical,
practical
conclusion is to sell the property to Mr. Burke's company.”

Lamar shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking and sighing as he crossed his thin legs at the knee. He stared up at a water spot on the ceiling for a moment, then returned his gaze to his hostess, looking as if he were about to speak. He opened his mouth, shut it, frowned darkly for a second.

“Is there some problem, Mr. Canfield?” Len Burke demanded to know. He sat in the matching wing chair three feet from the aged attorney, obviously nursing a hangover. The whites of his eyes—what could be seen of them through his squint—had turned bloodred. The color of his complexion matched the green-brown wrapper of his unlit cigar.

Lamar regarded him with the same condescension he usually reserved for common ruffians. “It seems to me, Mr. Burke, to be a rather abrupt change of loyalties. Why, just the other night Miss Sheridan seemed nothing short of appalled by the prospect of Chanson du Terre falling into your hands.”

Burke scowled at him. “Yeah, well, she's changed her mind. Woman's prerogative.”

“I have changed my mind, Mr. Canfield,” she assured him.

“I see,” Lamar said gravely. He sat forward in his chair, straightening the lapels of his seersucker jacket. “I must say, I am exceedingly disappointed by this, Shelby.”

“Serena,” she hastened to correct him.

“Yes, of course. Serena. I know what your grandfather had hoped to accomplish by giving this responsibility to you. He's going to be
very
unhappy,” Lamar declared dramatically, shaking his head in disapproval.

Shelby's eyes flashed and the line of her mouth tightened slightly. “Well, it serves him right, if you ask me,” she snapped.

Mason stepped in diplomatically, his innocuous smile spreading like sunshine across his face as he strolled behind the desk. “What Serena means to say, Lamar, is if Gifford is willing to give the power of the decision to someone else, then he must be prepared to face the consequences of that decision.”

“Amen.” Burke hauled a cowhide briefcase the size of a calf onto his lap and popped it open. “Now, can we get on with the paperwork? I have everything drawn up here in the terms we agreed on. All I need is a couple of signatures and we can call it a done deal.”

He extracted a thick sheaf of papers, flipped to the final page, and handed the document across the desk to be signed.

“I'm surprised your sister hasn't come in to witness the transaction,” Lamar said with just the barest edge of sarcasm in his voice as he watched his hostess take up a pen. “Her moment of triumph, so to speak.”

His remark won him a cutting glare, but no comment from the woman behind the desk.

“I'm afraid Shelby is indisposed this morning. She's resting,” Mason said. “One of her migraines. Poor dear, she suffers terribly.”

“Well, I'm sure she deserves it,” Lamar said absently. He regarded the shocked expressions directed at him with bland innocence. “The extra rest,” he clarified. “I'm sure she deserves it.”

From the breast pocket of his suit he extracted a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that looked as old as he did. He perched them on his nose and squinted down at the document that was thrust before him. The tension level in the room climbed faster than the temperature on a hot July day as one moment stretched into the next and Lamar showed no sign of picking up a pen. His gaze fixed on the signature; he hummed a bit.

“I'll need to see your signature on the power of attorney.” He glanced up and smiled benignly. “A mere formality, of course.”

“Of course. I have it right here.” She slid the paper across the desk and sat back, forearms on the blotter, the fingers of her left hand twisting her topaz ring around and around.

Lamar examined both signatures with painstaking care, humming. “Yes, they appear to match.”

“Of course they match,” Shelby snapped.

“Lamar is only looking out for his client's best interests,” Mason said placidly.

Canfield nodded. “That's right, Serena.”

“Shel—” She clamped her teeth together abruptly and spoke through them. “Shall we get on with it, Mr. Canfield? Mr. Burke is a busy man. I'm sure he'd like to be on his way.”

“That's right,” Burke growled. “Sign it, I'll present the check and get the hell out of here. I've had enough of Lou'siana to last me.”

The venerable old southerner frowned at the Texan. “I can assure you, sir, the feeling is mutual, but I would be entirely remiss in my duties if I did not read the entire document before signing.”

Burke's face flushed a shade that clashed horribly with his bloodshot eyes. Shelby made a little squeal of frustration. Mason cleared his throat carefully and made a steeple with his fingers.

“If you feel it's necessary, Lamar,” he said.

Lamar looked at them all with exaggerated bewilderment. “Well, I'm not entirely certain. Perhaps I should consult with the real Serena.”

The faces of the three went simultaneously white as the door to the study swung open and Serena and Lucky stepped into the room. Shelby's eyes riveted on her sister and she gave a gasp of surprise.

“Serena! But you're supposed to be—”

“Dead?” Serena supplied, barely able to speak the word above a whisper. She couldn't bring herself to look at her twin; but fixed her gaze on Burke as if she might be able to compel him to confess just by looking at him. Her heart was pounding with desperate urgency. It had to be Burke. It had to be.

“No,” Shelby said. “Gone. Out of the way.”

“Is that what Mr. Burke told you? That he'd hired someone to get me out of the way?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Burke said belligerently, uncomfortably shifting his bulk in the leather wing chair. “I didn't hire anybody to do anything. Whatever went on was all their idea.” He motioned to Shelby and Mason with a thrust of his cigar.

“I'm sure I don't know anything about anybody getting killed!” Shelby said indignantly, the fingers of her left hand fussing with the pearls at her throat. Color rose to mottle her face with polka dots.

Serena swung toward her sister, a sick foreboding churning in the pit of her stomach.
Oh, God, please don't let it be
. . . Shelby's glance hit her squarely for one brief, naked second, then darted off.

“I—I don't know anything about that,” she insisted breathlessly.

“Don't you, Shelby?”

Serena could feel Lucky's presence behind her. She could feel his heat and his anger. He stepped past her and moved with restrained power toward the desk.

“You don't know anything about how Gene Willis and Pou Perret were gonna take your sister, your own flesh and blood, your
twin
, out into the swamp and rape her and kill her and dump her body where no one would ever find it?” he said, fury strumming through his words. He planted his hands on the desk and leaned across it aggressively. When he spoke again it was in a voice like smoke shot through with strands of steel. “You don't know anything about that, Shelby? Perhaps I can refresh your memory for you.”

Shelby's complexion had gone ashen beneath her makeup. The blush that had been applied with delicate skill across her cheekbones stood out like slashes of red paint. Her eyes were wide with fear. She pressed herself back into her grandfather's chair in an attempt to escape the intensity of the man before her.

“I—I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, her voice trembling. “You're crazy. Everyone says so.”

“
Mais
yeah,
chère
, I'm crazy,” Lucky whispered, leaning closer. “There's no tellin' what I might do for revenge.”

Tears sprang into Shelby's eyes.

“Lucky, stop it,” Serena ordered. She was afraid of what Lucky's prodding would uncover. God help her, she was afraid he was right. She wanted with all her heart for him to be wrong. The idea that her own sister wanted her dead cut like a knife in the deepest part of her soul. She didn't want it to be true. She didn't want to have to face it, not after everything else she had been forced to face in the past week. She didn't think she would be able to stand it.

Lucky turned on her, his face tight with fury. “Stop it?” he shouted. “
Mon Dieu!
She tried to have you murdered!”

“No!” Shelby screamed, slamming her fists down on the desk. “They were supposed to get her out of the way, that's all! Tell them, Mason,” she said, swiveling her chair toward her husband. “You said we'd get her out of the way. You never said anything about murder! Tell them!”

Time seemed to stand still for a second as all eyes turned to Mason Talbot. He stood beside his wife, looking resigned. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his rumpled chinos and rocked back on his heels as he looked down at Shelby.

“Now, peach,” he said in a weary tone. “As usual, you haven't thought ahead. What did you think would happen once Serena returned? Why, she would have ruined everything, of course. We couldn't have her coming back.”

Shelby looked stunned. “But she's my sister!”

“You hate her,” Mason pointed out.

Shelby frowned. “Well, yes, but she's my sister. I wouldn't kill her! Mason, how could you think such a thing?” She admonished him as if he were a naughty child.

“You wanted me in the legislature,” he said, his voice growing tighter. “You wanted to live in Baton Rouge. We don't have the money for those things, Shelby, not with your spending habits and a new house and an old one that hasn't been sold. But you never think about anything as vulgar as money, do you? All you're interested in is getting what you want and damn the cost.

“What the hell was I supposed to do?” he shouted, the calm façade cracking finally under the strain. He stared down at her with a tortured expression. “What was I supposed to do, Shelby? I had it all laid out in front of me, there for the taking, the opportunity to give us everything we wanted in one shot. And you were standing right behind me, pushing and pushing. What was I supposed to do?”

The full import of what they had done and what all the ramifications might have been hit Shelby in that moment. Serena could see comprehension dawn in her sister's eyes as if suddenly revealed to her in a vision. As Mason had said, Shelby hadn't thought ahead. As she had always done, she had planned only as far as the moment, not even considering the long-term consequences. She sat there now, looking like a little girl who had been given an unpleasant surprise—stunned, hurt, disillusioned.

Serena looked away as an expression of horror twisted Shelby's features, and she turned from her husband, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob. Tears rose in Serena's eyes.

“What about Gifford?” Lucky asked, his attention still focused on Mason.

Mason pushed his glasses up on his nose and tried to compose himself. He answered absently, as if he were explaining nothing more earth-shattering than plans for a picnic. “He would have become despondent over Serena's disappearance and the loss of the plantation. Poor man. He probably would have committed suicide.”

Serena listened in stunned silence. She shook her head as a sense of vertigo seized hold of her for an instant. Another facet of her well-ordered life shattered. Mason. Staid, stoical, kind Mason Talbot, a man she had always liked and trusted, had paid to have her killed. He had allowed his greed and his love for Shelby to mutate into an ugly catalyst that had driven him to murder.

“And the fire?” Lucky prodded.

Mason ducked his head. His shoulders sagged. “I believe I've said enough without having my attorney present,” he said softly.

“That's all right, Mason,” Sheriff Hollings said as he sauntered into the room with a pair of deputies at his heels. “I've heard all I need to hear for now.”

Serena watched with a sense of disbelief as the officers each took charge of one perpetrator. Burke protested loudly as handcuffs were slapped on his wrists. Mason said nothing. Shelby fell sobbing across the desk and had to be helped to her feet by the sheriff.

“This is all your fault!” she shouted at Serena as they were being led from the room. Her face was awash in tears and mascara, her mask of beauty melting away to reveal her hate and inner torment. “You never should have come back! None of this would have happened if you hadn't come back!”

There was nothing Serena could think of to say. She stared at her twin and felt a terrible aching hollowness inside. They should have been closer than sisters, but they were poles apart. The only thing left between them now was bitterness and pity and regret.

Lucky came up beside her and put his arm gently around her waist, silently inviting her to lean against his strength. They stood together and watched as the officers herded their prisoners toward the door with the sheriff drawling, “Y'all have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. . . .”

Lamar rose slowly from the leather wing chair, scratching his chest. “I believe I'll go and return this little microphone to Sheriff Hollings. Simply amazing the technology the police have at their disposal these days.” He gave Serena an apologetic look and patted her shoulder with a wrinkled hand. “I truly am sorry, my dear, about all that's happened here today. What a terrible shock it must be to you.”