Southern Spirits (29 page)

Nathan nodded. ‘Makes sense. I wonder what happened to him after that.'

‘Ask him yourself. He's right behind you.'

Nathan twisted in place, following her eyes to see Richard Newholme standing, holding a revolver in an echo of events on this spot, years before. He glanced around uncomfortably, as if taking in how close the decor was to the original design, but kept the gun fixed on the two agents on the floor.

Wheeler looked up now, as best he could. ‘
You
?'

Cat never took his eyes off the newcomer, or his weapon. ‘Cazenove. New House. Newholme, anglicised. It seems obvious now.'

He shrugged. ‘You're the first person in fifty years to spot it, so something must have worked.'

‘When we talked last night about the woman you loved, who died in a “train accident”, you called her “my Cher”, which
I'd assumed was her name, but you meant it as the Creole term of affection: “my dear”. And you may have lost a lot of body mass, but I can still see the exact same expression now that Val did, all those years ago.'

The old man's voice was like dried leaves, crackling underneath footsteps. ‘I bribed the night staff to arrange for the train to stop along a deserted route, and buried Valentina and Mickey in the woods. And I ran, ran north, changed my name, and even went to college. But I never forgot.'

‘Of course you couldn't.' Cat leant on Nathan and slowly helped herself to her feet, trying to present as non-threatening an image as she could to the man. ‘You went into the antiques and memorabilia business. Wheeler contacted you about purchases for Southern Spirits, you visited one day, and experienced the echoes of Val and yourself.'

‘Yes.' And Newholme's eyes lit up, his free hand loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, enough to reveal a familiar brass charm, one he tugged free from around his neck to hold out. ‘She should have worn this. It would have protected her. Belagrís swore to protect and serve all the Sauveterre family. But being here, feeling those memories again . . . it was like . . . like I had a second chance. A second chance to . . .'

‘Forget the mistake you made. I know. So why the gun?'

Enrique indicated Wheeler. ‘You arrest him, you confiscate the train. I'll lose her. Again.'

‘Um,' Wheeler interrupted. ‘Not that I'm ungrateful, but can you get one of them to at least pull my pants up?'

The others ignored him. Cat continued, ‘It's over, Enrique. The running, the hiding.'

‘No!' Desperation made him look as if he'd been struck. ‘The train wants me here!'

‘Yes, Enrique. But not to keep reliving old memories. It kept you coming back until we arrived, so that we could learn the
truth. So I could then tell you what I learnt, what I saw and felt, from Valentina herself. And I can tell you this: there was no pain. No fear. No thoughts of betrayal or disappointment in her heart. All she felt, until the end, was the love she had for you. How much she loved being held by you, how you kept her close and safe.'

Cat approached, and kept speaking. She wasn't very conscious of her words, but it seemed to be having the desired effect. The restraint of a half-century's guilt seeped from him along with his strength. And by the time she'd gently taken the gun from him and tossed it to Nathan, the tears running down Enrique's face turned into sobs, and he almost fell into Cat's supportive arms.

Jack Wheeler had gone for a shower and change of clothes, while the people who had upturned his work and ruined two years' planning carried out their boring legal proceedings. Not long after Catalina had disarmed Richard Newholme – or Enrique Cazenove – Belle allowed access to the rest of the train, not that anyone had even noticed. The train driver and his assistant, trapped for many hours in their berth, accepted the story that some drunken passengers had taken over the locomotive. It was a serious incident, but they accepted a small monetary gift to help them forget it.

They had arrived in New Orleans Sunday morning, on schedule, an amazing feat considering the circumstances. The Federal agents had contacted the local police to be at the station, ready to take Newholme into custody, where he would eventually lead them to the location of the bodies of Valentina and Mickey. Wheeler wondered if the coin would still be with Mickey's remains, or if it was lost along the way. Damn, eight million dollars . . .

He shook his head as he combed his hair. No, there was no point in crying over spilt milk. At least he still had Belle, a sweet little moneymaker. Now that the coin was out of his reach, perhaps he could use the cameras and microphones for a little judicious blackmail of the right influential people?

He left his quarters and proceeded to his office, wondering where Faye had gone. Most likely she was still in someone's berth, sleeping off a night of drink and sex. He wasn't in too
great a hurry to find her. Cat, however, was another matter, even if she was a Fed.

He entered his office to find the current woman of his thoughts waiting there, sitting at his desk, staring at a spread of Tarot cards. Wheeler strode over to her, studied her activity. ‘That's usually Faye's domain.'

‘She's busy at the moment. Tara dealt this spread out, gave me an interpretation.'

He leant in closer. ‘Seeking your future?'

‘Yours, actually.' She indicated each card. ‘The Tower: sudden, unexpected change. The Lovers, Reversed: betrayal. The Fool: new beginnings. The Two of Swords, Reversed: caution when dealing with others. And the Six of Swords: an imminent journey.' She picked up the Fool card, looked at it, and then him. ‘I can see the resemblance.'

‘Amusing. But I'm not going anywhere.'

‘No?' She leant back and looked up at him. ‘Sorry you never got your hands on the Silver Bell?'

He grunted. ‘It's probably sitting in some mud patch in the middle of nowhere.'

‘Actually, it's closer than you think.' She reached into her pocket and produced a small shiny coin, moved it in her fingers.

Wheeler's jaw dropped, and he drew closer. ‘That's . . . That's it?' He stared, as if hypnotised. It was . . . well, not beautiful. It was just a coin. What it was worth, however, was another matter.

‘
Si.
Eight million dollars of coin. And you had it all along.'

‘
What
? Where?'

‘In that voodoo display case in the reception carriage, in the gris-gris bag. You see, when Enrique, as Newholme, was equipping your train with memorabilia, and you wanted some authentic materials, he put together a bag based on his own
knowledge of the faith. I'm told they're meant to protect the wearer from harm or bring good luck, and should contain oils, stones, bones, hair and offerings like silver to appease the spirits. Newholme put an old silver dollar in the bag, one he'd had for decades.'

Wheeler stared at the coin again, laughing softly and shaking his head at the irony. It was almost too much to accept. ‘I've had it . . . had it all along?

‘Tara speculates that Mamselle Belagrís took its value and uniqueness as one hell of an offering to her, and that this boosted her powers and influence as much as the sexual energy generated onboard since Southern Spirits started.'

‘And now it's going to gather dust in a museum.' Wheeler's heart ached.

‘I'll honour my agreement, and pretend this was a lucky find.' Cat slipped the coin back into her pocket. ‘Oh, and you should know that Donnie and Faye are being taken into custody.'

Wheeler paled. ‘Faye? What for?'

‘Attempted extortion. It seems that Donnie had some sort of epiphany last night, and when he learnt our true occupations, he came confessing his sins – including how Faye had planned to use him to force you into signing over Belle and ownership of the Southern Spirits company to her. By force, if necessary.'

The news made Wheeler's blood run cold.
Faye
? Faye of all people? Yes, she had a temper, but had never shown any overweening greed or ambition. ‘Are you sure?'

She nodded. ‘We found her with some legal papers ready for your signature. She'd been trapped in one of the public toilets for most of the night – and at one stage, the toilet had erupted its contents.' She smirked. ‘Her fragrance matched her mood.'

Wheeler grunted. He still didn't know whether to be appalled
or impressed with the woman's audacity. ‘Well, nice to know the law was onboard to protect me.' He smiled, drawing closer until he was almost brushing against her. ‘So, my delightful one, why are you here? If it's to continue what we started last night –'

Cat smiled up at him. ‘I'm here to help you.'

That put him on an unexpected edge. But he remained cool. ‘That's most beneficent of you, but I don't see how.'

‘Donnie's prepared to testify against his uncle, Leo Kolchak. In particular about the money laundering.' She leant back in the chair until it creaked. ‘Once you're named, I intend to have you indicted for your part in the operation.'

‘That'll be his word against mine.'

‘No, that'll be his word, plus the files we downloaded from your PC, against your word.'

A chill ran down his spine. ‘What? You had no right!'

‘Sure we did. It came with the warrant.'

He swallowed. ‘But what about our deal? You'd drop the charges –'

‘That concerned the conspiracy to steal the Silver Bell coin and smuggle it out of the country. I honoured that agreement. The laundering charges remain. However, if you are no longer the owner of this train and company, then there will be little point in pursuing an indictment against you.' She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You sell Belle, and you'll stay free.'

Wheeler's head ached from the offer. Sell everything he had here, start over? It was one thing to be able to do that when he had millions from the coin sale at his fingertips, but . . . ‘Please, enlighten me as to the part where you “help” me.'

‘Why, by finding you a willing buyer already: Tara Gilbrand. I've spoken with her about this, and she's prepared to take Belle off your hands, and employ the Olivers to help her. There's no reason Southern Spirits shouldn't keep running – albeit
without those illegal cameras and microphones you installed. Naughty, naughty, Jack.'

Wheeler studied her, even as his heart sank. It was so abrupt. But, knowing Tara's wealthy family connections, at least he'd get a decent price. ‘That seems . . . acceptable. But I won't settle for anything less than –'

‘Three hundred dollars.'

He blinked. ‘Excuse me?'

‘You'll settle for three hundred dollars, the same amount you said you had when you first found Belle. Nothing more, not even that money you have in the safe. And you'll be off the train and away from it within the hour, or the deal's off.' Disbelief at the woman's casual words boiled into indignation, and then anger. ‘Are you
serious
? After all I've gone through?' He shook with rage. ‘You think you can get away with this?
Do you
?'

Cat, however, remained perfectly composed. ‘I think I see you standing there with a fist, Jack. I suggest you use it, lose it or I'll break it off at the wrist,
puta
.' Before she gave him a chance to respond in any way, she swiftly rose to her feet, facing him. ‘And don't blame me, blame Belle. She played you like a fool from the start.'

‘What?'

‘
Si
. She tempted you, encouraged you with tantalising visions of the coin, persuaded you to refurbish her and bring others onboard, until the right combination of passengers were there. Passengers who could reveal what happened to Val. Passengers who could convince Enrique, the man Val loved so much, to finally give himself up and live his final years with a clearer conscience. And ultimately, for you to find Val's descendant.'

‘Descendant? What are you talking about?'

‘Belagrís is a protectorate spirit, bound to the Sauveterre
family. Val's closest blood relative on her mother's side was an aunt who'd moved to Atlanta and later married; Tara's one of their grandchildren. Now Belle can continue to fulfil her obligations to the family. The circle is complete. Oh, and you still have that fist, Jack. And I have nine ways to put you on the floor, none of which you'll enjoy.'

He grunted, thoughts of walking away from this sweet business still stinging him like a bastard. Was she right? Had Belle played him for a patsy all along?

If so, then, given his own successes in deception, he had no right to feel resentful when someone better could do it to him.

He released his fist, offered it as a handshake. ‘Looks like we have another deal, Agent Montoya.'

After a moment, Cat accepted it. He leaned in, smelling her hair, and his voice dropped to a whisper, though they were alone in the office. ‘And how about we seal the deal with a little breakfast in my room? To help ease the pain I'm feeling over the enormous losses I'm taking?' He reached out, fingertips tracing the outline of her hips as he drew even nearer. ‘You can't deny how much you enjoyed yourself with me, can you?'

Cat smiled again, wetting her lips and fixing him with a hungry expression that made his cock stir in his slacks. Until she spoke. ‘No, I can't. But I've literally had better – and with someone I can trust afterwards. Oh, and Jack? You try getting any closer to that coin, and you'll lose something far more precious to you than Belle.'

She stood perched against the taxi, hers and Nathan's bags packed and in the trunk, and the coin signed over to the local authorities. There was a break in the rain, though the air remained thick and humid. But she ignored it as she stared at
the locomotive that had carried her further than just a few hundred miles. After a moment, she walked over to it, staring at the single round light at the prow as if it was an eye. Cat felt the need to say something to her, some admission of how her perceptions had expanded, how her beliefs were questioned, about the world, about Nathan, about herself. She hated it. She relished it.