Hallowed ground, p.5
Hallowed Ground, page 5
He didn’t care. It was wrong: being here, feeling whatever the hell it was he felt, wanting.
Wrong, all wrong.
A lie; a betrayal.
“McDougal,” Ellie said.
But he kept going.
seven
My wife is dead.
Those words had lodged inside of Ellie like cold, hard stones.
She didn’t know what to do with them.
Hurting Sean hadn’t been her goal. But the stark grief in that sentence told her she had succeeded. And she knew what it was to lose the one to whom you’d pledged yourself, the one you believed would always be there.
Sean had clearly loved his wife deeply. The anguish in those brilliant green eyes had been devastating. Ellie hadn’t thought she was capable of feeling another’s pain, that the desolation she felt in the wake of Ethan’s loss had muted her from experiencing anything other than her own suffering. But it was not so.
She’d felt Sean’s despair as if it was her own, and she bitterly regretted the mockery with which she’d spoken to him.
That she’d been acting in self-defense of the look he’d been giving her—a slow, leisurely perusal of her body that had sparked an intense and wholly undeniable response within her—seemed ridiculous in the face of his sorrow. Add to that his obvious horror at feeling anything toward her—even normal, very human sexual attraction—as if he’d committed the greatest of sins—well.
Ellie didn’t think he’d meant to hurt her, either.
So where did that leave them?
He’d called them partners, which was silly and not at all accurate.
And then she’d called him an idiot.
And then…then it had gotten weird.
I can go with you.
A wild, unexpected, insane offer…and one she couldn’t get out of her head. Because the urgency to get Mabel somewhere safe was growing inside of her, accompanied by a sharp, insistent panic that scared the devil out of her.
The clock was ticking.
She had to act.
When she’d told Sean the people in the backwater wouldn’t treat her as one of their own, she hadn’t been kidding. She was just as much of an outsider as he was, and they wouldn’t take kindly to her interference, even if it meant Mabel’s death. A year ago, the threat of that danger wouldn’t have stopped her. The thought of facing death to save a child was nothing, something she would have done without thought, but now…now the time for Voleur had come, and she had other matters—important matters—to attend to before she met her fate.
She could ask Andre for help, but she knew how he felt about the backwater.
Sean wasn’t a bad choice.
There was an undeniable edge to him that would make anyone think twice about—
Non!
What was she thinking?
He was a stranger!
Charming—yes, smart—undoubtedly, and perhaps even a little funny, but a stranger nonetheless, one with too much charisma and too little humility. He was what her Tante Fancy would have called a “canaille.” Sneaky, sly, maybe a little tricky. A rascal, by anyone’s definition. But behind that relaxed exterior, there was an inherent grimness to him, a darkness that belied the easy smile he showed the world.
The scar, the tattoos—those were the real Sean McDougal.
Not that it mattered.
Ellie was pretty sure any ship that had him helping her had sailed.
Nevertheless, there was still the missing Declan collection to deal with. And while she thought the Advisory Board’s requirement that she and Sean work together was unreasonable, and arbitrary, and stupid, they had to forge ahead and get the job done.
So she’d decided to offer him an olive branch.
Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered. She worked better alone. But as Andre pointed out, Sean had a good reputation and he obviously knew what he was doing. If she was going to wrap up this case in less than a week’s time, pooling their resources and working together was critical. Thus, the proverbial peace offering.
And the reason she stood in front of Sean’s very pricey rental suite at La Maison Sol.
She’d tried to call him—twice—only to have him ignore her.
Impoli!
But considering how their last meeting had ended—well.
Ellie was prepared to be magnanimous.
She had just six days before Voleur would make his appearance, so the sooner the collection was recovered and returned, the better.
Because she also had Mabel to contend with.
So it was time to get this show on the road.
She took a deep, determined breath and knocked briskly on the door.
A heartbeat later, it swung open to reveal a man so beautiful, her breath caught.
He was golden: his hair, his skin, his thickly-lashed leonine eyes. Staring at her warmly, white teeth flashing as he bestowed upon her a heart-stopping smile.
“G’day,” he said, the words shaped by an unmistakable Australian accent.
She blinked at him in bemusement. “Bonjour. Sorry. I thought this was—”
“It’s me guardian angel! Let her in, Dundee!” The golden man was rudely shoved aside, and Sean’s son Mick appeared in the doorway. He wore a pair of orange shorts, neon green socks, and a black and yellow t-shirt that said Carry on my Wayward Son. His red hair shone in the morning light, and his eyes were so like his father’s the resemblance made an odd pang echo through her. He opened his arms wide. “Come give us a hug, so I can thank you properly.”
She blinked again.
“You ran away before,” he continued, faintly chiding. “Da was fit to be tied. But now you’re here, and I can—”
“Let the girl get in the door, mate,” the golden man said.
Mick moved sideways and blocked the Australian. “Keep your grubby koala paws to yourself.” He motioned with his hands, arms still outstretched. “C’mon, guardian angel. Come feel the love.”
An unwilling smile welled inside of her.
Canaille.
Just like his Da.
“Don’t be creepy,” the Aussie said.
“Sod off,” the boy replied.
“I’m looking for Sean,” Ellie told them without moving.
“He’s in the shower.” Mick stared at her and stubbornly waited for his hug. “Come on, then.”
But Ellie didn’t touch people, and people didn’t touch her. Even with Mabel, she was hesitant, and that girl needed love like a bird needed wings. But something flashed in the boy’s eyes—a hint of the same despair she’d seen in his father’s gaze—and she found herself stepping forward to accept his embrace.
Surprisingly strong, skinny arms wrapped around her and squeezed hard. He was just a hair taller than she was, all arms and legs, and he smelled like pancakes and maple syrup.
For one brief moment, she thought, this is how Ethan would feel.
If he’d lived.
And she stepped abruptly back, breaking the hug, her chest pulsing in painful awareness. Mick stared at her, his green gaze far too perceptive.
“Come,” he said and stepped back.
Ellie didn’t move. “Let him know I’ll wait in the lobby.”
“Da won’t be long,” the boy said persuasively. “Come in and have a spot of tea with me.”
“You’re creeping her out,” the unseen Aussie warned.
“No, I ain’t,” Mick snorted. “She’s just shy.”
Sean’s voice suddenly joined the chorus. “No more room service, son. We’ve already got enough food to feed Old Nessie on this table.”
“It ain’t room service, Da,” Mick replied. “It’s me guardian angel.”
Awareness prickled through Ellie; a heartbeat later, Sean appeared behind his son, clad in nothing more than a pair of jeans.
“So it is,” he said, his gaze shuttered as it met hers.
“I called you,” she told him bluntly. “Twice. We have a two o’clock appointment with an antiquities expert.” She looked down at her watch, painfully aware of how hard her heart was pounding and the matching set of green eyes that watched her. Sean’s bare chest was speckled with water droplets, roped with muscle, and painted in tribal tattoos; it was all she could to not stare. “You should get dressed.”
For a long moment, he said nothing, and Ellie wondered if he was going to send her away.
Another strange, unwelcome pang went through her at the thought.
But he only nodded. “So I should. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“But Da,” Mick protested. “She’s comin’ in for tea.”
Ellie didn’t wait to hear Sean’s response. She just turned and left.
“I’m sorry I walked out on you.”
When Sean had climbed into her pickup, Ellie hadn’t argued. It would have been foolish for them both to drive, and she knew the way, but now she was trapped with the immense intensity of him in the small space of her truck cab.
Which was not an unpleasant experience. But it was…unnerving.
“I’m sorry I was an asshole,” she replied and shrugged.
He turned to look at her.
“I didn’t mean to be,” she added honestly. “I don’t talk to many people outside of work, so my social skills are...rusty.”
“Rusty,” he repeated.
“Not well-oiled,” she clarified.
A hint of a smile moved across his face, and something inside of her eased.
Sometimes her directness made people uncomfortable. She didn’t want him to be one of them.
“Did the lass return?” he asked.
“No.” Which weighed heavily on her. “But if she gets hungry enough, she’ll turn up.”
Ellie hoped.
“My offer to go with you still stands,” he said.
Her heart lurched in her chest. “That’s okay.”
“I mean it,” he insisted, and she could feel his gaze. “I owe you. It’s the least I can do.”
“Owe me?” she echoed.
“You saved my boy’s life.”
A searing intensity underscored those words and burned into her. The memory of pushing on Mick’s narrow chest flashed through her.
That was why he was willing to help with Mabel.
To repay a debt he felt he owed.
Which was disappointing, if not surprising.
“No, thank you,” she said.
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Because you owe me nothing. And I don’t need your help.”
He stared at her, his gaze narrow.
“My sources tell me the Declan collection isn’t being handled locally,” she said, moving on. “Which means the theft was likely carried out by someone other than the usual suspects. We need to determine if the collection—and the necklace in particular—was taken due to its history, or its value.”
Sean said nothing, watching her.
“If the necklace was taken due to the value of the stones, it will have a different pool of buyers than if it was taken because of its historical significance,” she added. “If we can figure out which of those is the case, our list of buyers will get us one step closer to identifying when and where the sale will take place.”
The silence continued.
“There are two sales taking place this week in Shreveport, but so far there’s no word of the necklace being up for sale.” She paused. “This is me sharing information.”
One brow rose.
“Pooling resources,” she added.
For another long moment, he didn’t speak, and she grew annoyed.
Canaille!
If he thought she was going to spill all her beans while he—
“A man named Antoine Salas is handling the sale,” Sean said. “He’s Brazilian, but does a lot of work for the Montero cartel. It was his people who stole the collection. I’m waiting on a call about the date, time, and location of the auction.”
A cartel?
Surprise and unease whipped through Ellie.
Why would—
“The photos of the boy on the wall...he’s yours?”
She went instantly still, like a doe caught in headlights.
“He looks like you,” Sean continued. “You’ve the same smile.”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She said nothing.
“Am I being the asshole now?”
She forced herself to respond. “He was my son.”
“Where is he now?”
The question was gentle, which told her he’d been talking to someone.
Also disappointing—but again, not surprising.
“He’s dead,” she said shortly.
A moment of silence punctuated that statement.
“I’m sorry,” Sean murmured.
Not as sorry as she was.
“What happened?” he wanted to know.
Most people didn’t ask. It wasn’t like losing a spouse or a sibling; when children died, something tangible and alive died with them, a future viciously stolen, and once they were gone, no one dared to mention it.
So Ellie said nothing. The grief that never ebbed boiled and seethed within her, churned to the surface by his brutal, inept curiosity.
“You should talk about it,” he said.
She looked at him. “Like you talk about it?”
His mouth hardened, and he turned away. Silence returned, and rain started to fall, a fine mist that pattered the roof and sent steam curling up from the road. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Tell me,” he said a few miles later. “Please.”
She didn’t want to.
For reasons she didn’t understand and couldn’t explain, Sean McDougal already felt too close. As if the grief they felt for those they’d lost somehow bound them. As if in sharing Mabel—something she now regretted because she didn’t understand why she’d done it—she’d made Sean more. More than just a business acquaintance; more than just a man whose son she’d saved.
When he was nothing to her.
“Ellie,” he said, and her heart fluttered because it was the first time he’d said her name. “I’m goin’ to find out. I’d rather hear it from you.”
She didn’t understand why he cared. Or why he thought it was his business when it so clearly wasn’t.
“Guess I’ll just have to hunt down old Mrs. Dumas,” he said when she didn’t reply. “And ask her.”
Disbelief shot through Ellie.
“Mrs. Dumas?” she repeated. “How do you know Mrs. Dumas?”
“I know lots of your people.”
Sure he did.
“She told me where to find you,” he added.
A snarl escaped her. Because Mrs. Dumas would tell the canaille beside her everything he wanted to know.
And then some.
She shook her head. “Why do you care?”
“I want to know.”
Which wasn’t an answer.
“What was his name?” he asked.
And a chill moved across her shoulders. The tension inside of her wound tighter. For a long moment, Ellie said nothing, but some instinctive part of her warned he wouldn’t stop. Sean McDougal was a relentless bastard.
She felt sorry for anyone he hunted.
“Ethan,” she said finally. She turned onto the narrow cobblestone street where Pierre Jardine lived with more than a little relief. “His name was Ethan.”
Sean only stared at her.
“One day when he was four, I was out hanging laundry,” she said. “He was in his sandbox building a castle. I went in to get a handful of clothespins, and when I came out, he was gone.”
“Gone?”
Her heart was beating too hard, too fast. The panic that had burned through her then returned, making her chest ache, her throat close. She parked in front of Pierre’s tiny brick house and tried to regain control.
“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Sean demanded.
“I never saw him again,” she said.
Then she climbed from the truck and went inside.
“You look just like your mamere!”
Pierre Jardine smiled at Ellie, his weathered face bright with joy.
They sat on his sun porch, a narrow table filled with books, photographs and a sea of yellow post-it notes between them. A jug of fresh sweet tea sat off to the side, from which he’d poured them each a glass, even though they’d both refused.
“I still miss them,” he added wistfully. “They were such good friends.”
Another one of those odd, unexpected pangs echoed through Ellie as she thought of her grandparents, who’d been gone for many years. Pierre had been one of her grandfather’s closest friends, and she’d not seen him since the day they’d put Stefan Broussard into the ground.
The happiness on his face now made her feel…guilty.
As if he’d been waiting all these years just to see her again, when she hadn’t thought of him even once.
“I’m sorry,” she offered awkwardly. “I should have come by.”
He waved that away. “I’m just glad you’re here now, chèr. Seeing you brings them back to me. Soon enough, I’ll greet them for myself, eh?” He laughed softly. “But not yet. Not yet.”
He leaned over and lifted one of the open books into his lap.
“Now, L’étoile de Paris! A very famous piece, believe it or not. Commissioned by King Louis XVI for his bride, Marie Antoinette, it contained a very rare yellow diamond, from which its name—the Star of Paris—originated. It was said Marie wore the necklace everywhere, which has attributed greatly to its value.” Pierre handed the book to Ellie and she looked down at a photograph that showed a glittering diamond necklace draped over a background of dark red velvet. The yellow diamond shone in its center, surrounded by five smaller, tear-shaped stones, forming the star for which it had been named. Two rows of square-cut sapphires formed the chain, interspersed by tiny, glinting white diamonds.
“Its value,” Sean said just above her shoulder, and Ellie almost started, “is it in the stones or the history?”
He was looking down at the book, so close she could see the grain of his beard press against his skin. The scent of winter pine filled her nostrils and the immense heat he emanated kissed her skin. A shiver moved through her, and she fought the urge to move away.
