Voodoo or Die Read online

  "What?"

  She told him about the cryptic note. "What do you think I should do?"

  "I wish I had something concrete for you on Riaz, but I don't. To be on the safe side, I think you should relocate. Especially considering some strange things are going on in that little voodoo town of yours."

  Gloria pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ease the pressure building there. "But I just moved."

  "Have you unpacked?"

  "Not entirely."

  "Then it'll be easy for you to go somewhere else."

  She shook her head. "And change my name... again."

  "To be safe, yes."

  "Safe?" A bitter laugh escaped her throat. "You told me fourteen years ago I'd be safe, George, if I changed my name and forgot the life I left behind. But I've been looking over my shoulder ever since, and I haven't seen my mother in almost ten years." She covered her mouth with her hand to choke back a sob before regaining her composure enough to talk. "Don't patronize me, George."

  "Gloria," he said, his voice gentling, "we do what we can. With all the new homeland security measures, we're stretched thin. And your mother dropping out of the program has complicated matters even more. My advice is that you relocate. You can't possibly be attached to this Mojo place in such a short time."

  Zane's face materialized in her mind—could she leave him again, leave him with yet more unanswered questions?

  "Gloria? Is there something you aren't telling me?"

  A touch on her leg startled her until she realized the black cat was rubbing himself against her again, twining around her legs. She put a hand to her head. "Well... it's hardly worth mentioning, really."

  "I'm listening."

  A false little laugh bubbled up and out, sounding more like a hiccup. "As it turns out... I mean, I had no idea when I moved here... and he just moved here himself to be the chief of police—"

  "Who, Gloria?"

  "Zane Riley—a boy who went to my high school in Schilling."

  "Did he recognize you?"

  "No. How could he? I don't bear any resemblance to the way I looked then."

  "Wait a minute—was this guy a boyfriend?"

  She swallowed. "Sort of... yes. He was my boyfriend when I... left. I gave you a letter to give to him." She inhaled in sudden realization. "But you didn't mail that letter, did you?"

  Ten seconds of silence passed. "It was too risky. And better for everyone to make a clean break."

  She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stem a wall of frustrated tears.

  "Do you still have feelings for this man?" George asked.

  "I... didn't say that."

  "Gloria, this is bad. If he recognizes you, your cover will be blown."

  "Zane wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

  "Not purposely, perhaps. But all it takes is for one person who knows you to tell one other person, who'll tell someone else. And this guy might get it into his head to try to protect you, but he can't. No matter what kind of super-cop he is, he's no match for Riaz's men. We went over this a thousand times during orientation. You can't tell anyone your real name—that's how it all begins to unravel."

  Funny, but she was already feeling frayed around the edges.

  A sharp rap on the front door brought her head around and her heart to her throat. She slipped to the kitchen window and peeked outside to see Zane's cruiser sitting behind her car. "I have to go, George."

  "Okay. Let me know what you decide to do."

  She disconnected the call and walked toward the front door, the cat tangling in her legs just as Zane was walking inside. His expression was dark.

  "Diane Davidson said I could find you here," he said without preamble.

  "I was feeding the cat," she said, shoving her phone and the note into her pocket. "Is something wrong?"

  "The ME's office in New Orleans just called."

  "Has Steve's body been released?"

  "Soon, but there's a problem."

  "What kind of problem?"

  Zane looked grim. "Steve Chasen's death wasn't an accident—he was murdered."

  Chapter 15

  Gloria felt her jaw loosen as Zane's words sank in. Something about Steve being... murdered?

  "What?" She shook her head in confusion. "How?"

  "He was poisoned. The ME found cyanide in his stomach—he thinks it was in a candy bar he ate."

  Her eyes rounded. "A candy bar?"

  "As in the fund-raising candy that's being sold all over town."

  "Oh, my God." Her mind reeled at the pointlessness of the man's death.

  A muscle jumped in Zane's jaw. "We don't know yet if someone was targeting Chasen, or if it's some sort of product tampering. The media has been asked to run emergency warnings wherever the candy is being sold. My officers are already going around town and bagging all that they can find."

  Her hand flew to her mouth, still humming from the sweet buzz of chocolate. "There were two candy bars in his desk drawer. I ate"—she swallowed hard as her cheeks warmed in embarrassment—"both of them."

  Alarm flared in Zane's eyes as he grabbed her arm. "You ate two of the fund-raising candy bars? When?"

  "Just... now," she said, brushing at the bits of chocolate smeared into her lapels.

  "Are you feeling okay?"

  She touched her rolling stomach, "I... don't know. I'm upset."

  "Sit down," he said, guiding her to the couch while reaching for his phone. "I'm calling the EMTs."

  Gloria's heartbeat thudded in her ears as she sank into the couch, comforted by Zane's presence as he sat next to her on the edge of the couch. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her chest—surely the first candy she'd eaten in years couldn't be poisoned?

  Death by chocolate?

  Zane's voice sounded calm when he was connected to the EMTs, but his worried gaze was locked on her. "I have a possible cyanide ingestion." He rattled off the house address. "What symptoms should I be looking for?" He turned his mouth away from the receiver. "Gloria, is your breathing accelerated?"

  It was, but how much of that could be attributed to Zane's sitting next to her? "Uh... some."

  "I need to take your pulse," he said, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder. He turned over her wrist and pressed two blunt-tipped fingers to her skin. His touch ignited little firestorms all over her body.

  "Her pulse seems elevated," he said into the phone.

  Of course it is, she thought, closing her eyes briefly. Unfortunately, the symptoms of cyanide poisoning seemed to rival being in proximity to the love of her life.

  "Are you dizzy or nauseated?"

  "A little," she admitted, both of which could be explained away by the fact that Zane's thigh was touching hers, or by the Meniere's, or by the fact that she hadn't eaten chocolate in a long damn time.

  He reported the information to the person on the line, asked for an estimated time of arrival, then disconnected the call. "They'll be here in two minutes. The EMT said try not to throw up." His lopsided smile was at odds with the worry in his eyes.

  "It's probably just the shock of the news," she said, gulping air.

  "Better safe than sorry. Hey, I thought you didn't like chocolate," he said in a teasing voice.

  "I was weak," she murmured, mesmerized by the concern and warmth in his gray eyes. Her lungs contracted painfully, and she was overcome with the urge to tell Zane who she was, what had happened, and that she'd never stopped loving him. If she had ingested cyanide and it was working its way through her system, she could be dying... she might have only minutes to live... surely she was allowed a deathbed confession to right the wrongs that had been done to them.

  "Zane?"

  "Yes?" he said, angling his big body closer, his eyes gentle and... anxious.

  She faltered, the words dying on her tongue as her heart ballooned to push the air out of her lungs. Unable to stop herself, she reached forward, wrapped her hand around the nape of his neck, and yanked his mouth to hers. After his in
itial shock, the spontaneous kiss exploded.

  He slanted his lips against hers hungrily, as if he understood her urgency. She responded with a soft moan, opening up to the flick of his tongue, thinking if she had to die, this was the way she wanted to go... in Zane's arms... wait—die?

  She wrenched away suddenly and pulled back, touching her fingers to his mouth. "I can't believe I did that! What if I poisoned you?"

  A little smile lifted his mouth, and he clasped her fingers in his hand. "I don't think a kiss would expose me, although I probably should let you breathe on your own as long as possible. But don't worry—I know CPR, and I'm not afraid to use it."

  She tried to smile, but inside she was spiraling out of control. She was aching to tell Zane the truth, but was she latching on to an excuse? The lightheadedness was probably due to the fact that blood had abandoned her brain to engorge other areas.

  "Zane," she said, then inhaled for strength.

  "I'm here," he said, stroking her fingers with his thumb indulgently, as if she were a child. "You're going to be fine."

  "I... I have something to tell you." Moisture gathered on her hairline.

  The sound of an ambulance siren split the air. He winked and said, "Hold that thought," then rose and went to open the door. In seconds, a team of female EMTs burst in, carrying bags and equipment.

  "How are you feeling?" one of them asked as she adjusted a stethoscope and pressed the end to Gloria's chest.

  "Fine... I think," she said, trying not to make eye contact with Zane and wondering which was worse—dying of cyanide poisoning, or dying of embarrassment if her symptoms turned out to be nothing more than arousal.

  "Breathe deeply for me," the woman said, her expression intent.

  Gloria did as she was told, feeling more and more foolish as the EMTs took and recorded her vitals and fired questions at her.

  "Does your breathing feel restricted?"

  Only when she looked at Zane. "No."

  "Are your eyes burning or itching?"

  "A little, but that's probably because of the cat hair."

  "Are you nauseated?"

  "Not anymore... I'm not accustomed to eating sweets, so that might account for the way I was feeling."

  "Dizzy?"

  "Not at the moment."

  "Are you taking any medications?"

  She hesitated and looked up to find Zane listening.

  "Ma'am? Are you taking any medications?"

  She leaned forward and murmured, "Meclazine."

  "Meclazine?" the EMT asked. "For vertigo?"

  "That's right," Gloria said, refusing to look at Zane. Had he heard? Would he remember? Would he make the connection?

  "That would explain the dizziness," the other woman muttered.

  "And the nausea," the first woman said, expelling a sigh of relief. She put the stethoscope back to Gloria's chest. "Your breathing sounds fine, and your pulse has returned to normal." She removed the stethoscope and stood to include Zane in the conversation. "If the candy bar contained cyanide, it wasn't a lethal dose. Still, you'll want to have the wrappers tested."

  She looked back to Gloria. "If you start to experience shortness of breath or tremors or convulsions, call 911 immediately."

  Gloria nodded, her head practically lolling in relief, but simultaneously ready to combust with humiliation. Zane probably thought she was utterly ridiculous. Her skin tingled—especially her lips, where the imprint of Zane's mouth had left a throbbing impression. When the EMTs left and Zane turned back to give her a reassuring smile, she could barely push herself to her feet.

  "I'm sorry for the false alarm," she said, averting her gaze and wanting to dissolve.

  "Don't worry about it."

  "And the, um, potentially poisonous kiss." She lifted her gaze to find him wiping away a smile.

  "I'm not complaining. And I'm glad you're okay—I can't imagine losing you before I even got to know you."

  The desire that darkened his eyes sent a stab of alarm to her chest and instant heat to her nether regions. The man had no idea how hard he was making this for her. She felt as if she was coming apart at the emotional seams.

  "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

  She blinked. "Pardon me?"

  "You said you had something to tell me."

  "Tell you?" The moisture evaporated from her mouth as her mind clouded with panic—she'd almost blurted the secret she'd held for nearly fourteen years. It would have been for nothing and could have led to people being hurt... all because she'd had a weak moment.

  She swallowed, her mind racing for an explanation. "Right. I was going to tell you... I was going to tell you... there was a half box of candy bars on Steve's desk at my office." Her relief at coming up with a legitimate lie left her breathless.

  Then she was struck once again by her narrow brush with death; she'd come so close to eating one of the candy bars herself that morning before Marie had appeared with the muffins.

  "What happened to the candy bars?" Zane asked.

  "I assume they were thrown out in the debris. Elton the handyman might know."

  Zane picked up his radio and instructed one of his officers to track down Elton and the box of candy from the office. Then he used a handkerchief to fish the wrappers out of the trash and drop them into a brown bag, which he tagged.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked, his expression pensive.

  "Better," she said, straightening to prove she could hold herself up, when inside she was falling apart at the cumulative events of the day.

  "Well enough to help me look around the house for other candy bars?"

  She nodded, relieved to have something to do. They performed a search of the kitchen and other places where Steve might have hidden snacks but didn't find any more of the fund-raising candy. In the bedroom with the broken window, the plastic was loose, flapping in the cutting wind.

  An entrance point for whoever had left the note? Gloria wondered, the piece of paper burning through her pocket into her thigh. "It looks like someone has been in here. Some of the electronic equipment is missing," she said, gesturing to shortened stacks of goods.

  "Did you notice anything else missing?"

  "No," she said, telling herself that she wasn't lying by not telling him about the note.

  "All this equipment is just too tempting for a petty thief to pass up," Zane said. He found two boards in the garage, retrieved a toolbox from his cruiser, and nailed them in a crude X over the opening. "I'll get someone over here to fix the window," he said. "Maybe someone from the bank, since they probably hold the mortgage. And I'll warn the pawn shops to be on the lookout for brand-new DVD players." He sounded distracted, undoubtedly because he had other, more urgent, things on his mind—the cyanide poisoning was likely to cause a panic.

  "If you're ready to go, I'll walk out with you," he offered.

  They left the house together, and Gloria used her key to lock up. But her hand shook as the turn of events began to sink in. The only thing worse than Steve being intentionally poisoned was the thought of other tainted candy bars floating around. "Do you know how many candy bars are out there?"

  "Hundreds, maybe thousands." He made a rueful noise in his throat. "Right now, Steve Chasen being targeted for murder is the lesser of the two evils we could possibly have on our hands."

  Her mind spun from all the evil "possibilities" that Zane didn't even know about... yet.

  "The body will be released tomorrow if you're still up to planning a memorial."

  She nodded. "Of course. I'll contact the funeral home."

  "Gloria," he said, his eyes solemn, "now that this could be a homicide, do you know of anyone who'd want to hurt Chasen?"

  Gloria bit into her lip. Guy Bishop? Ziggy Hines? Mona Black? And anyone else Steve might have blackmailed. But how could she reveal that information without leading the police to Steve's partner who could expose her own file and motive? "No."

  He frowned. "What about that voodoo doll?"


  "What about it?"

  "You said it was dressed in fabric similar to Chasen's jacket?"

  "That's right."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if it pained him to say what he was thinking. "Do you still have it?"

  "Yes—I took it home."

  "I guess I'll be needing it after all."

  She lifted her eyebrows. "Oh, do you believe in voodoo now?"

  "Of course not," he said with a scowl. "But if Chasen was poisoned intentionally, the killer might have left the doll as a calling card."

  "Do you want me to bring it by the station?"

  "No," he barked, making her jump. "I don't want anyone knowing about this who doesn't have to know, got it? And I don't want to read anything about that damned voodoo doll in the Post."

  She crossed her arms, irritation plucking her already raw nerves. "If you do, Chief Riley, the source won't be me."

  His radio blasted out a call. "I have to go," he said, the frown still marring his forehead. "I'll call you and arrange to get the doll when things have settled down." He gave her a pointed look. "If things settle down."

  He stalked toward his car, talking into his radio. His shoulders were stiff, his expression anxious. Gloria fisted her hands in frustration. She ached to tell him her life was just as complicated as his. And she longed to go after him, to comfort him, to tell him... what? That everything was going to be okay?

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her chest as she watched him drive away. She was starting to think that okay was a place she'd never see again.

  She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. What should she do now—plan Steve Chasen's memorial? Give him up as a blackmailer? Get the hell out of town?

  She pulled the crumpled note from her pocket and stared at it. I KNOW ABOUT L.L. Her cell phone rang, startling her. Private Call flashed on the screen.

  Hoping it was George with good news, she connected the call. "Hello?"

  "Is this Gloria?" a deep, muffled voice said.

  She frowned. "Yes—who is this?"

  "Did you get the note?"

  Alarm barbed through her chest. A sweat broke out along her hairline as she looked around at the quiet houses next door and across the street. "Who is this?"