Page 9 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

That was his first clue. “Her who?”

Miss Church drew in a long breath, then let it out on a whispered, “Your wife, Carol Marie.”

Aww, shit. Keller closed his eyes as all the hints he’d failed to consider hit him like a brick.

The whisper from the shadows that had warned him to leave and never come back.

The psychic push to leave. The way he’d felt when this woman touched him.

The ease with which she’d transferred her grief for his comfort, then balanced the transfer so neither of them were left unsettled or wanting.

Miss Church was not just psychic. She was an empath. A better, stronger empath.

He canted his head, needing to understand how she knew, but not ready to share memories of Carol Marie.

“Are you psychic or are you some kind of voodoo priestess?” he asked, still not sure if even that explained everything.

The integration of white man’s religion with African witchdoctor medicine began with the earliest slaves brought to Louisiana.

Compound those ritualistic, and pagan belief systems with a powerful psychic, and you ended up with an entirely different kind of magic.

Miss Church’s thick, black lashes fluttered. Those red crystal rosary beads glistened like precious jewels at her neck. “What if I am?”

Because it might explain why Keller was here instead of another agent from the Deuces Wild team.

Either this beguiling woman or her great grandmother had drawn him here, or one of them had somehow influenced Tucker’s decision to send Keller.

Since his empathy had manifested itself when he’d turned eleven, he preferred ignoring it when he could, recovering from it when he couldn’t.

To him, his psychic talent had always been more curse than gift. Until today...

“Does everyone around here know?”

“I’ve never hidden my sight. Gran Mere wouldn’t have let me if I’d wanted to. What do you know about voodoo priestesses?”

He bowed his head, swallowed hard and revealed, “Enough. I’m from Louisiana.”

Her brows narrowed. “Where? ”

Keller loosened the tie he’d just tightened because... Shit. He needed to breathe. “Turkey Creek.”

Miss Church’s head tilted, drawing his focus to the dark strands tumbling off her shoulder like ebony silk. “I don’t know where that is.”

“Up north, off LA-13.” Admitting he’d come from that particular two-bit grease spot on the highway was nothing to be proud of, nor anything Keller wanted to share.

Even the name declared wrong side of the tracks.

Redneck. Loser. He’d spent his time in the Army blending in, not sticking out.

He’d worked hard to lose his Southern accent, too, the twang that labeled everyone this side of the Mason-Dixon Line a rebel.

He’d worked just as hard to hide his gift.

But he wouldn’t lie. Recalling the prickly sensation of eyes on him while he’d waited for Miss Church to answer the door, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Like he did whenever questions about Carol Marie came up, he changed the subject.

“That was you telling me to leave and never come back, wasn’t it? Out there on your porch?”

“You heard me then. I couldn’t tell.”

Keller ran a hand over his scalp. “No, but I felt the push. You certainly lifted the hair off my head.”

“What hair?” Mischievous sparkles lit up her pretty eyes. “When you kept knocking, I wasn’t sure. Most folks back off and run when I warn them the first time, but you—”

“I wasn’t leaving until I spoke to your great grandmother.

” Remembering why he was there—Isaiah—hit Keller.

The loss to Tucker’s team would be phenomenal, but to Roxy Zaroyin and that babe she was carrying?

The son Isaiah would never live to see? Keller couldn’t bear the thought.

That kind of pain Keller knew all too well.

Isaiah and Roxy wanted this little boy. Every time she came into the office to meet him for lunch, she glowed as if she’d swallowed a piece of the sun. But now…

Miss Church reached one hand across the chipped Formica tabletop, and again, the instant her fingertips made contact with the back of his hand, a soothing wave washed over Keller. “Why are you here, Agent Boniface? You didn’t come all the way from Washington, DC just to talk to Gran Mere.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered truthfully. I failed. “She’s gone now.”

“But why Mariposa Church? What was she to you?” The smooth, sleek waterfall of Miss Church’s hair swished over her shoulder as she leaned forward, her dark eyes brimmed with uncommon compassion and intelligence. “How did you know her?”

Keller shook his head. “I didn’t. Never heard of her until yesterday.” His phone vibrated from his inner jacket pocket. Damn. Had to be Tucker. Just when one migraine ended, another one dialed his number. “Excuse me, but I have to take this.”

Miss Church pushed back from the table. Her gaze strayed to the settee beyond the kitchen. “I’ll, umm…”

Keller took hold of her hand before she could escape. “Stay. This won’t take long.” Because I’ve got nothing good to tell my boss. My boss, ha. The title still chafed .

As she settled back into her chair, Keller hit ACCEPT. “Agent Boniface—”

“Why haven’t you called? Are you there yet? What’s going on?”

“Yes, sir, I arrived, and I’ve made first contact, but—”

“But what?” Tucker’s angst crawled through the connection. “Have you met her yet? What’s she like? What’d she say? Can she help Isaiah or not? How long’s it gonna take to fly her back to DC? Do you think she’s strong enough to handle the flight or should we plan…? What the hell’s going on?”

Keller swallowed hard, then gave it to Tucker straight. “She won’t be coming back. Mariposa Church passed away this morning before I had the chance to speak with her. Tell Isaiah I’m so—”

“She’s dead?” No one did obvious like Tucker Chase.

“Yes, sir,” Keller answered quietly, suddenly aware that the pad of his thumb was drawing tiny circles on the back of Miss Church’s hand.

Tucker could get under his skin quicker than anyone Keller had ever met, yet as upset as his highly-strung boss was at this unwelcome turn of events—and he had a right to be—Keller was not.

The calmest sensations floated up his arm from Miss Church’s skin, to his neck muscles where he carried his stress.

There was still no sign of a migraine. Not even the slightest inkling.

No aura. No urge to kill anything or anyone, either.

He locked eyes with Miss Church. She was nothing like the alleged voodoo queen he’d grown up with.

Yes, there most certainly was a human skull in Gran Mere’s fancy cabinet.

That by itself spoke of black magic and witchcraft, possibly murder.

He might not have been able to read Miss Church’s mind, but empathy had its own language, and Keller knew the desperate people who practiced voodoo.

He’d witnessed the dark side of it up close and personal as a kid.

His mother was Cajun. She’d married a soldier, an alcoholic who’d never pleased her until the night he’d died in his sleep.

After Keller’s father was gone, she’d turned her only child’s life into living hell.

Queen Elaine Boniface. That was how folks addressed her, as if she had anything to do with royalty.

Keller knew better, and he knew wicked. His mother derived more pleasure than power from killing the chickens, kittens, lambs, and birds she’d used in her despicable rituals.

She’d always made him watch, and he’d never been strong enough to defy her.

He’d watched and afterward, he’d cried. Like a blubbering wuss, he’d cried for every one of those helpless creatures.

It made him sick remembering. How they’d squealed and screamed. How they’d cried…

At her deepest core, Elaine was never anything more than a mean-spirited woman who’d cursed, hexed, and convinced others to believe that she could and would curse them if they didn’t do what she wanted.

They had to buy their way off her hit list or risk losing a crop, a herd, or a child.

Queen Elaine was cruel, and fear ran deep in both her chicken-shit son and the neighbors.

Hence the double hex Keller had lived under as a kid.

Folks in Turkey Creek got back at Elaine by taking their revenge out on him.

They spread stories and lies. Their children bullied him until he’d whupped every last one of their asses just so he could walk down the gravel road where he lived without having to run for his life.

Fact was that he’d never have gotten out of Turkey Creek alive without sweet Carol Marie’s faith in him.

Back then he’d been a scrawny kid, all legs, no balls.

Born dirt poor to the local drunk, he’d been looking for validation and redemption all his worthless life.

The Army gave that to him, along with confidence, pride, and an unrelenting dedication to serve decent, law-abiding Americans.

But it was Carol Marie who’d given him his first taste of heaven.

She was the reason he’d sought out the local Army/Air Force/Navy recruiters.

She was the only one who’d believed he’d amount to something better than getting drunk off one-hundred-ninety proof Everclear.

But that was a long time ago, and in the end, Elaine had taken Carol Marie, too. And here Keller was, nearly back home again. Close enough to smell its stink.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Tucker sputtered, jolting him out of his melancholy reverie. “Already? Damn. What’d she die of?”

Like cause of death mattered to Isaiah? “Old age,” Keller replied. An unexpected calmness still lingered as he studied Miss Church’s delicate, slender fingers. They were pink against his callused, scarred, and rugged skin. Even his palms seemed stained with use, but hers were clean. Dainty. Pure.

And once again, he’d crossed the line between agent and client .

Clearing his throat, Keller settled her palm to the tabletop and patted the back of her hand to signal the end of the touching.

All this familiarity growing between them had to stop.

She was off limits. Breakfast wasn’t going to happen, either.

That had been an out of the blue invitation he still couldn’t believe he’d extended.

She’d seemed so lost and… Yes. Okay. He hadn’t wanted to walk away from her just then, either.

No child should have to face Death alone, and okay, she wasn’t exactly a child, but still. He couldn’t do it.

“Roxy admitted him two hours ago,” Tucker said, his voice a mere whisper. “He’s bad. They’re putting him on a ventilator. Possibly inducing a coma until...”

And so it begins. Another all-night vigil. Another tragic waste of a good man’s life. Another viewing. Then onto Arlington…

Looked like Keller was leaving after all. Breathing a ragged sigh of resignation, he rapped his knuckles on the tabletop and stood, needing to be gone. “I’ll catch the first flight home, sir.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sure. Whatever.”

The line went dead. Tucker had never sounded so deflated.