Cursed (Decorah Security #21) - Rebecca York Page 0,50
didn’t know how Andre could function out there.
Bone-deep worry gnawed at her. If he were anywhere else besides the middle of a swamp, she would have gone outside to look for him. But she knew that tramping into the bayou was as dangerous as it was futile.
Again, she tried to distract herself. As she did most evenings, she checked her e-mail. At least there was something to take her mind off Andre—a message from Decorah.
One of the agents, Zane Marshall, had looked at the maps Morgan sent and confirmed they seemed to be a geological survey. But he wasn’t familiar with the notation and was sending them to an expert. Morgan should expect to hear something in a day or two.
After thanking Zane, Morgan looked at some of the bulletin board digests she usually checked out.
But the messages simply didn’t hold her interest. Finally, she gave up, took a shower and pulled on clean panties and a tee shirt. Always prepared to get out of bed quickly, she set out a pair of jeans over the arm of a chair.
She lay in bed for a long time, listening for Andre to come in. Finally, she drifted off, only to startle awake at the sound of chanting. It took a moment for her to figure out where she was and what she was hearing.
The damn voodoo priestess was back.
Morgan felt her throat close, felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. Wanting to get a look at the damn woman, she got out of bed, then had to grab the edge of the mattress to keep from falling over. It took several moments before she felt steady enough to walk.
Still, her steps were shaky as she crossed the room, then stood at the window, breathing hard.
She felt as if she were trying to function underwater. After her experiences on the road and in the graveyard, the chanting voice and the sound of the drum seemed to reach her on a deeper level—pounding at the frayed edges of her sanity.
The words beat in her head. She had to get away. Out of this room. Out of the house. Out of Louisiana. If she didn’t leave, she would die. She knew that on a gut-wrenching, fear-ridden level.
Panic clawed at her chest, at her throat—until she ordered herself to get a grip.
“You will not fall apart. It’s just a woman out there trying to scare you,” she told herself. “Stop it this minute.”
Her fingers dug into her palms as she fought to catch her breath. Panting, she focused on the pain as she struggled to ground herself.
The small jabs helped bring her mind back to reality. She had been caught in the grip of a panic attack. That was all! The woman was trying to put her under a spell. Only now she had a better idea how to fight against it.
“You shouldn’t have left those charms. I’m on to you now,” she muttered. “I’m not going to let you scare me.”
Taking several seconds to catch her breath, she looked out into the darkness, searching under the trees. At first, her eyes could see little in the bayou night. When she had adjusted to the low light, she zeroed in on the spot where she’d seen the priestess the first time at the estate.
This time, she saw nothing. Blinking, she stared harder. But she wasn’t mistaken. The woman wasn’t there, and she felt a spurt of disappointment.
She had been so sure she would find the culprit. But the spot was empty. And the chanting hadn’t stopped.
Again, fear leaped up, blocked her windpipe.
Not fear for herself. For Andre. He was outside in the dark. And he had told her the priestess hated him—that her curse had some kind of power over him. Maybe, this time, the chant was meant for Andre. And maybe a voodoo charm had already done something to the men who were missing.
Whirling away from the window, Morgan grabbed her jeans and quickly pulled them on. Scuffing her feet into shoes, she looked toward her purse. Her gun was in there. And she wanted the comfort of its weight in her hand. But after the episode in the graveyard, she knew that taking it could be dangerous. The wrong person could get shot—especially in the dark.
Throwing open her door, she started for the stairs. She was halfway down the hall when someone grabbed her arm from behind.
Chapter Eleven
Morgan went into a martial arts crouch, ready to fight off whoever had grabbed her.