The Cursed

“What was in the chest?” Dallas asked.

 

“As far as I know, no one’s really sure. They say gold from South America, and jewels,” Hannah said. “If there was ever a full inventory, I don’t know about it. And I live with ghosts who were around before the treasure was lost, and even they don’t know more than that.”

 

“There’s got to be someone who knows something,” Dallas said.

 

“Archives. We could dig around in the city archives, but I think Hannah’s right. If anyone knew, there would be stories about it,” Kelsey said.

 

Dallas fingered the key. “Still, keep thinking. The Wolf has to know—or think he knows—something. Something that makes him certain the treasure is hidden here, in this house.” He hesitated. “I’ll keep the key with me—if I may.”

 

Hannah lifted her hands in surrender. “Sure. Why?”

 

He laughed. “Because no one will expect me to have anything on me. I’m an outsider here, even though I’m from here. Go figure. I need to head down to the station and then the wharf, but I’ll be back in plenty of time for the ghost tour. Logan will be back by eight, and Liam and a few plainclothes officers will join us, as well. I’m afraid you’ll have to forget that sixteen-person limit for tonight.”

 

“Are you hoping something happens?” Hannah asked.

 

She met his eyes and realized she shouldn’t have been surprised by the flash of heat that filled her. She almost blushed. He was all business right now, and all she could think about was last night.

 

“So we just stay here until the ghost tour?” she asked.

 

“Yes, but I’ll be back long before that. See if you can think of anything—anything at all—that might connect the key to something in this house, some kind of clue. It could be something hidden in plain sight. Maybe Melody or Hagen could help,” Dallas said. “The Wolf may be afraid of the curse, but I’m assuming you’re not.”

 

“You heard Hagen. He was the one who cursed the treasure, and he says the idea of a curse is bunk to begin with,” Hannah said “A curse is bunk—unless, once again, you’re talking perception rather than reality. The Wolf wants the treasure, but he does believe in the curse, so he doesn’t want to risk finding the treasure himself. If we could find it for him, well...we might be able to trap him,” Dallas said. “Meanwhile, I’m going to show that sketch around and see what I find out, so yes, you two need to stay here.”

 

“We can prowl around in the attic,” Kelsey offered.

 

“We can prowl, but...” Hannah said.

 

“You never thought you’d find a key, did you?” Dallas asked.

 

Hannah shrugged. “No.”

 

“Just remember, no one else in the house,” Dallas said.

 

“Right,” Kelsey said.

 

“All right,” Hannah agreed after a moment, realizing that they were waiting for her to agree.

 

Then Dallas left, reminding her again to lock the door after him.

 

*

 

Machete watched the house, grateful for something, anything, to keep him from thinking about the trouble with his mind, something he hadn’t expected.

 

Because he could still see her.

 

Yerby Catalano. He could see the trust in her eyes as he lured her away to kill her.

 

It was strange. He had shot a crooked cop out of Mexico and he hadn’t blinked. He’d stabbed an art dealer in Florida City without a pang—but, then, he’d seen the bastard trying to seduce the thirteen-year-old daughter of a client just moments before. The man had been a pedophile. Not that he thought it was his role in life to judge.

 

He’d been told to kill, so he had.

 

But the woman...the first—and, God willing, the last—woman he’d ever killed...

 

Yerby Catalano. Her name, like the look she had given him, seemed tattooed on the walls of his brain.

 

So now he just kept watching the house.

 

He’d been watching it all day. He’d watched the patrol car come, and he’d watched the FBI agents leave. He’d watched the officer sitting in his car. The man had been vigilant at first. Then he’d started playing with his cell phone, and then he’d put on his sunglasses and leaned back.

 

Probably dozed off for a bit.

 

He’d seen the pretty Russian woman—Valeriya Dimitri—come, and he’d been somewhat surprised when they’d let her in. He thought about lying and not saying she’d been there, should the Wolf ask. And of course the Wolf would ask. But would he know it was a lie? How many people could he have watching?

 

Did he have someone else watching him watch the house?

 

Machete was watching when Valeriya left with the FBI agent. They weren’t taking any chances, it seemed.

 

But, like the Wolf, just how many people could they watch around the clock?

 

His phone began to ring. He looked at it with dread.

 

Dear God, don’t tell me to kill her, don’t tell me to kill her, please....

 

He realized he was praying.

 

He hadn’t even known he remembered how.

 

 

 

 

 

13

 

Dallas had high hopes for the sketch Lottie and the police artist were working on.

 

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