Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

BEAU

Stay. Like a damned dog. But the care in his voice and that kiss. I almost listen to him, but I've never been good at following directions. Or staying put.

I easily catch up to Killian. Is he going slow on purpose? Or is he just in stealth mode?

No matter. He's going in the wrong direction. I lightly touch his arm and nod to the corner of the gate. Once we're through, we tread slowly, ducking behind white marble mausoleums and stone tombs on raised platforms. New Orleans is below sea level, so most graves are now above ground to keep loved ones from floating away. But in the early days, the dead would not stay buried, and the noxious fumes emitted by the corpses caused the epidemics of the early 1830s. Or at least that's what I've been told.

Are bodies now being tossed into cemeteries?

Killian stops, his head cocked to the side. I can hear people but not what they're saying. I resist the urge to shake him. "Well?"

He holds up a hand to signal the need for quiet. After a few moments, he whispers, "Your mother and the coroner are moving the body."

I nod, trying to remain quiet, but it's not easy.

"Animal bites."

"So, not murder?"

"They aren't ruling it out."

"Do they know who it is?" I ask. Not that I'll know them, but maybe it could give us some clues.

Killian listens. "No ID, but the coroner recognizes him." He turns to face me. His eyes sad. "Beau, it's a professor at the university."

"Okay, so?" There are hundreds of professors. But in my gut, I already know.

"Professor Jassan."

"That's not—" I feel like I'm going to throw up. Or scream.

The voices get louder, joined by heels clicking on the pavement.

"We have to go, Beau." Killian gently guides me back to the car. My brain is in a fog. Jassan? He can't be dead. "Would you like me to drive?"

I stop with my hand on the door. "Do you know how to drive?"

He tilts his head. "I'm not sure."

"I'm fine." I'm not, but it doesn't matter. This is too close. Too personal. But an animal attack? Why was his body at the graveyard?

Once we're both inside, he pulls me into a hug. His warmth thaws the cold gripping my heart. I feel cared for. Protected. I blink back tears. Jesus, I need to keep it together. I start the car and pull back onto the main road.

After a few miles, I rub the back of my neck to ease the strain of this day and glance at Killian. He's watching me. "Did you learn anything else?"

"After the coroner, your mother talked to the other officer—Wilson. She said Jassan was the one who got you fired. And asked her to keep that quiet, for now."

How much does Mom know? Or thinks she knows? "Anything else?"

When he doesn't answer, I glance over at him. He's staring at his hands folded in his lap. "They think I was involved in his death."

"What?" The tires vibrate as I get too close to the shoulder, forcing me to focus on driving. I pull back on the road and take a deep breath. My heart beats rapidly like it's still stuck on that rumble strip. "Why?"

"Jassan and I were seen talking at the bar. I'm not sure which one."

A burning pain centers in my chest, and I try to rub it away. "Were you naked at the time?"

He tilts his head. "I'm not sure that's relevant."

I'm not sure either. Jealousy is stupid and pointless. Shouldn't I be worried about why he met with my professor? Whether he killed him? Why he showed up at my door? "What's going on, Killian?"

"I don't know."

"Fucking hell." I grip the steering wheel and scream. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Killian flinch. "Just letting off steam."

He shifts in his seat and clutches his hands. After about ten minutes, he asks, with an edge of panic, "Where are we going?"

I keep my voice calm even though I want to scream again. "They know what I drive, Killian. They know where I live. We need to figure this out, but to do that, we need someplace they can't find us."

He nods, his jaw set as he stares at the road ahead. As we get farther away from the city, Killian's body relaxes, and so do I. He breathes in and out. We're almost out of the city when he asks again. "Beau? Where are we going?"

I glance over and smile. "Don't you worry, cher. I know just the spot."

Teaching wildlife biology to undergrads is finally paying off. I know the national parks like the back of my hand. And I might have used the refuge center a time or two to escape my mother's wrath. Coco Tremere can be a hell of a force, especially with the NOPD behind her. Having an escape route was handy. A necessity. An eerie déjà vu overcomes me as I turn off my phone so my mother can't track me. Us. Because Killian is the one she's after.

Killian's entire body is one big ball of anxiety. From the top of his silky brown hair to his cute little toes. Who has skin that perfect, anyway? I ignore the questions he isn't asking. About my professor. Losing my job at the university. And now Jassan is dead. What the hell is going on?

The farther we get from civilization, the weirder Killian acts. Just little things. At first, it isn't so bad. He relaxes as if he's more comfortable being in the wild. I totally get that. I'd be a hermit if I could and never interact with people. But then he starts getting antsy again. Shifting in his seat. His hands tapping and drumming. And his legs are moving—mainly opening and closing—and that isn't distracting at all.

"Killian, for fuck's sake, settle down."

"I'm sorry."

I grab his hand to stop it from drumming on the middle console. Energy bursts from his skin. It's electrifying. My first impulse is to release his hand. Instead, I hold on tighter and squeeze. "We're close."

"I need to be…out of this car."

"Almost there."

I let go of his hand to make the turn into the grassy area. The city sounds have faded, replaced by the chirping of birds and the sounds of frogs and insects. My brain knows the way, and I steer by muscle memory, trying to keep the real memories away. Collecting data. Escaping here. Staying over. Professor Jassan not always being an ass, or at least hiding it well in the beginning. Then he ridiculed me. Accused me of misreading the research. He wanted me to stay quiet about my findings, and when I wouldn't, he discredited me. I touch the charm on my necklace. A reminder not to trust anyone ever again. What does it say about me that I can't learn from my mistakes? Because here I am again, believing every word a man says.

"Are we there yet?"

His question breaks my mood. Killian might be a bad guy, but I have a hard time believing it. "What are you? Seven years old?"

He squints at me. "I don't know how old I am. But I'm an adult, not a child."

"So you say."

The place doesn't look much different from the last time I was here. Tall grass surrounds the beat-up trailer with a broken path leading up to the dingy door. A wooden porch—a generous description since it's little more than a few wooden steps—stretches past the doorway. A mailbox no mail carrier has ever delivered to is on the left side of the door. I ignore Killian, walk up the rickety steps, and grab the key from the mailbox. Does that really keep anyone out?

I'm in the small kitchen area when I realize Killian isn't with me. I retrace my steps and watch him from the doorway. He's stopped halfway, staring at the trailer in horror. At least it looks like horror. "What's the problem, big guy?"

"We're staying here? It's a box."

"Beggars cannot be choosers."

"No." He shakes his head. "I can't. I have to go."

I rush out the door. "What? Why?"

He pulls in a shaky breath. "I need to take a walk."

"Okay, I can go with you. Just give me a second…"

"No. Thank you. I need to go alone."

What the hell? And then he takes off. He doesn't even have shoes. Or know the area. Should I go after him? But it was his decision. He's a big boy. And hell, people leave me all the time. I should be used to it by now.

I return to the trailer and assess the situation. There is some food, but probably not enough to last more than a day. The bed is bigger than a cot, but not by much, and more importantly, there's only one. I hadn't thought of that. Only one bed for the two of us.

I don't think I can sleep next to Killian—especially if he gives me that smoldering stare—without jumping him. I put together a meal of canned soup and boxed mac and cheese, thankful for the microwave, and I wait.

But after a few hours, I'm still waiting. Where the hell has that man gone to? My blood runs cold. What if he left? Just as quickly as he arrived on my doorstep this morning.

Just like a fucking man.

But he could also be lost, so I leave the trailer and check the most likely places first, trudging through the dense growth. God, I hope he doesn't get too close to the swamp. You don't mess with gators. I look for twenty minutes without luck. Should I give up?

A loud roar tears through the air, and I jerk to a stop. What the hell? The ground shakes, and I run. Not toward the trailer. That would be too smart. My only thought is that Killian is out there all alone with…what? My imagination conjures all sorts of things, so I shut those thoughts down to keep from spiraling. I wade through deep grass and swampy patches closer to the water, looking for any clue to where Killian is.

I spot the large footprints first. Too large to be real.

And then the blood.