Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (18 page)

Eldon still lived. They force-fed him hot liquids, careful that he did not choke. Every so often he would open his eyes to stare about wildly, then succumb once more to whatever possessed him.

Travis slammed his fist into the knotted pillow. What had those sonsofbitches given him? What was keeping the man in that damn trance or coma or whatever the hell it was? Two other doctors had been called in and neither could, or would, say. Their only comment had been that they were helpless against voodoo.

He would see Babcock when he awoke, Travis vowed as he finally succumbed to sleep…see Babcock and insist that Eldon Harcourt be taken home…

Suddenly someone was shaking him roughly and calling his name hysterically.

“Travis, get up. In the name of God, wake up.”

He struggled awake, sitting up to see Father Debinem standing beside the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “God forgive me, but I never meant to fall asleep. I was just so tired.”

Travis bounded to his feet, grabbing the man by his shoulders and shaking him. “You fell asleep?” he demanded. “You left Eldon alone?”

He pushed by the priest, bolting for the door, but the priest’s solemn words stopped him cold.

“He’s gone.”

Travis turned slowly, blinking furiously, a cold dread moving through him. “What do you mean, he’s gone?” he whispered raggedly.

The priest sank to the bed, covering his face with his hands, his hoarse voice barely audible through his fingers. “I fell asleep. God forgive me. I was so tired. I don’t know how long I slept. When I awoke, he was gone.”

Travis ran from his room and down the hall. When he reached Eldon’s open door, his hands gripped each side of the frame. He stared at the empty bed. The blanket was pulled back, the sheets still rumpled.

Behind him, Father Debinem whispered brokenly, “I don’t know how they got in. The door was locked. The window was locked and shuttered. I just don’t understand. Lord forgive me.”

“They have ways of getting in. Stop blaming yourself. You’re a good deal older than I am, and I should have known you couldn’t keep pushing yourself. If any of the others had helped us…” he shook his head, remembering how everyone had refused to cooperate.

His head drooped. They had Eldon. The bastards had him and never had Travis felt more helpless or alone. The man had helped him, probably saved his life, and Travis had failed to do the same for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Damn them, he thought furiously. Damn them to hell.

His eyes opened slowly. At first, he could not believe what he saw there on the floor, lying just outside the door, in the hallway. Moving very cautiously, as though a quick movement would make the object disappear. Travis knelt down and touched the long, slender, bamboo rod.

He touched it gingerly, then snatched it up with a roar.

“They’ve got him!” he screamed. “Goddamn them, they’ve got him.”

Travis’ gray eyes turned the color of melting iron, flashing red as fury consumed him. He would be damned if they would get away with making a zombie out of Eldon Harcourt!

He hurried back to his room to get his guns, thinking rapidly. According to the story Eldon had told him, the sorcerer sucked out the soul of his victim, and
then
the victim went into a coma and died in a few days. He had not said anything about death coming immediately.

Maybe Eldon was not dead. Maybe the
houngan
had gotten tired of waiting and realized that Travis and the priest were keeping Eldon alive. So he had taken matters into his own hands. Sure, he was probably somewhere slitting the throat of a chicken to sacrifice to their god. Then he would also bury the head and the bottle supposedly containing Eldon’s soul.

He knew what would happen next. Eldon would have to be buried, and then the rest of the rite would take place.

There might still be time to save him.

“Do you want me to go and report what has happened to the authorities?” The priest was watching anxiously from the open doorway.

“Yeah,” Travis responded quickly, thinking it best to get the man out of the way. He could be of no further help now.

A soft mist was falling outside, and from the gray darkness descending, Travis surmised it was close to eight o’clock. He had to move fast.

There was one person who might know what was going on, he reasoned as he buckled on his gun belt. One person.

He was running down the steps when the front door of the hotel opened and Orville Babcock and Father Debinem rushed in. “I found him coming down the street,” the priest called excitedly. “I told him what happened.”

Babcock was pale and shaken. “Now, Travis, I want you to calm down and let the authorities handle this,” he said quickly, nervously, moving to block his path. “Evidently Harcourt died, and the natives wanted to bury him in their own way. Perhaps they were friends of his grandfather’s. Who knows? We will have all the graveyards checked and I will personally see that his body is sent home.”

“Do what you have to do,” Travis said and shoved him aside, “just as I plan to do.”

“Coltrane, the man is dead.” Babcock followed him through the door and out into the street. “I can’t have you running off half cocked, causing more trouble than you already have. You never should have gotten yourself involved with that girl.”

“She got
her
self involved with
me,”
Travis snarled. “I never asked her for a damn thing.”

Babcock stopped and screamed, “Coltrane, I order you to come back here. If you don’t follow my orders, I will have you arrested.”

Travis moved to the shadows. Babcock wasn’t bluffing. He would be calling out his men to have him locked up. The private secretary to the President of the United States certainly did not want to stir up the locals.

Travis turned down a cobblestone path that wound between huts and small store buildings, moving with determination through the night, ignoring the soft rain that fell on him. He was not afraid. When the day came that he let a lot of mumbo-jumbo-shrieking natives scare him, then he hoped he would just lie down and die.

In the distance, the drums began to beat, slowly at first, then picking up in rhythm that seemed to stamp out his every footfall. Let them see him. Let them know he was coming. Reaching to touch the gun in his belt, he pitied any man who got in his way this night, for when the sun rose on another day in Port-au-Prince, Travis Coltrane was determined that he would have found Eldon Harcourt, dead or alive, as well as those responsible for his disappearance.

He could feel eyes watching him in the darkness. Let them look. Goddamn it, he thought, let them come out of the shadows and meet him face to face. He would love it.

Reaching Molina’s hut, he sent the door crashing open against the inner wall.

Molina lay on her bed, naked, arms stretched above her head, her bronze skin glistening in the mellow glow of a nearby lantern.

“I thought perhaps you might come,” she whispered, lips curling in a triumphant smile. “I hear
houngan
send sorcerer for your foolish friend.”

Travis’ eyes flicked over her, noting the luster of her skin, as though she had rubbed herself in oil. Despite his fury he felt a stirring in his loins and cursed himself.

He returned her smile arrogantly. “If you were expecting me, then you know why I have come, so let’s not waste time, Molina.”

“You have come too late to save your friend. He was a fool. He was wise to our ways. He knew the danger of interfering. He knew better. You shamed me, Travis Coltrane. You made me…a fallen woman.” Her brown eyes snapped.

“I made you what you wanted to be,” he snapped, “a
satisfied
woman.” He moved close to the bed. “Where have those bastards taken Harcourt? And don’t talk
houngans
and ‘sorcerers’ and ‘zombies’ to me, because I don’t believe in that nonsense. He’s still alive and you know it.”

She sat up, stretching her long legs lazily as she raised her arms above her, lifting her small, firm breasts even higher. Tilting her head to one side, she whispered huskily, “He will always live, Travis Coltrane. He will be one of the living dead. It is the will of the
loas,
and Baron Samedi has given his approval. But why must we talk of things we cannot change?”

“You and your crazy friends aren’t going to make a walking dummy out of him. This I swear to you,” he replied tightly.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked her, “Why is Harcourt the target? I thought I was the one they were after. I don’t see anyone looking for me.”

Her eyes narrowed as she moved her fingertips to rub her nipples, arching her back in delight as she murmured, “I asked the
loas
to forgive you, Travis Coltrane, as I have forgiven you. You are right. You did make me a satisfied woman. For this I will forever be grateful.”

She stood with the sensuous grace of a snake rising to hypnotize its prey before striking. Reaching out, she touched his crotch, squeezing gently and smiling at the response. “I can be more grateful. I can tell you where to find your friend.”

“Why would you do that, Molina? You would anger your friends, wouldn’t you?”

She did not look up but stared at his rising manhood, fascinated as it sprang to life beneath her gentle manipulations. “You give me pleasure. I tell you where to find this man you seek. I gave
houngan
pleasure, and now I can deal with him if he is angry…the way I deal with you when you are angry.” She raised chocolate eyes fringed with thick lashes in a seductive invitation.

Travis still made no move to touch her. “We don’t have much time, Molina. If they buried him alive, I’ve got to find him before he suffocates.”

“If he is removed from his grave before the rites take place at the lowest hour, he will live. It is up to you to decide if this will happen.”

With a questioning gaze, she fastened her eyes upon his eyes. All the while, her hands moved deftly to unfasten his trousers and release his swollen organ. She lifted her lips for his kiss, but he pushed her roughly back across the bed, falling on top of her.

“You want it, baby?” he murmured huskily as he spread her thighs. “You’re going to get it. You’re going to get it till you beg for me to stop, and then you’re going to take me to find Harcourt yourself.”

“No,” she squirmed, suddenly frightened. “No! I cannot take you, only
tell
you.”

“You’ll do anything I want you to do, you little she-devil, because I’m going to make it so you’ll think
I’m
your precious
loa!”

He placed the tip of his throbbing penis between her legs, barely making entry as he thrust his hips to and fro teasingly. “Is this what you want?” he asked, tantalizing her as he stared down at her with mocking eyes. “Is this what you want me to give you, baby? Is this what it takes to make you do what I tell you?”

A moan escaped her lips as her neck arched backward, nails digging into the rock-hard flesh of his back. “Yes, oh, yes, my Travis. Anything. Anything. Just give it to me.”

“When I’m good and damn ready,” he snapped, lowering his lips to her breasts, circling her nipple with his tongue. “You want to play games, I’ll oblige. But this is one game I always win.”

“Travis,” she pleaded, struggling to push him inside her eager body. Her hips moved up and down in hungry anticipation “Now, please.”

He ignored her whimpering pleas as he continued to devour her breasts. He ignored the frantic clawing of her sharp nails on his buttocks as she tried to pull him closer. Even in that moment of anger, Travis was not about to break his vow. He would not take a woman selfishly. She would get her pleasuring, and it would be a night she would remember forever, no matter how many men she bedded.

Her punishment for the hell she had put him and Harcourt through, would be to remember this night, and never again to know such joy.

He took his time, moving strong, possessive hands over her twisting, writhing body. He moved probing fingers between her legs to make her scream and beg. All the while, he watched her.

Finally, and only when he could hold back no longer, Travis lifted her legs and encircled them around his neck. Drawing his hips back, he took a deep breath and shoved himself into her as deeply as possible.

She took all of him, sobbing out loud and clutching at him, moaning his name over and over, speaking in a mixture of Spanish and French. He did not understand, but it made no difference. It was the same in any language.

The woman was in the throes of ecstasy. He felt himself about to explode but held back to allow her one more crest. Then and only then did he afford himself the pleasure of release. He fell against her, exhausted, absently aware that she was lowering her weary legs from his shoulders.

They lay together, the silence broken only by gasps as they returned from the pinnacle of joy they had reached together. Long moments passed, and then Travis rolled to the side. Squeezing her face with one powerful hand, he harshly commanded, “All right. You got what you wanted. Now I’m getting my half of the bargain. Get your clothes on. We’re going to move fast and find Harcourt. So help me, you try to double-cross me and I’ll break your goddamn neck.”

She had only to look into the steely gray eyes flashing red fire to know that he meant what he said. Nodding, trembling still from passion, she moved away. “Yes,” she nodded obediently, subdued. “I will take you to find your friend. It will not be too late. But we must go fast.”