Jana DeLeon - Bayou Bodyguard

“I really appreciate your understanding. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with this earlier.”

Brian reached one hand up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “You didn’t know you could trust me, especially given the past. I hope you know now that you can.”

Justine nodded.

Brian’s eyes were locked on hers. His arms still held her close, and even before he lowered his lips to hers, she knew he was going to kiss her. And she knew she wasn’t going to pull away.

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To my friend, Leigh Zaykoski, for helping me with my new business venture

and being a constant source of inspiration.

To my critique partners, Cari Manderscheid and Cindy Taylor, for always helping

me improve my work and meet my deadlines. To my friend Colleen Gleason, who

talks me off the ledge when I’m frustrated. To my friend Tracey Stanley, for your

steadfast support and all your marketing efforts. To my friend Leslie Langtry, it’s

all good from here on, baby! To my parents, Jimmie and Bobbie Morris,

and Jimmie, Donna and Katianne Morris for all your support. To my agent,

Kristin Nelson, for being a rock during the turmoil that was 2010. To my editor,

Allison Lyons, for giving me the opportunity to write books for the Harlequin line

I’ve always loved to read.

Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001 and focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day, she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana at her website, www.janadeleon.com.

Justine Chatry —The historian jumped at the chance to find the lost emeralds at laMalediction, but her reasons for agreeing to the job weren’t purely for business. She hadn’t planned on a bodyguard looking over her shoulder as she worked—especially one from her secret past—but was even more unsettled by the way he made her feel.

Brian Marcentel —The former Marine took a leave of absence from the New Orleans Police Department to help out his friend by playing bodyguard. He was expecting trouble, but not from the woman he was hired to protect. His attraction to the beautiful historian wasn’t something he planned or welcomed, and when he finally realizes why the Creole beauty looks familiar, it only makes things worse.

Sheriff Blanchard —The good sheriff is suspected of hiding information about the strange occurrences at laMalediction, and is very unhappy to find more people in residence at the estate.

Tom Breaux —The superstitious café owner claims that laMalediction is cursed, but lives in a cabin on the bayou with a path behind it that leads directly to laMalediction. Does he really believe the house is cursed, or does he tell ghost stories to keep others away?

Chris Pauley —The young, brash mechanic has a loud mouth and an abrasive demeanor. He’s been caught trespassing at laMalediction, but no one knows what he was doing on the property. What is very clear is that he wants Brian and Justine to leave Cypriere.

Deedee —The café waitress seems easily spooked and refuses to talk about the haunted estate. Justine is certain she’s hiding something, but breaking down the scared woman’s defenses is going to require finesse and time.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

It looked like something out of a Stephen King novel, Justine Chatry thought, as she stared at the house in front of her in the fading dim of daylight. Of course, mansion was a better word for the ten-thousand-square-foot, three-story monstrosity that rose up out of the bayou, its dark windows peeking out from moss-covered stone and seeming to stare back at her.

It was at least eighty degrees in Cypriere, Louisiana, but Justine felt a chill come over her, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to cast off the feeling of foreboding. laMalediction, the locals called it—meaning “the curse.” Both beautiful and horrifying, seductive and sinister, it seemed to call to her.

And that gave her the creeps.

She chided herself for being fanciful and reached back into her car to grab her small suitcase. Just because her mother chose to believe in haunts and curses didn’t mean Justine followed suit. The house was a house. Granted, this house was an extremely large one—with a bloody history—but that didn’t change the job she had to do. In fact, it made her job all the more interesting.

“You made it.” A voice called from the entry to the house, and Justine looked up and waved at Olivia Markham, the woman who’d hired her for the research job at laMalediction. Olivia smiled and crossed the courtyard to Justine’s car.

“I’m glad to see you,” Olivia said. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it here by dark. We’ve made some strides clearing the road to the house, but it’s still not the best place to be at night if you don’t know where you’re going.”

Justine smiled, thinking “road” was a bit of a stretch to call the dirt path almost hidden by the swamp. “Sorry I worried you. I got held up by my mother. She’s a professional at making me late.”

Olivia opened the door to the backseat and pulled out one of Justine’s boxes of supplies. “I hope she’s not worried about you staying here,” Olivia said, as they walked toward the house.

Justine frowned. “She’s not thrilled, but my mother is not your average person.”

Olivia balanced the box on her hip and opened the front door to the house so Justine could walk inside. “What do you mean?” Olivia asked. “Is there such a thing as an average mother?”

“Probably not, but mine is worse than most. She was raised deep in the bayou and still believes in the old ways.”

Olivia closed the door and stared at her. “Voodoo?”

“Yeah,” Justine said and stared beyond Olivia at the wall behind her. Her mother’s insistence on using spells and potions to manage every aspect of her life and health, along with her attempts to direct Justine the same way, had resulted in years of constant friction between them.

“Wow,” Olivia said and started down a hallway. “You never told me that when we talked before.”

“It’s not something I like to tell a lot of people.”

Olivia gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand, but given the situation here, your secondhand knowledge of voodoo may help you with your research.”