“What’s going on here?”

“You just stepped into a crime scene, Ned. Our guests have taken over the house,” Annie said.

Ned trained his dark eyes on Arcadias. The brown orbs peered out from underneath bushy eyebrows with owl-like fierceness. “Why are you doing this? Jon and Annie are good people.”

“They’re looking for treasure. They think Jean Lafitte treasure is somewhere in this house. Isn’t that crazy?” Annie said.

Ned’s color whitened. He swayed a bit on his feet. “The treasure is long gone. You’re throwing your life away looking for it,” he said softly.

An eyebrow lifted on Arcadias’ forehead. “Who are you? And how do you know the treasure is gone?”

“My name is Ned Hoxley. And I looked for the treasure years ago. I never found it.”

“You must not have looked hard enough,” Arcadias said. He turned his attention to Annie. “You’re awfully talkative. Would you care to explain how you knew we were looking for Jean Lafitte treasure?”

Annie shot Arcadias a stony glare, but said nothing.

Arcadias lifted his gun hand and pointed the Glock at Ned. He returned Annie’s stony glare with an icy glare of his own. “Tell me how you know our intentions, and Gramps won’t get hurt.”

“Go ahead, Annie, tell him,” Rafter said.

“While we were in the attic I found a journal. The journal belonged to Rose Whitcomb, the former owner of this house. I read an entry in the journal that referred to a mysterious box. It was insinuated in the journal entry that treasure lay inside the box,” Annie said.

“Where is this journal? Do you have it with you?”

Annie shook her head. “I left it in the attic.”

Arcadias looked at Damien, who did his best to comfort Colette. “Damien, I need you to keep an eye on Rafter and the old man. Annie is going to lead me to the journal.” Arcadias pressed his Glock against Annie’s ribs. “Let’s go retrieve this journal.”

“You love treasure hunting don’t you, Arcadias?” Rafter said suddenly.

Arcadias shot him an annoyed look. “I do. I’ve been treasure hunting for most of my adult life.”

Rafter nodded. “I’m guessing hunting for treasure is more than just a hobby for you, it’s a passion. It’s what gets you going. You go to bed thinking of Lafitte gold, and wake up thinking of it.”

Arcadias’ eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to get at?”

“I have a passion too, Arcadias. I love to paint. Painting is like breathing for me, I have to do it every day. Painting is who I am; it’s in my DNA strand. It makes me come alive.”

Arcadias scanned the breathtaking murals on the walls. “You’re very good at your passion.”

Rafter shrugged. “Believe it or not, Arcadias, there’s something I love and cherish far more than painting.”

“And what would that be?”

“It’s not a what, but a who. And you’re holding a gun to her ribs.”

Arcadias rolled his eyes. “That’s sweet, but you’re holding up progress, Rafter. Let’s go, Annie.”

“Arcadias?”

The ex-history professor turned back around to face him. “What?”

“If you harm even one hair on Annie’s head, I’m coming for you.”

“Is that a threat?”

Rafter shook his head. “It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.”

“I know all about the heroics you performed in the Atchafalaya Basin a few years ago, Jon. Your courage cannot be measured. But you are still a mortal man covered with mortal flesh. Your valiance cannot stop a bullet.” Arcadias paused briefly like a thespian stopping their dialogue for dramatic effect. “Provided she doesn’t attempt anything foolish, Annie will return to this room unharmed.” Arcadias jabbed her in the ribs with the Glock. “I want this journal. Let’s go.”

Chapter 23

Copeland, LA—that same moment

Standing in the back of the crammed VFW hall, Newton Laskey scanned the crowd sitting in folding chairs. It seemed like a diverse crowd: young, old, equal parts Caucasian and African-American, a few Hispanics, slightly more men than women, some dressed nattily, while others sported tattered blue jeans and wrinkled t-shirts.

Most seemed attentive to the three Republican presidential candidates as they took turns addressing questions from the audience. Only a few looked as sleepy and bored as Laskey felt.

The FBI man glanced at his watch. He estimated the town hall debate would last another half hour. Laskey served as the SAC—Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Baton Rouge Resident Agency. He had two other FBI agents with him at the debate. The FBI was here upon request, helping the Secret Service because one of the candidates had a stalker.

A half crazy man in New Orleans had it in for Rick Gordon, the current front-running candidate and senator from Arkansas. A restraining order was placed on the man, and it seemed to be working. But the restraining order didn’t keep him from continually posting threatening rants on Facebook.

FBI and Secret Service agents currently observed the unsettled man at his house. Latest reports Laskey had received were that the knucklehead was sitting on his porch and drinking beer in moderation—good news for all involved.

Laskey had actually spent a day in Copeland three years ago. One of his ex-agents—Annie Crawford, now Annie Rafter—tracked some kidnappers to the town’s outskirts and then disappeared into a hurricane ravaged swamp where she ended up a hostage herself. At first Laskey didn’t know what had happened to Annie on that terrible night, and spent several hours canvassing rain-soaked Copeland for her, finally finding her and the kidnapped child walking down a flooded levee road.

Laskey often thought of Annie. Few of his current agents could match Annie’s intuitiveness, her penchant for delving into a case and finding a motive where others couldn’t, and for doggedly poring over evidence until a loose thread unravels and leads to an arrest.

Laskey felt betrayed when Annie quit the Bureau. He never saw it coming. And he considered himself a sage at measuring his agents’ happiness.

It all came down to love. And love can make a person do the unexpected.

Annie resigned shortly after falling in love with Jon Rafter, the hermitlike artist who singlehandedly rescued her and the child from the Boudreauxs. She eventually married him.

At first Laskey didn’t know what to think of Jon Rafter—a man running from the demons of his law-enforcement past. But after spending only an hour with Rafter a day before he married Annie, Laskey came away impressed. He found Rafter to be a man of integrity and unshakeable faith. Rafter was also a chivalrous man with a warrior’s heart. It’s no wonder Annie took to him so quickly.

Laskey couldn’t really blame Annie for quitting the FBI. From childhood to the end of her law enforcement career, Annie witnessed the fallen human condition at its most depraved. She deserved happiness and a mundane life, if that’s what she truly wanted.

The last news he’d heard of the couple was that they’d rehabbed an old plantation house on the town’s outskirts, converting it into a bed and breakfast.

Maybe I should pay a visit to Jon and Annie after this debate is over. I’ll never be this close again, he thought, forcing his tired eyes to scan the crowd one more time in case the knucklehead made an appearance.

****

Not far from where Newton Laskey stood, Keith Jepson caught himself nodding off. Politics bored him. Listening to grandstanding blowhards spin falsehoods ranked high on his list of least desirable activities. Oddly enough, his wife loved politics and couldn’t get enough of it. Somehow their relationship worked and proved that opposites really do attract.

Jepson considered politicians to be almost as dishonest and ruthless as trial lawyers. It pained him to say that because he was a lawyer. The family law attorney lifted the sleeve of his sport jacket and looked at his watch. Will this debate ever end? He only attended tonight’s debate because his wife worked on candidate Bret Kingman’s campaign staff.