Don't Say a Word Read online

  He paused and Antwaun tried to follow his train of thought. “You think Pace had something to do with Kendra’s disappearance or her death?”

  “Maybe.” Damon grunted. “If the dead woman is Kendra, maybe Pace removed her skin and transplanted it onto the woman I brought here last night. That’s why this other woman resembles Kendra.”

  Antwaun’s stomach knotted. “Then Pace must know what happened to Kendra and who killed her.”

  Damon motioned for the guard to open the door. “I’m on my way to talk to him now.”

  * * *

  THE SUNRISE IN THE BAYOU streaked the gray sky with purple and dark red lines. Crystal carried a cup of coffee onto Esmeralda’s front porch and settled into the wicker rocking chair with the morning paper. She’d hated to ask Esmeralda, but she’d wondered why a blind woman received the paper at all. But Esmeralda had laughed good-naturedly, then admitted that she had a friend who came and read to her. The odd twitch in her smile made Crystal wonder if the elderly lady had a boyfriend.

  Then again, when Crystal had first walked into the kitchen of the main house this morning, Esmeralda had been mumbling out loud, talking to someone named Cooter.

  Oddly though, no one had been in the room.

  When Crystal had questioned her, Esmeralda had professed that she was talking to her long-dead brother. In fact, she’d acted as if the interaction was perfectly normal. Then she’d pointed to two pennies lying on the table and commented on the scent of Old Spice in the room, insisting both were evidence that had alerted her to his presence before she’d even heard his voice.

  Was the old woman batty, or did she really think she could talk to ghosts?

  Then again, Esmeralda had said that Lex was dead, just as Dr. Pace had, and she’d sworn she had seen him. Maybe in Crystal’s near-death state, she had been able to channel into the realm of death….

  Midnight suddenly arched his back and hissed, his green eyes staring at the woods beyond. She stroked his back to calm him, but he remained coiled with tension.

  A shadow fell across the sun as Crystal picked up the morning newspaper and read the headlines.

  Woman’s Body Found Mutilated in the Bayou.

  She shivered and zoned in on the gruesome image of two rescue workers carrying a body bag through a section of dark, isolated swampland. Another photo showed Agent Damon Dubois and his brother, Detective Jean-Paul Dubois, on the porch of a rotting shanty, their heads lowered in concentration, scowls on both their faces. Dragging her eyes away, she read on.

  Do we have another sadistic serial killer stalking the city of New Orleans?

  Or is this woman Kendra Yates, the woman allegedly murdered by Officer Antwaun Dubois?

  Are the two connected?

  Sources at the scene admit that the woman was mutilated, her body unrecognizable. The coroner confirmed they needed DNA evidence to identify the victim, and Lieutenant Phelps of the NOPD assured us that every possible resource would be utilized to find the killer and bring justice to the woman and her family.

  Special FBI Agent Damon Dubois, a decorated marine who served in Iraq, and Detective Jean-Paul Dubois of the NOPD, who received an honorary commendation from the state for his heroism during Hurricane Katrina, are ironically both brothers of the accused suspect Officer Antwaun Dubois. Both refused comment, although staunchly defended their brother at his hearing.

  If you have any clues or evidence that would aid the police in solving this crime, please contact the NOPD immediately.

  Crystal searched the rest of the paper to see if there was any mention of her being Kendra Yates or a missing woman, but found nothing.

  The photo of the body bag caught her eye again, and she remembered the picture Damon had shown her of Kendra Yates, and the story about her journalism career. She felt drawn to the woman somehow, and wanted to know what had happened to her. Maybe because she resembled her…

  She glanced back at Damon Dubois’s photo and that connection to him she’d sensed earlier returned stronger than ever. He’d said he would help her, and he was obviously a man who kept his word, a man of honor.

  But she’d been wrong before….

  She wished he were here now, though. Somehow just being close to him gave her comfort. And that husky deep voice of his—she had heard it before. Maybe if she spent more time with him, she would remember why.

  Midnight suddenly lurched up and hissed again, arching his back as he stared into the woods beyond. Two other cats, a fat gray one and a striped orange one, rose and paced the front porch like panthers, as if they sensed something dangerous lurking in the shadows of the swamp. Leaves rustled and a twig snapped. A gator screeched in the distance.

  Crystal tensed as the cats formed a close circle around her. A fierce cackle erupted in the tense silence that sounded half human, half animal and then a shadow moved beneath a copse of trees….

  Esmeralda suddenly rushed through the front door, wielding a shotgun. The screen door slapped against the doorjamb just as the old woman blasted a shot at the shadow.

  “Call Agent Dubois!” Esmeralda shouted.

  As Crystal ran in for the phone, the old woman fired another shot into the woods while the cats hissed and scratched the wooden slats of the porch. Midnight dove from the railing and darted into the woods in chase.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAMON’S HEART RACED ninety miles a minute as he careened around the curve and veered into the long driveway that led to Esmeralda’s place. Damn! Someone had been in the woods watching Crystal. Someone who must have followed them there. Either that or Pace had told someone Crystal had left and had guessed she was with Damon.

  He would kill the goddamn doctor if anything happened to Crystal.

  Refusing to analyze the reason for his fury over a woman he’d just met, he swerved sideways to avoid a cat darting across the road. When he jumped out, he had his gun aimed and ready.

  He scanned the outside of the house, the perimeter of the lot, then the trees skimming the edge of the backwoods that surrounded the property.

  “He’s gone, Agent Dubois.”

  Esmeralda’s low but confident voice echoed from the front porch.

  His gaze still tracked the shadows in the backwoods. He spotted a gator sliding up onto the bank in search of sunshine. A frog croaked nearby. Leaves rustled and a bird cawed shrilly. “How do you know?”

  “I know,” she said simply.

  Lex had once told him that his grandmother had a second sight, that she delved in magic, but Damon didn’t believe in that nonsense. Especially magic.

  “I scared him away with my rifle,” Esmeralda said. “The cats did the rest.”

  Damon made a grunting sound and turned to see Crystal watching him. She looked soft and beautiful in the dim early morning light, her dark hair floating around her shoulders like a waterfall. Was she his brother’s lover? If not, who in the hell was she? “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt me.”

  Neither did he, yet, but he would figure out the reason and protect her. “I can’t leave you here now,” he said. “It’s too dangerous for you and Esmeralda.”

  “I’m not afraid.” Esmeralda squared her bony shoulders.

  Crystal slid an arm around the older woman’s waist. “I appreciate that, but I could never forgive myself if something happened to you. This is my problem, my battle, not yours.”

  Damon kept one eye on the woods, searching the shadows as he moved up the steps and took Crystal’s hand. “You’re not alone now, chère. We’ll find the answers and the person after you.”

  * * *

  CRYSTAL HAD BEEN A BUNDLE of nerves ever since she’d seen the figure lurking in the woods.

  No, even before that when she’d read the newspaper article about the woman’s murder. The sense of loss and grief intensified with each passing moment.

  Esmeralda invited them both in for coffee, and Damon claimed a seat on the couch, a
ccepting the mug and a tray of homemade apple bread and poppy-seed muffins. Crystal tried to nibble on a muffin, but could barely choke it down. “I saw the paper,” she said. “What more do you know, Damon?”

  He frowned and sipped the coffee. “We’re working on an ID now.”

  “Do you have any clue as to who killed her?”

  “Not yet.” He paused, spread his knees and leaned his elbows on them. “It appears she was stabbed and bled to death, maybe a few weeks ago.”

  Crystal swallowed although dry bread crumbs stuck in her throat. “The paper said she was mutilated.”

  “Damn press,” he muttered.

  Crystal glanced at Esmeralda and realized the agent was leaving something out. “Tell me what’s going on. I feel like I might have known this woman. I realize that sounds crazy, but maybe we’d met.”

  He hesitated. “I have a theory, but we need to talk to Dr. Pace again. I was on my way there when you called.”

  Crystal wiped her hands on a napkin. “Does that theory have to do with me?”

  He gave her an odd look. “Maybe. I can’t say yet.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?” Damon asked.

  “Yes. I can’t move on with my life until I know the truth. All of it.”

  Esmeralda rose on wobbly legs, her back bowed as she cradled Crystal’s hands in her own. “Remember what I said. Be strong, dear. This was meant to be.”

  “What was meant to be?” Crystal whispered, confused.

  “You’ll understand,” was all Esmeralda said.

  The tension was palpable as Crystal and the agent drove to the rehab hospital. Entering the gated compound this time gave her an eerie, almost claustrophobic feeling, as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin. Memories of the long agonizing months of surgeries and painful rehab taunted her. Her desperation to know her name and what had happened to her. Her growing dependence on the doctor’s visits. On Lex’s.

  She wound her fingers together as they took the sterile corridor past the solarium to Dr. Pace’s office. The place seemed empty, tomb-like. No patients were sitting in the garden area or game room.

  Dr. Pace’s eyes lit up when he saw her, and she had an uncanny sense that he was more than glad to see her. Maybe relieved?

  Could he have known that someone was after her?

  Menace filled Damon’s narrowed eyes. “I want the truth, Pace. From beginning to end.”

  The plastic surgeon shifted nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Listen to me,” Damon growled. “We found a dead woman in the bayou. A woman who had been stabbed so many times you couldn’t see a section of skin that hadn’t been pierced. We believe she’s Kendra Yates, although forensics is trying to verify that now, and the coroner is checking dental records.”

  Pace visibly paled. “She had multiple stab wounds?”

  “Yes, dammit. And not just multiple. This guy carved her up like a damn animal. He severed her hand and left it in the bayou for us to find as some kind of sick joke.” Damon slammed his fist on Pace’s desk, making his coffee cup rattle. “And she had her entire face removed, all the skin taken off completely.”

  Crystal’s breath caught in her throat.

  The Adam’s apple bobbed in Pace’s throat. “What makes you think I had something to do with her?”

  “Because the facial skin was removed by someone who knew what he was doing. There was no violence about it, only carefully orchestrated surgical markings.” He leaned closer, thrusting his face into Pace’s. “And you were researching face transplant procedures.”

  Damon turned and gave Crystal a strange look, a mixture of regret and accusation. Crystal’s stomach plummeted as she realized where he was headed. Denial rose in her throat.

  Damon ignored her reaction and pressed on. “You took the skin off of the dead woman’s face and transplanted it onto Crystal, didn’t you?”

  Pace’s gaze flitted toward the door as if he wanted to run. “And what if I did? The skin came from a cadaver.”

  “Did you kill her to get her face?” Damon bellowed.

  “No!” Pace screeched. “Don’t be absurd. I’m a doctor, a healer, not a killer. She was already dead when I saw her.”

  “You can’t just remove a face from a body. You knew her identity,” Damon continued, “yet you didn’t report her murder.”

  “That’s not true.” Pace wiped sweat from his forehead. “Crystal had been here for months, suffering, undergoing countless surgical procedures and skin grafts. Nothing was working.” He turned and tried to reach for her, but Crystal backed away in horror. She was shaking all over now, nausea rising like a tidal wave inside her.

  “Crystal, you were, had already rejected several skin grafts. In fact you were close to death from the last one. You’d not only rejected the tissue, but you had a terrible reaction. I was desperate, waiting on a donor. I had your information in the system looking for a match.” He paced across the room, restless and fidgety. “When a Jane Doe, DOA, was brought in, I checked the tissue and she matched. I only had a short window of time to lift the skin and perform the surgery and didn’t have time to ask questions, wait on the woman to be IDed and her family contacted.”

  “So you removed her skin without even trying to contact the family to get permission?” Agent Dubois snarled.

  “I told you, there wasn’t time—and she was a Jane Doe. Besides, Agent Dubois,” Dr. Pace shouted as if legalities didn’t matter when it came to science, “there was nothing else I could do for her.” Pace’s breathing had become erratic. “On the other hand, Crystal was on her death bed, so I took the opportunity.” Again, he began to walk toward her, but she threw up a hand in warning.

  She had to breathe deeply, felt as if she might pass out any minute.

  “Who called you?” Damon asked.

  “It was an anonymous tip.”

  “Who let you in to see the body?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Damon cursed. “If you saw her in the hospital, how the hell did she wind up in the bayou?”

  “I don’t know,” the doctor cried.

  “You’re lying.” Damon paced the room like a wild animal. He didn’t believe the man, and Crystal didn’t know what to think.

  “No, it’s true. When I finished, I left her body in the morgue,” Pace said, although his voice warbled. “I assumed she would be buried as a Jane Doe.”

  “What about other doctors? Nurses? Can they verify your story?”

  “No, it was late, everyone had gone for the night. I…You know how I work, Dubois. Information is dispensed on a need-to-know basis, and there was no need for me to know her identity or what happened to her later. I assumed she was a criminal or a witness who’d been killed. That they got rid of the body quietly.” A vein throbbed in his forehead. “Obviously someone took her body though and dumped it in the bayou.”

  “At the very place she was murdered,” Damon said. “Her dried blood was all over the shanty.”

  Crystal stared at the man in horror.

  “When did you perform the transplant?” Damon asked.

  Pace glanced at Crystal. “About three weeks ago.”

  Damon frowned. The timing might fit.

  Pace raced to Crystal, grabbed her hands. “Don’t look at me like I’m the bad guy, Crystal. I’m your friend, the man who saved your life, the man who sat by your side during your darkest hours, consoled you and promised to make you beautiful. And I did.” His eyes flitted in different directions, wild with emotions. “I made you what you are, made you able to face the world, made you the perfect woman.”

  He sounded almost demented. “I appreciate everything you did for me, Reginald,” Crystal said shakily. “But you lied to me, should have told me the truth. In fact, you kept me isolated here, and now I know the reason.”

  “But I love you,” he said in a pleading tone. “You’re my model, the example of how successful the face transplant c
an be. I want to show you off.”

  Crystal jerked her hands free. This man who she’d thought was her friend, who’d comforted her, who’d saved her life, had lied to her so many times.

  She didn’t trust him now.

  * * *

  SUSPICIONS CLOUDED Damon’s mind. He didn’t know whether to believe Pace or not. He’d been on the underside of similar clandestine missions and cases before, and it was possible Pace was telling the truth.

  Then again, he was a consummate liar.

  Just as Damon had been when he’d worked with the E-team.

  So many secrets. Tell and you die.

  Their other mantra—Never leave a witness alive.

  If Kendra Yates had dug so deeply she’d discovered information on a government cover-up or a dirty cop, someone might have ordered her extermination.

  One of his own from the E-team could have done the job.

  But if so, why allow her body to resurface at all? And why the mutilation? The E-team wouldn’t have used such obvious violence—not the team he knew. It didn’t make sense….

  “Why perform plastic surgery to make Crystal look like a murder victim?” Damon asked, struggling with the logic and details of Pace’s story.

  Pace inhaled sharply. “The transplant wasn’t supposed to make the patient look like the donor. Using a cadaver requires only lifting the skin. The facial construction, bone and muscle structure, etcetera, is unique with each individual, meaning the skin molds to it to give a different appearance. But Crystal’s bone structure was so similar…”

  “That she resembles her,” Agent Dubois finished. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You do realize that if Kendra was murdered because of something she’d seen or knew, then Crystal may be in danger just because she looks like her.”

  Pace frowned. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

  Damon grilled him a few minutes longer but got nowhere. Finally, he turned to Crystal. She looked shell-shocked, as if she might be ill. He didn’t blame her.