Deja Voodoo (A Cajun Magic Novel) (Entangled Suspense) by Elle James

strand of cypress trees on a rare knoll of solid land.
    He tied off on the ramshackle jetty and climbed out of his boat.
    Nothing stirred. No lights shone from the window. As it should be. The Ragsdale woman and her guard had been given strict instructions to remain at the rear of the cabin at all times. The windows in the back had been spray-painted black to block any light from shining through.
    When he pushed the front door open, he waited for someone to challenge him.
    Not a sound . His senses on alert, he pulled his Glock from the case on his belt and eased through the door
    The cold nose of a rifle pressed into his side.
    “You better be Ed,” a deep, deadly voice stated, “or you’re dead.”
    “Relax. It’s me.” Ed pushed the nose of the weapon away, cleared the doorway, and closed it behind him before flipping on his flashlight with the red lens cover.
    “Well, damn. I’d hoped to get to shoot someone.” Marcus Caldwell led the way to the back of the house.
    Ed chuckled. “That bad?”
    “Worse,” he stated. “It’s been one of those days. One lousy day, and she’s already bored and ready to return to Baton Rouge, hit men be damned.”
    “I feel your pain.” He’d thought he had it bad in town. It was nothing compared to being stuck in the bayou with a demanding, pain-in-the-ass, high-maintenance mob informant. “Any movement?”
    “A couple of guys came by in a pirogue with a trolling motor right at sunset.” Marcus snorted. “Thought I might get to shoot someone then. Turns out they were frog-giggin’.”
    “Did they nose around or see anything?”
    “Nope. It was if they never even saw the old house back here.”
    “Good. I know you’d rather be where the action’s at, but the less people who know anyone’s out here, the better.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” Marcus paused in front of a closed door. “Anything going on in the real world?”
    “I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t consider Bayou Miste the real world.”
    “Gotta be better than spending time with the informant from hell.”
    Ed clapped a hand on Marcus’s back. “I spoke to Ben earlier. He said Leon isn’t talking, and from the calls they’ve monitored, they’ve gotten nothing.”
    “So we don’t know when he’ll have his people make their move.”
    “No.” Ed smiled in the faint glow of the flashlight. “Cheer up. It won’t be long. The trial is in three days. Primeaux’s thugs have to be looking for their star witness.”
    Marcus patted his rifle. “I’ll be ready.” Then he opened the door to the kitchen area at the back of the house.
    “About time you got back.” Phyllis Ragsdale sat in a folding chair at the collapsible camp table they’d set up in the empty kitchen. She wore shorts and a tank top that didn’t quite cover her ample, surgeon-supplied breasts. With her brassy, bleached-blond hair piled on top of her head, she leaned back and propped her bare feet on the ice chest, fresh blue polish gleaming in the light from the Coleman lantern. “Did you bring me the chocolates I asked for?”
    Ed reached into the backpack he’d carried up from the boat, pulled out a bag full of every kind of chocolate bar Morgan City’s dollar store had to offer, and tossed it on the table in front of her.
    “Oh, there is a God.” She dug into the bag and ripped open the first bar, sinking her teeth into the chocolate, caramel, and peanuts. “I might survive after all,” she said, chewing and talking with her mouth open. “That good fer nothin’ louse get fucked in the slammer yet?”
    “No, Phyllis,” Ed replied. “He’s waiting in his very own jail cell until the trial.”
    “I hope someone jacks him up.” She took another bite of gooey chocolate. “He ain’t done nothin’ but slap me around from the day we met.”
    “You didn’t have to stay with him,” Marcus pointed out.
    She snorted. “Yeah, and I lived in a bed of fuckin’ roses? Once ya know somethin’, you know somethin’. If he hadn’t