by Cox, Suzanne
Jackson shook his head. “You get all that from a bunch of footprints?”
She nodded then walked away, leaving him staring at Matt.
“You think she’s got a clue about this?”
“She knows what she’s talking about, I promise. It may not help us but I like to get a report from her and file it away. Just in case.”
Jackson started to leave but Matt didn’t move. The sheriff regarded him expectantly, and he knew why.
“Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper earlier. It won’t happen again. I guess I just felt overprotective for a minute.”
“Em doesn’t need protecting.”
Jackson wasn’t sure if he wanted to argue with the man or just crawl in a hole. What kind of guy did Matt think he was?
“I know I have a bad history, with the fights and everything that happened back in Chicago, but you and your wife visited me when Christa and Connor were still alive. I was different back then. After they were murdered, I lost my head, but I don’t think I’ve shown myself to be a threat to anyone, especially a woman.”
“The bureau saw you as a threat. ‘Out of control,’ I think were their exact words. That was why they wanted to put you behind a desk.”
The bureau had thought he was out of line following a Mafia guy whose uncle had paid for his quick release from jail. Jackson hadn’t been able to prove it, but he was sure the man was responsible for his family’s death. Of course, the beating he’d given the man once hadn’t helped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t be a desk jockey, pushing paper all day.”
“I realize that. But you still have some problems. We saw that today. I want to hear you say it’s going to get better, or at least it’s not going to get worse.”
Matt didn’t know how badly Jackson wanted the whole thing to go away. He’d actually thought it had. But when he’d held Emalea close, it had affected him, even though she meant nothing to him. She’d been trembling, and he’d wanted to protect her from everything bad in life. In an instant, he’d been ready to stop Matt from sending her into the river again. Never mind that she’d been the one who’d volunteered to go. A few hours ago he’d have said he was over the issues he’d had with his anger, but now he wasn’t sure.
“I won’t make promises, because I doubt if you’d believe me, but I will honestly tell you that I’m doing everything I can to stay clear of situations that set me off.”
“Good. I hope you include Em in that. You’re not the only one with demons in the past, you know.”
Dropping that bombshell, Matt strode away. Jackson realized he’d just lost some of Matt’s respect. Since he’d already lost the respect of everyone in his office in Chicago, he wasn’t going to let things get worse. He wasn’t a monster who went around hurting people. He would be friends with Emalea and nothing more, then he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her from any danger that he might bring her. But first, he had to make sure she was all right.
EMALEA ROLLED OFF THE COUCH, her knee slamming onto the hardwood floor. Disoriented, her gaze flew from the window to the door, then finally to her watch. Good grief, it was eleven o’clock. She’d only planned to lie on the sofa for a minute and watch television. On the screen, Jay Leno was bantering with Jim Carrey. The noise that had awakened her rattled through the house. She clenched her teeth, her knee smarting as she scrambled to her feet. Whoever was banging on her door at this time of night had better have a good excuse. She lifted one slat of the blinds covering the French doors that led to her front porch.
“What the hell is he doing here?” she whispered. With a quick twist, she threw open the door, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I don’t know how people conduct themselves in Chicago, but around here we don’t go visiting in the middle of the night.”
He took a half step back. “We just finished at the river.”
“And what did you find?”
“A bag full of guns.”
Emalea knew the shock had to have registered on her face.
“Not a normal occurrence in Cypress Landing, I guess.”
“You’d guess right. Did Matt think the militia might be involved?”
“He did, but I’ll have to do some research on that subject. I’m not very familiar with militia activity.”
She leaned against the door frame, playing the possible scenarios in her mind. She could think of no plausible reason for guns to be in the river. After a few moments, she realized they were standing in her doorway staring at each other and saying nothing.
Jackson cleared his throat. “I’ll be going then. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“And why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You seemed upset after you found the body. I…I don’t know. I guess you’re fine.”
“Of course I’m fine. If I’d been a guy who’d found that body, would you have come by to check on me?”
His lips drew together in a thin line, and she noticed a slight quivering just above his right eyebrow. “I might have, if he’d been as upset as you were. I really can’t say for sure. After all, you’re not a man. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
One boot squeaked as he made his way back to the steps. Emalea bit her lip when she felt it move, as though she might tell him to stop or that she was sorry or some other foolish thing. She started to close the door but stopped when he reached the bottom step and turned back.
“Emalea, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but if you ever want to know the facts, I’ll tell you myself. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I guess most people have. I’m not trying to hit on you or play games with you. I’m new here and it looks like we’ll be working together. We obviously have the same interests, motorcycles, scuba diving. I’d just like to see if we could be friendly, if not actually friends. That’s why I’m here.”
His chest rose and fell visibly several times as though the speech had taken an immense physical effort. She wondered what he thought she might have heard about him. He took two strides toward his truck before her mouth got the best of her.
“Saturday morning, eight o’clock, in front of the library, we get together and go for a motorcycle ride once every other month. I… You’re welcome to come if you want.”
His expression was hard, yet sad, and a cold chill ricocheted along her spine. Then one side of his mouth went up in a tentative smile. “I’d like that. If I can get done at work I’ll make plans to be there.”
She slammed the door shut before she could get herself in more trouble. An emotion that might have been elation or despair swirled inside her. No reasoning in the world could explain why she’d invited Jackson to their Saturday ride. Such a nasty habit, this attraction she had for men who were so wrong for her. Maybe if he went along with her friends, she would be safe from making further mistakes and she wouldn’t feel as if she were shunning a new person in town. Her aunt had raised her to be more hospitable than that. Inviting him had been the neighborly thing to do. She nodded to herself, trying to pretend she hadn’t twisted logic to suit herself.
She pressed the off button on the television and made her way, in the dark, to her bedroom. Without turning on the lights she pulled back the cover and slid into bed, only then realizing that she’d answered the door in her favorite pajamas. She groaned and hugged a pillow to her. No wonder he’d looked at her with such a wide-eyed expression when she’d flung open the door. The nearly threadbare cotton top and matching bottoms trimmed in lace had seen better days. She had to admit the tank top revealed much more than she would have liked but, under the circumstances, what did the guy expect, showing up at her house in the middle of the night? She pressed her eyelids together, wishing for the deep sleep from which she’d been awakened. Instead, a wide chest seemed to be pressing against her, as though she were still in the back of the patrol car. Exasperated, she rolled over again, fairly certain that any dreams she had tonight involving Cypress Landing’s new investigator would be anything but neighborly.
/> JACKSON TAPPED at the computer keyboard then sat pondering what he saw. What were Vincent Pendarius and Lawrence Relicut doing belly-up here in Louisiana? Pendarius had a petty rap sheet, but Jackson knew he did odd jobs for DePaulo, the nephew of the Mafia boss he’d investigated in Chicago—if you could call arranging payoffs to public officials odd jobs. Lawrence Relicut—the name sounded like it belonged to a high-society lawyer. High crime society was more appropriate. Lawrence had once been DePaulo’s right-hand man. DePaulo had been doing everything possible to win his uncle’s favor, including setting up gun sales. But he’d gotten greedy and taken a little extra money off the top and when DePaulo had been arrested, they’d all expected the old man to let him go to jail. In the end, the boss must have decided to have mercy on his sister’s child and given DePaulo another chance, because their two main witnesses had developed amnesia when questioned on anything related to the guns or the Mafia. Jackson had lost Christa and Connor not long after that, and no matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t tie DePaulo to it, except in his own mind.
Now he had the bodies of two of DePaulo’s men lying in the local morgue. They’d had ID on them as if they’d not been the least bit worried about being identified. This town didn’t need that kind of trouble.
A shadow loomed in the doorway, catching his attention.
“Hey, Pete.” Jackson had only been here a short time but he’d already learned that Pete Fonteneau, Matt’s number-one deputy, had an ear in all the right places when it came to the town of Cypress Landing and the surrounding community. Thirty-one-year-old Pete had lived here his whole life and whatever information he didn’t know would likely never be found out.
“Jackson, how’s the investigation going?”
“We still haven’t found the weapon used in the shooting at the river. And this militia thing, well, I’ve never dealt with that before.”
Pete made himself at home in the chair across from Jackson. “The Acadian Loyalists have a Web site, hand out flyers and try to recruit people. They don’t trust the government or much of anything else. I’ve heard hints that they’re doing a pretty good trade in crystal methamphetamine, but we don’t have hard evidence to support the fact.”
Jackson fingered the brittle hair on his chin. “Do you have someone who gives you information on militia activity?”
“Do you mean an informant?”
“Yeah,” he said with a slight chuckle. “That’s what I mean.”
Pete sat forward in his chair. “Ole Frances Bordeau is the best informant we could have.”
Jackson scooted to the edge of his seat. He might make some progress with a man who could tell him something substantial. “Really? Is he a member of the militia or a plant?”
Across from him, Pete grinned. “Planted by us? Huh, not exactly. Frances is a retired tugboat captain. He spends most of his time on the river fishing or at the bait shop. But he’s always listening and he doesn’t mind passing on what he’s heard when we have coffee at Haney’s. You been there yet? They have a good breakfast and lunch.”
Jackson eased his spine back against the cushion. He’d have to learn a whole new method of investigation if he was going to solve crimes in Cypress Landing. Two days ago he and Matt had gone to the little store just out of town for breakfast. The worn white building, with its extensive front porch, resembled a slightly run-down home, except for the two ancient gas tanks and the old men who met there religiously for a fierce game of dominoes. He’d certainly never expected the store to be home to an informant. He noticed Pete watching him. “Uh, yeah I’ve been there.”
“Meet me there in the morning and I’ll introduce you to Frances.”
Jackson only nodded as Pete got to his feet. “Heard you got your bike back.”
Dropping the pencil he’d been holding, Jackson began to wonder if he’d ever keep anything about himself private.
“Yep, I guess I won’t be racing motorcycles again.”
“You were at a disadvantage. No one would ever guess a woman would be riding a motorcycle like that.”
“I sure didn’t.”
“Em rode a motorcycle long before it was a cool thing for a girl to do. And she can be kinda hard on men. I guess all that stuff with her parents, you know.” Pete stepped through the door. “I’ll be going now. See you in the morning.”
Pete was gone before Jackson could tell him he didn’t know Emalea’s background or what had happened to her parents, but chasing gossip wasn’t a good idea, especially if it concerned her. Nor would he use his access to police files and computers to check into her background. Right now getting interested in her was a very bad idea. He doubted he’d even go on the motorcycle ride Saturday. The girl was too prickly, too hard to get along with and just too much trouble, period. He’d wondered if a lighthearted relationship might help him ease back into a normal life, but Emalea was not a likely candidate. Still, he couldn’t seem to get her off his mind, especially after seeing her last night, half-asleep and half-dressed. He’d been reining in that particular hunger from the time she’d opened the door until…well, honestly, until now. A relationship with her would be explosive in every sense of the word. He didn’t want or need that, which was exactly why he should go Saturday. They could simply be friends. Then he wouldn’t be feeling like this every time he thought of her, would he? Resting his elbows on his desk, he wondered exactly when he’d started thinking like this. First, he wasn’t going. Then he was going. He went from one decision to the complete opposite in two seconds, using the most lame reasoning imaginable. Her fault, totally, he decided. The woman had caused his brain to shrivel into a barely viable organ.
EMALEA SHIFTED IN HER CHAIR, trying to find a more comfortable position as she watched Kent, who sat across from her mesmerized by the dusty green blinds. He seemed to have difficulty pulling his attention away from the unseen activity on the other side.
“I’ve been to see the mural you’re helping with at the elementary school.” She worried when he squirmed uncomfortably in the chair before speaking.
“You must be seeing students there.”
“No, the only students I’m working with from there are seeing me in my office. I just ran by to see what the mural was like.”
He stayed twisted in his seat for a second more. “Thanks,” he mumbled. The gratitude on his face when he looked at her made the word seem like much more than the six little letters indicated. For a moment she felt guilty. She’d only run by briefly and the whole thing had seemed so minor she hadn’t given much thought to how her visit would make him feel. He was starved for approval. Kent was one of those kids teetering on the brink of going down two different paths. She’d seen the guys he hung around with, cousins of his mostly, but they couldn’t be described as anything more than a negative influence. Two of them had already had run-ins with the law. Kent wanted to do something, be something better, something more. The hunger for it shone in his eyes even now. She knew if he stayed with those cousins that light would be doused and he might not ever be able to rekindle it.
THE LATE EVENING SUN heated the top of Kent’s head as he hurried along the side of the road. Ms. LeBlanc wanted him to talk more, tell her more. Get his feelings in the open, she’d said. Going to see the mural had been a nice thing for her to do. He hadn’t expected nice things from her, but then he didn’t really expect them from anyone. If his feelings were the kind you could air out, he’d be talking to her for the whole hour. But that just wasn’t what he was like. She didn’t want to hear the real truth, his real feelings. He didn’t want to have to hear them, either.
A truck rumbled alongside him and he smiled at his father’s cousin, who sat behind the wheel. The vehicle pulled ahead slightly then stopped on the shoulder. A ride home, just what he needed, and with one of the few family members he actually wanted to be related to.
CHAPTER FIVE
WITH ONE LEG RESTING on the seat of her motorcycle, Emalea sipped at the cup of cheap cappuccino she’d bought at t
he gas station across the street. Counting herself, six riders sat on their bikes or stood next to them waiting to see who else would show for the ride. They didn’t have a club, not an organized one, anyway. Of course, they didn’t have an organized scuba diving club, either, but somehow everyone met periodically to eat dinner and each year a trip was planned.
This morning she’d been thirty minutes early, which had allowed her time to purchase the watery cappuccino. Rubbing her stiff neck, she gritted her teeth, trying not to fixate on what had caused her eyes to spring open an hour earlier than she had intended. She knew why it had happened, but as long as she didn’t acknowledge the reason, maybe she could pretend it didn’t exist.
A motorcycle engine hummed in the distance, and as she watched the figure approaching, she shivered. Today would not be her lucky day for pretending. Butterflies fanned her insides or possibly there were rocks shifting. Elation or aggravation, both were feelings she couldn’t afford to have. Darn Jackson Cooper. Why did he have to keep showing up? She’d invited him, but he should have seen she’d only done it to be polite. He couldn’t possibly think she’d want him to go.
Emalea thanked the heavens that Pete Fonteneau reached Jackson as soon as he swung off his bike and started introducing him to the other riders. Pete wore a huge grin when he stepped toward her with Jackson following him.
“I guess you two don’t need to be introduced, especially since you’ve swapped motorcycles already.”
Emalea glared at him. “Come on, Pete, that news is so old it’s not even funny anymore.”
“Besides,” Jackson interrupted. “We didn’t really swap motorcycles. Emalea had both of them.”
Pete elbowed the big man. “It sounds much better for you if I say it the other way, Jackson.”
“Truth’s the truth, she won that motorcycle from me fairly. I’m just glad she decided not to keep it.”
