Betrayed

by Sharon Sala

  She headed for a clump of trees off to the left, pushing through brush and stomping down more swamp grass as she went.

  Sweat was running from her hairline when she circled the trees and looked down. She was expecting to see that X gouged into the bark, but when it wasn't there, she started to shake.

  "This can't be," she moaned. "It was there."

  She squatted down and began digging at the lichen and moss on the tree and found the X beneath. Relief was instantaneous as she traced the faint scar in the bark with her fingers. Then she came out from behind the trees and looked down, her eyes blurring with sudden tears. She couldn't see a grave, but she knew it was there.

  "I told you I'd be back. I'm sorry it took so long."

  She stood in silence, listening to the occasional bird call, and the splash of water as a turtle slid off the bank into the bayou. She was rejoicing in the fact that she'd found it when it dawned on her that she shouldn't be seen in this vicinity. She'd found the location of her brother's grave, but she needed the shooter.

  She started walking back to the blacktop, but the farther she went, the more she lengthened her stride. Anxiety grew as she kept moving at a faster and faster pace, until she was running when she ran out of the trees into the sunshine. She climbed over the fence in haste and leaped the shallow ditch between her and the Hummer, shaking in every muscle.

  Once the alarm was off, she tossed her hat onto the dash, put the gun and holster into the passenger seat, then began brushing leaves and bugs off her jeans. Suddenly, she thought of the leeches from before and yanked up her pant legs. To her relief, there were none.

  When she'd removed enough of the swamp to get inside, she started the engine and amped up the air conditioner, welcoming the cold air blowing across her face and neck.

  Nothing felt better than this, except sex.

  She drank the last of her first bottle of water and opened the second, taking one more drink before heading back to town.

  Chapter Four

  It was almost noon when Logan drove past the city limit sign. Her belly was growling, and she didn't want the snacks she'd bought, but she was in no condition to eat in public. Then she saw the Shrimp Shack and pulled up to the drive-thru window, ordering a shrimp po-boy and a Pepsi to go.

  The clerk eyed her disheveled appearance and then the big fancy Hummer before turning away to fill her order. A few minutes later, he was back with her order sacked up and the big cup of Pepsi already wet from condensation.

  "You sure look familiar," he said.

  She shrugged.

  "I lived here when I was a kid."

  He nodded, took the twenty she gave him.

  "Keep the change," she said.

  Money talks. Just like that, his suspicious nature vanished.

  "Thanks, lady."

  "Thank you," she said, then stowed her food and drove away.

  It was a short trip back to the motel, but by the time she'd set the car alarm and gotten into her room, she was as exhausted as if she'd worked a whole day on the job in Dallas.

  She washed her hands and face, then sat down at the little table, turned on the television for company, and ate while her food was still fresh. It was surprisingly tasty, and she made a mental note to go back again before she left town.

  Once she’d finished eating, she headed for the bathroom, stripped, then checked herself closely for hitchhikers from the swamp before she got into the shower.

  She soaped herself twice and then shampooed her hair. It felt so good to be clean that she stood beneath the water long after the soap had been rinsed from her hair and skin.

  She was drying off when she heard her phone begin to ring and raced out of the bathroom to grab it.

  It was Wade.

  "Hello? Is everything okay?" she asked.

  "That was going to be my question to you," he said.

  She sighed.

  "I'm fine."

  "I'm not," he snapped. "I have nightmares about you that are probably far worse than the truth. Put me out of my misery. What are you doing?"

  After all these years of living with this secret, the urge to tell him was huge.

  "It's a long, ugly story," she said.

  "I haven't been afraid of anything in years, but I am now officially afraid for you. Every instinct I have tells me you are in danger."

  "I could be," she said, and heard him groan.

  "Come home."

  She clutched the bath towel up against her chin and sank down onto the bed. "I can't, Wade. Not yet."

  "Are you doing anything illegal?"

  She frowned.

  "Hell no!"

  "Then why the secret?"

  She sat in silence for so long, she wondered if he'd disconnected.

  "Are you still there?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  Andrew was the only man who hadn't run out on her...until he’d died. Now it seemed Wade had some of his best friend's traits. She pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from crying.

  "I am looking for my brother's killer."

  "Jesus H. Christ! I am sorry I asked. The reality is worse than my nightmares," he muttered.

  Logan caught the dribbles of water running out of her hairline with the towel while trying not to freak out that she'd said that much. Maybe it was because the phone was an impersonal link and she didn't have to look at him when she said it.

  "Why you? Why not the police?" he asked.

  "It's complicated," Logan said.

  "Then tell me where you are so I'll know where to come claim your damn body."

  She heard fear and anger, and a kind of panic in his voice she hadn't expected.

  "Wade...don't."

  "No! You don't!" he shouted. "I know how to run a trace. Do you want me digging into every place you've used a credit card since you left Dallas? If I have to, I will do it."

  And just like that, the secret spilled.

  "No one knows my brother is dead but me and the man who shot him. Ten years ago, he got a phone call late at night to go meet some guy to talk about a job. It was really late and I was afraid for him to go alone, so I hid in the bed of his truck." Unknowingly, Logan's voice slipped into a whisper, and she was starting to shake. "When we got to the meeting place, I heard them talking. The man wanted Damon to kill his wife. He offered him ten thousand dollars and Damon refused. The man killed him to keep him from telling anybody about the offer, and I heard it all. I didn't see his face, but I saw what he was driving when he left."

  "Why didn't you tell the police?" Wade asked.

  She groaned.

  "I just told you! Because I didn't see his face! I would have been his next target! They would have put me in foster care!"

  Foster care? Wade was moving into personal territory he didn't understand, and he didn't want her to clam up.

  "How old were you?" he asked.

  "Sixteen."

  "Damn. Oh. Wait. How did people not know your brother was dead?"

  Logan threw the towel onto the floor as she stood and then began to pace, unable to sit calmly and speak the horror of what she said next. "Because I buried him in the bayou, marked the spot and drove home, packed up everything we owned, and was gone just after sunup."

  Wade shuddered, trying to imagine the guts that must have taken, and the fear that had driven it.

  "And now you're looking for the place where you buried him?"

  "I found it this morning."

  "Then go to the police!"

  "And tell them what? I still can't identify the killer."

  "So then what the fuck are you doing there?"

  "A few months ago, I hired a private investigation agency. I have the names of all the men in the area who were driving late model Silverado pickups who also lost a wife in 2008."

  There was a long silence, then Wade's voice.

  "How many?"

  "Three," Logan said.

  "You are a sitting duck," Wade said.

  Logan sighed. "I know."
/>   "Please don't die," he said.

  Her eyes welled.

  "My parents were killed in a wreck when I was ten. I was the only survivor. Damon came back into my life and took me with him, saving me from a life in foster care. He was my brother and what stood for a father-figure, and the only hero I had left. I promised him I would come back to find who did this to him, and so I have."

  "Did Andrew know all this?" Wade asked.

  "No one knew. You're the first person I've told, and I expect you to respect my decisions."

  "Shit," he muttered.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  Wade wasn't satisfied. "I need to know where you are."

  Logan tensed. He was beginning to push her and she didn't like it. "Bluejacket, Louisiana, and your job is to take care of my business there, not my business here. Understand?"

  "Shit."

  She picked up the towel and swiped it across her face to catch the tears.

  "’Shit’ is not an answer," she said.

  "Yes, I understand. Yes, I will take care of the damn houses you aren't going to live to see built. Are you happy?"

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

  "I haven't been happy even one day since Andrew's death,” she admitted. “But losing Andrew reminded me that I'd made a promise to my brother that I had yet to honor. I came to find my brother's body. He came for me when I needed him most. I can do no less for him."

  Wade knew if he didn't back off, she would shut him out. "Know this! I will call you every day, and no matter where you are, you better answer or I'm coming after you. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes."

  He hung up on her.

  She dropped the phone back down on the bed and went to comb the tangles out of her hair, but her hands were shaking so bad she dropped the comb twice. Telling that story to someone had been almost as scary as witnessing it.

  She put on one of Andrew's old t-shirts for comfort and a pair of her own shorts, then curled up on top of the bed with her laptop, found the place in the Bayou Weekly archives where she'd fallen asleep, and resumed her research. In a town this small, there had to be something that would drive a man to murder. She made a couple more notes and then put in a call to Blue Sky Investigations.

  The phone rang to the point she thought it was going to go to voice mail, but then she heard a familiar growl.

  "Big Sky, Hank speaking."

  "Hank, this is Logan Talman."

  "Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

  "A couple of things, and if you can, put a rush on this request."

  "Depends on what you need," he said.

  "Regarding the three deceased women on that list you sent me, I need to know if there were any life insurance policies on them...and while you're at it, see if the two divorced women had life insurances policies on them as well."

  "Ah...good one," Hank said. "What else?"

  "More regarding the two women who divorced their husbands and left Bluejacket. I need to know if they really left and are alive somewhere."

  "Right. It won't take long to get these answers for you."

  "I'm out of town, so just email me the information as soon as you get it."

  "Will do," he said, and disconnected.

  She laid the phone aside and went back to reading, making notes as she went.

  Josh Evans already knew what Paul Robicheau was about. He was in jail because he was a thief. But he didn't know what Logan Talman was about, and he didn't like surprises.

  The two officers who’d been out sick had shown up for work this morning, which gave him much needed time in the office. He was finding out plenty from the background check he was running on her—but nothing that sounded any warnings until he began to follow up on her brother.

  She'd been the sole survivor in a wreck that had killed her parents. At that point, her brother had become her legal guardian. Her brother didn't have a rap sheet and neither did she.

  He found school records for her that ended here in Bluejacket's high school her junior year. Her brother had worked for a plumber in town, but never filed an income tax statement after 2008. And as more information came in, he realized there was no record whatsoever of her brother working again.

  The next information he got on Logan was that she’d earned a GED in Dallas, Texas while she had worked waitress jobs. Nothing was flagged on her driving record or her work record, and she'd never been arrested.

  He saw a copy of her marriage license to an Andrew Talman, and then a death certificate for the man five years later. The best he could tell, Logan had stepped into her husband's shoes after he died in an on-the-job accident, and at the age of twenty-four, had begun running their contracting business on her own and had kept it in the black.

  So now he knew a lot about her, but not why she was here.

  The business about her brother going off the grid in Bluejacket bothered him. He thumbed back through the paperwork and found that the address where they used to live was one of Martha Beaudine's rental properties.

  He glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon, and Martha usually went to the Senior Citizens Center to eat dinner. It might not be a bad idea to talk to her about the Conways and see what she had to say.

  He grabbed the keys to his cruiser and walked out through the back past Robicheau's cell.

  Robicheau saw him and yelled out.

  "Hey, Chief! When am I being arraigned? I'm supposed to get my day in court!"

  "Judge won't be here until tomorrow," Josh said, and slammed the door behind him as he left.

  Robicheau threw himself backward onto his bunk, cursing.

  "I'm supposed to get a phone call," he muttered, ignoring the fact that he had no one to call.

  Josh drove straight to the Senior Citizens Center and parked in the shade, although it did little in the way of blocking heat. The sweat stains on his shirt continued to spread beneath his armpits as he got out and went inside.

  There were at least two dozen of Bluejacket's older citizens scattered about. A couple of old men were playing dominoes and talking about the newest widow in the room. But the same woman they were talking about was sitting off by herself, staring out a window. The lost expression on her face tugged at the chief's heart. He didn't want to imagine how lost he'd be without his wife.

  The scent of fried shrimp was immediate, but the rest of the odors coming from the kitchen were unrecognizable, which didn't bode all that well for the elderly diners—or maybe it did, depending on how important these meals were to all of them.

  He stood in the doorway for a bit, trying to pick Martha out from the others. A few of them were already at the dining tables waiting for food, but most of them were at the other end of the room playing Bingo.

  Someone yelled Bingo, and when he glanced that way, saw Martha Beaudine. She looked a bit rough, but then she always had, so he didn't assume she was as feeble as she appeared. He was looking around for the coordinator when the man walked up behind him.

  "Hello, Chief. Did you come to eat with us?" he asked.

  Josh shook his head.

  "Hi, David. I'll pass on lunch, but I need to talk to Martha for a couple of minutes...in private."

  "Why don't you go on into my office, and I'll get her for you?"

  "Thank you," Josh said. "Much appreciated."

  He slipped into the half-open door and waited for just a couple of minutes before Martha tottered in.

  "Here I am," Martha said, frowning. "I got a hot bingo card, so speak your piece."

  He grinned.

  "Yes, ma'am. I appreciate this. I'm trying to run down some information on a brother and sister who once lived in one of your rental properties."

  "What's the name?" she asked.

  "Damon and Logan Conway, and they would have moved away about ten years ago."

  Her rheumy blue eyes suddenly blazed.

  "I remember them. Ran out without telling me. Left food in the refrigerator and the keys on the table without so mu
ch as a note."

  "Did they skip owing you money?" the chief asked.

  "No. Nothing like that. They were good tenants. Kept stuff clean and paid the rent on time."

  "Do you know why they would have left?"

  "Not a clue, but I asked a couple of neighbors, and both of them told me they saw the girl, Logan, driving away, but no brother in the truck."

  Evans nodded.

  "Did anyone ever come around asking for them?"

  She frowned.

  "There was someone, but I can't remember who. It's been too long, you know?"

  "Yes, ma'am. If you do happen to remember, would you please give me a call?" Josh asked.

  Martha shrugged. "Sure, if it matters that much, but don't count on it. My memory isn't what it used to be."

  Josh hid a grin as she tapped her head to punctuate her statement. "Yes, ma’am, I understand, but do try. Thank you for your time. Better get back to that hot bingo card before the mojo is gone."

  "Fosho, dat," Martha said, slurring her words in a slow Cajun drawl, and left the office.

  She was already back in her chair and complaining about losing her place in the game as he was leaving.

  Big Boy was nervous, and when something bothered him, he always went to his garden for peace and calm. The roses he grew were his pets—his babies. He talked to them as he walked, dead- heading those in need, and fussing at them as if they could hear. Their scent was sweet, intoxicating. They gave him the only high he'd ever need. As he worked, he kept thinking of Conway's sister.

  People were starting to talk about her now. The majority had figured out who she was, referring to her as Damon Conway's sister all grown up. The fact that she'd come back alone immediately brought up questions about her brother. This all had to go away and fast.

  He finished up in the rose garden and went inside, pausing in the work room to trade his gardening shoes for his loafers. Ruthie, their cook, was baking pastries as he came through the kitchen.

  "Something sure smells good, Ruthie."