Hall, Jessica

by Into the Fire

  "And why is that, Mrs. LeClare?"

  Incredibly, the older woman blushed. "We were never able to have children," she said, her voice low. "Marc and I tried everything—even fertility treatments—but nothing worked. I could get pregnant but I couldn't carry a child to term."

  That must have sucked. "I'm sorry."

  "The damage from all the miscarriages forced me to have a complete hysterectomy seven years ago." She sat up straighter, visibly gathering herself. "I know this is more information than you need, but let me assure you, my husband and I would have been overjoyed to welcome a daughter into our lives."

  "Sable Duchesne's mother was a Cajun," Terri said softly. "Would you have welcomed her, knowing that?"

  Rather than showing offense, Laure smiled a little. "I know what you're thinking, Detective, but I'm no snob. She could have been purple with pink polka dots and we still would have loved her." She sighed. "I don't understand. If she is Marc's daughter, why weren't we told? Did her mother keep her from us? Can I speak to the girl?"

  "We don't have all the facts yet, Laure. Ms. Duchesne is presently in protective custody." Cort gave Terri a hard look. "It's possible someone was blackmailing Marc. Revealing her existence could have seriously damaged his election campaign."

  Laure shook her head. "Marc wouldn't have cared about that. If she or her mother needed money, he would have given it to them. We would have done anything to help them."

  Terri's brows rose. "He wouldn't have cared about his election being wrecked?"

  "You didn't know my husband, Detective, and that's a pity. If you had, you would know what a wonderfully generous man he was."

  Terri asked a few more questions, but Laure was unable to give them many details about that day other than her brief conversation with Marc at breakfast.

  As she walked them out to the drive, Laure touched Cort's arm. "This poor girl—Isabel—is there any way I can help her? Does she need a place to stay?"

  Now that's something you don't see every day, Terri thought. The widow of an unfaithful husband offering to put up his illegitimate daughter. "No, ma'am, but thank you for the offer."

  Cort kissed her brow. "I'll keep in touch and let you know. You take care, now."

  Terri expected Cort to chew her ear off as soon as they got to her car, but he said nothing. "Where to, Marshal?"

  "You can drop me back at the station."

  She wasn't going to let him shut her out just because she'd sprung a little surprise on him. Not without a fight. "I had to see how she'd react. You know the scenario: She's trying to get him elected as governor; he tells her he's been hiding an illegitimate kid; maybe she goes a little crazy."

  "Laure LeClare is not crazy, or jealous, or a killer. She's a decent woman who has had her entire world destroyed, and you just shoved her face in the rubble." He turned fierce green eyes on her. "Who told you Sable Duchesne is Marc's daughter?"

  "Your brother, the fugitive from work."

  His cell phone rang, and he swore under his breath as he flipped it open to answer it. "Gamble." He listened for a moment. "I'll take care of it. Thanks." To Terri, he said, "You said you questioned Caine Gantry. Where do I find him?"

  "Why?"

  "The lab report confirmed two types of blood on the culling pole we found at the scene. The blood matches Marc LeClare's and Sable Duchesne's."

  "Your cousin didn't want to leave." From the window, J. D. watched Hilaire's boat speed back across the lake toward the river.

  "She's worried about me." Sable took one of the last grocery bags he'd brought down from the pier from him. "And she doesn't like you."

  "Yeah, I picked up on that." He followed her into the kitchen. "Is it because we dropped in on her grandparents last night?"

  "No." She opened the first bag and looked inside. "She just doesn't like you in general."

  "Right." He noted the tension in her shoulders and the flat line of her mouth, and wondered what had happened while he had been gone. "The newspapers are having a field day. Election's shot all to hell, politicians scrambling to replace Marc." He'd decided not to tell her about the APB; it would only worry her more. "Mardi Gras is going well, though."

  She began unloading the bags and sorting through the groceries he'd bought. "Uh-huh."

  He decided to prod her a little. "They're running photos of you and him on the front page. I never noticed the resemblance before I saw them side by side. You have the same eyes."

  "That's all we shared." She shoved a head of lettuce into the refrigerator.

  "Maybe not." J. D. had never thought of Marc as the type of man who kept secrets, but Sable's existence proved that he had. Now what J. D. needed to find out was what she was hiding from him.

  "He was running for governor and a millionaire; I'm a social worker who makes twenty-five thousand a year if I'm lucky." She slammed the fridge shut. "We came from completely different worlds."

  "Not really." When she gave him a slightly incredulous look, he decided to change the subject. "What did you do while I was gone?"

  "I watched the lake and prayed you wouldn't steal my cousin's boat. Hilaire snooped around the place. She thinks your friend has a nice bathtub." She folded one empty bag and went on to the next. "We listened to the radio, too. Evidently I'm now a suspect in your disappearance." She tossed a bag of rice in the cabinet. "Just in case you were wondering."

  So she knew—no wonder Hilaire had looked at him like he was scum and Sable acted like she wanted to tear his head off. "I heard. I'll take care of it."

  "I can't believe this." She slammed a can of coffee on the counter. "I didn't ask you to come after me. You decided to disappear all on your own. Why don't you report in or whatever it is you cops do when you're out chasing people?"

  "I can't." He moved in and put a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't mean anything. Settle down."

  "Why should I?" She stopped unpacking and shrugged off his hand. "Your life isn't being torn to shreds, Jean-Del. Mine is."

  She didn't say again, but the word hovered between them anyway. He had the feeling that she was relating the present situation to what had happened on the night of the dance ten years ago, but why? What did their breakup have to do with an APB?

  Another item to add to the list of things they were going to settle before this was through. "You're not going to be arrested. I'll tell them the truth."

  That made her laugh—and it was a sad, bitter sound. "When has the truth ever mattered?" She didn't wait for an answer but simply brushed past him. "I'm going to take a shower."

  She was still running away—from trouble, from him. Always from him. Anger surged in him, but he shoved it down.

  "My partner found a culling pole at the warehouse. Same kind used out on the bayou." He leaned back and watched her halt in the doorway. "They're testing it now, but it looks like it's the murder weapon."

  She turned slowly around. "So?"

  He let his gaze drift down to her hands, which were clenched into tight fists. "Your father—Remy—he's an oysterman, isn't he? I bet he knows all the other oystermen on the bayou, too."

  Her face went blank. "Papa is not getting involved in this."

  He already is, and you know something you're not telling me. "Where did he get those scars on his face?"

  "As I told you last night, Papa was burned in the fire that nearly killed my mother and me when I was a baby. He was the one who rescued us." She folded her arms. "What's your point?"

  "He must have loved you and your mother a lot."

  "Yes, he did. But Remy had nothing to do with Marc's murder. If anyone did, it was—" She stopped and drew in a deep breath. "It could have been anyone."

  "You mean it could have been Gantry." When she didn't answer, he switched directions. "Remy risked his life to save you and your mother. Then he married her and took you both away from here." He followed the taut line of her jaw to the tick of the pulse at the base of her throat. "You said Gantry's father was arrested right after the fire. Th
at would have been while Remy was recovering in the hospital, right?" She nodded. "Then why did he take you and your mother away? Bud Gantry was in prison."

  "Someone paid him to burn our house. My mother was afraid they'd try again." Her voice was tight. "She did it to protect me."

  "Or maybe Remy was worried about Marc."

  Her eyes narrowed. "I know what you're trying to say. My father may be nothing but a poor Cajun fisherman, but he's never hurt anyone in his life."

  "He stuck a shotgun in my face this morning."

  She strode right up to him. "That was just for show and you know it!"

  "It must have been tough on him, knowing someone else got your mother pregnant, but your mother never telling him who. Then finding out after she died that your father could buy and sell him a hundred times over."

  "He was happy for me."

  "Happy that Marc could give you everything that he couldn't. Maybe it started to eat at him. First his wife, then his daughter—"

  J. D. didn't try to avoid her hand as she swung and slapped him, hard. "Don't you talk about my papa like that again," she whispered through white lips. "Ever."

  "You want the truth, baby? Sometimes the truth fucking hurts." He caught her wrist when she tried to hit him again and used it to pull her into his arms. "I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself to protect a killer. Not even if it's Remy. Do you understand me?"

  "I don't know who killed Marc," she said through gritted teeth, twisting against his grip. "But it wasn't Remy. He ran into the fire to save me and my mother. He wouldn't leave me to burn then and he wouldn't have done it now."

  He locked an arm around her. "Then tell me what you've been holding back on me. Tell me about Billy."

  "This is a waste of time—if s barely noon," Terri grumbled. "I'm telling you, Gantry won't be there."

  Cort should have left Terri Vincent back in the city, but she knew where Gantry's operation was, and he didn't feel like wandering around the swamp for hours trying to find it himself. "We'll check anyway."

  "Of course we will." She sighed and turned onto a narrow lane leading into the swamp.

  "Tell me what you know about Gantry."

  "He's the meanest son of a bitch in the state." At his sideways glance, she sighed. "Okay, he's first runner-up. Should you ever be unable to carry out your duties..."

  He silently counted to ten. "Give me facts."

  "Gantry has a large outfit, runs about thirty boats, most with two- to three-man crews." As they approached the docks, she slid on her sunglasses. "He does mostly fishing and swamp tours. He keeps to himself and he doesn't like cops." She leaned forward. "Oh, hell."

  "Hell what?" All he could see was a decrepit old Chevy parked on the side of the lane. "Let's run a check on that plate."

  She didn't want to tell him, but finally dragged the words out. "I don't have to. That's the car that was reported stolen from Mercy ER last night."

  Which meant his brother or Isabel Duchesne had been here. Could still be here. Cort counted five boats and fifteen men at the dock as she parked. He got out. One of the men—the biggest one—was already walking toward them.

  "That Gantry?"

  "That's him." Terri put herself in front of Cort, holding up one hand. "Hang on, Caine. This is official business."

  Gantry looked over her head at Cort. "You look like a Gamble."

  "I am."

  "Got a warrant?" When Terri shook her head, Gantry showed some teeth. "Then get the hell off my property."

  Cort smiled back. "Sure. Soon as you tell us where my brother and Isabel Duchesne are."

  "Fuck if I know." The big man looked down at Terri, and some of the hatred left his face as he put a hand on her shoulder. "You and I gonna go round about this again, Therese? I thought we danced enough last night."

  Before he thought about what he was doing, Cort moved and shoved Gantry away from Terri. "You'll want to keep your hands off her and where I can see them, Cajun."

  "Or what?" Black eyes measured him. "You might be big enough, Gamble, but I doubt you have the belly for it."

  Cort centered his weight. "Try me."

  "Whoa. Guys. I'm starting to choke on all the male hormones in the air." Terri put herself between them and placed a hand on Cort's chest. "Marshal, we're not here to brawl, just ask some questions. And you"—she turned to Caine and jabbed his sternum with her finger—"you're going to settle down and answer them."

  "Gamble isn't here. Neither is Isabel." He jerked a thumb back toward his boats. "Ask my crew. We've been out looking for them all morning."

  Cort folded his arms. "Why bother?"

  "We're decent folks," Gantry said, his tone as bland as Cort's.

  "Decent folks who take care of their own."

  "Your cop brother and his slut don't belong to us." His upper Up curled. "You can take them on back to the city, as soon as we find them."

  "Before or after you crack their skulls?"

  Gantry's smile widened. "You got something to say, Gamble, go ahead and say it."

  "Caine." Terri's voice held some kind of warning. "We need to know if you're missing any gear."

  Black eyes moved to her face. "Like what?"

  "Like a murder weapon." Cort started walking toward the wet house, but the big man got in his way. "I can come back with a warrant, and a Fish and Game inspector. The warrant will permit a search, but the warden will shut you down. The same way Marc would have."

  "Bring it on. I run a legal operation here, and my lawyer loves to take assholes like you to court." Gantry turned to Terri. "What's this about a murder weapon?"

  "Someone used a culling pole to kill Marc LeClare."

  Gantry went still, then regarded Terri the way he would a poisonous snake. "You really do want to wrap things up in a hurry, don't you, chère?"

  To Cort's surprise, the brunette flushed. "It's not what you think, Caine."

  "I don't think—I know. It runs in the family." He eyed Cort. "So, you sweet-talk her into planting it, or was it her idea?"

  Cort knew Terri's father had been a cop, but had been caught planting evidence at a scene and forced to retire. The disgrace was not common knowledge, however, and before he broke the Cajun's jaw he'd find out how Gantry knew about it. "Terri?"

  "Caine's father is my mother's brother." She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. "Much as I hate to admit it, we're first cousins."

  Cold rage solidified inside Cort. "That's why you've been trying to dump the case."

  She nodded. "As soon as I heard it was Marc LeClare. If Caine here didn't set that fire and kill him, then another member of my extended family probably did."

  Gantry grabbed her arm and gave her a rough shake. "You don't go pointing fingers at kin, girl."

  "Gantry." An ugly heat rose inside him. "I told you to keep your hands off her."

  The big man released Terri's arm and chucked her under the chin. "Why didn't you tell him you were a coon-ass, chère? Might have gotten in his pants faster." He directed a sneer at Cort. "Won't make any difference if you turn the lights out, you know. Hell, a Cajun girl can teach you what you're really supposed to do with your dick."

  It was as if the civilized switch in Corf s head suddenly clicked off for the first time in his life. He lunged, and Gantry met him halfway. They went down grappling.

  "Cort!" Terri skirted around them. "Damn it, Caine, stop it!"

  Gantry's heavy fist plowed into his jaw just as Cort knocked the air out of his lungs with a punch to the diaphragm. He shoved the Cajun away, jackknifing to his feet at the same time Gantry did. The two men circled for a moment, waiting for an opening. The sound of a gun being fired three times made them both freeze.

  "Now that I have your attention," Terri said, holding her weapon on them, "I'd like a little cooperation. Caine Gantry, you're under arrest for assault and whatever else I can think up on the way into the station. Marshal Gamble." She tossed a pair of handcuffs to Cort. "Do the honors, if you would." She turned to the ad
vancing wall of Caine's men and shifted her aim. "John, you're in charge. How many of your boys do you want to take to the emergency room today?"

  "Coldhearted bitch," Caine muttered as Cort cuffed him.

  "Runs in the family," Terri agreed cheerfully. "John, you've been to my daddy's house—you've seen my marksmanship trophies in the hutch in the dining room. Let's not add to them."

  "I'll call the lawyer, Caine." The foreman held out an arm, and the crew halted in their tracks. "Let them

  Cort marched Gantry to the car and shoved him in the back before getting behind the wheel. Terri slid in the other side, keeping her eye on the surly faces of the fishermen.

  "You're making a big mistake, chère," Gantry said. "He came at me—it was self-defense."

  "It's whatever I say it was." She eyed him in the rearview. "You'll want to shut up now, cos."

  Gantry subsided into silence, and Terri busied herself trying to call someone on her cell. Cort didn't trust himself to speak on the drive back to the city. He escorted the big man into police headquarters and handed him off to the desk sergeant before heading for the elevator. Terri called after him but he didn't hesitate.

  He came back down to Processing a half hour later, and found her typing up the arrest report with Gantry still cuffed in a chair beside the desk. "Terri."

  "Yo." She pulled the report out of the typewriter and hunted in the drawer until she pulled out a case file folder. "Just finishing up. You want to take his statement with me? It's bound to be a fiction of incredible proportions."

  "Terri." Cort waited until she looked directly at him. "Detective Garcia will take over from here."

  "What are you talking about?" She looked from him to the unhappy Garcia and back to him. "This is my collar."

  "I've had you removed from the case." He nodded to Garcia, who took Gantry by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "You're assigned to desk duty upstairs until further notice."

  He turned his back on her stunned face and walked away. The only sound that followed him was Caine Gantry's low, soft laughter.