Bayou Corruption

by Robin Caroll

  A load lifted off Alyssa’s shoulders as she strode toward the hospital. Things might be looking up after all. She checked her watch again and quickened her steps, not wanting to miss the doctor.

  Alyssa let out a breath and marched into the hospital, her steps stronger than she felt. She nodded at the nurses as she passed their station before sweeping into her grandmother’s room.

  CoCo sat in the chair, reading the paper aloud to Grandmere. Her grandmother glanced up. “Alyssa, ma chère, how’re you this morning?”

  “I’m okay.” Alyssa kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “The question is, how are you?”

  Grandmere’s eyes twinkled, although weighted down with wrinkles. Some of the color had returned to her face—she didn’t appear nearly as pale and pasty as before. “I’m fine, just like I told you last night.”

  “Has the doctor been by yet?”

  “You just missed him.” CoCo laid the paper on the bedside tray and stood, raising her arms in a stretch. “He said if all went well, Grandmere can come home tomorrow afternoon. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “I told y’all I’d just had an episode. Nothing to fret about.” Grandmere’s gaze darted back and forth between CoCo and Alyssa. “How’re you two getting along?”

  Leave it to their grandmother to cut right to the chase.

  “We’re fine, Grandmere.” CoCo grinned across the bed. “Right, Al?”

  Alyssa nodded. “We’re good.”

  “I sense something. What aren’t you telling me?” Grandmere squeezed Alyssa’s hand.

  “Don’t be silly, Grandmere.” CoCo’s voice quivered with tension.

  But their grandmother wasn’t fooled. She narrowed her eyes as she studied Alyssa and squeezed her hand harder. “Alyssa, what’s wrong with you?”

  Alyssa caught CoCo’s warning look, but shook her head. “Grandmere, someone beat Sheriff Theriot last night and left him for dead in the middle of the road.” She tightened her hold on her grandmother’s hand. “I found him and called for help. He’s here. In a coma.”

  “Mercy, child. The spirits warned me something wasn’t right.”

  The spirits told her? Yeah, right.

  “Grandmere,” CoCo said with gentle chiding. “I’ve told you—”

  “Oui, child, you’ve told me. You believe your way, I’ll believe mine.”

  For once, the sisters were on the same side of an issue. Heat seeped through Alyssa. At least they had something in common. “Where’s Tara?”

  “Went home to sleep. The child doesn’t need to be up here babysitting me after working.” Grandmere threw CoCo a hard stare.

  “She wants to come, Grandmere. Let us fuss over you, will ya?” CoCo’s smile held such love and concern that Alyssa had to look away.

  Would she ever fit in here? With her own family?

  Alyssa withdrew her hand. “I’m going to check on the sheriff.”

  “Luc looked in on him earlier. He’s still in a coma,” CoCo said.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.” Alyssa kissed Grandmere’s temple. “You behave yourself,” she whispered.

  Grandmere chuckled.

  Alyssa stopped at the nurses’ station to find out where they’d taken the sheriff. Fourth floor. Another trial to endure—the elevator. Small, confining metal car…she could almost smell the burning gasoline. She held her breath as she counted the numbers flashing over the door of the elevator. She rubbed her lip and forced herself to keep her eyes open. She had to fight the memories—they were always stronger in Lagniappe. The car finally dinged at four, and the doors eased open. She couldn’t get out fast enough.

  And immediately wished she could run back.

  The odor of sickness hovered in the hallway, as if waiting to jump inside some healthy person when he least expected it. Alyssa shuddered. Hospitals always evoked memories. Bad memories. The ones that led to cauchemars.

  No more dreams. Not after the one last night.

  She let out a pent-up breath and headed toward the sheriff’s room. She’d arrived at the ICU before it dawned on her she’d slipped back into Cajun. While annoyed, she understood her error. Being around both CoCo and Grandmere almost guaranteed the use of the language. She’d be more careful now. Pay closer attention to her feelings.

  Alyssa approached the ICU nurses’ station. “Excuse me. I’d like to check on Sheriff Theriot.”

  A middle-aged nurse glanced at her from behind lowered glasses. “The sheriff isn’t allowed but one visitor at a time, and his friend is in with him now.” She jutted her chin toward a room with nothing but a glass wall. “But you can look at him from the observation window there.”

  “Thank you.” Alyssa moved toward the glass, her heartbeat warring with the sounds of beeps and dings from all the medical equipment. She gripped the rail in front of the window, and her heart caught.

  Jackson Devereaux sat in the chair next to the bed, holding a Bible. His lips moved as his fingers kept place in the Scriptures. She didn’t want to be impressed, but couldn’t help but be mesmerized. A man, reading the Bible aloud to a friend in a coma? Alyssa had never seen anyone, save the preacher of her church back home, read the Bible, much less read aloud. Interesting.

  “…but the greatest of these is love.” Jackson looked up from 1 Corinthians 13:13 as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, his heart thrumming. Heat crept up his neck. Slowly he turned to face the glass wall.

  And met Alyssa LeBlanc’s stare.

  He smiled at her, closed the Bible and set the book on the little table beside Bubba. “I’m going to see this lady, Bubba.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. “I keep running into her and now she’s here, just as I read about love. Gotta wonder if God’s trying to tell me something.” He straightened and headed to the door.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” Something guarded darted across her eyes. “I only came by to check on the sheriff.”

  “I just finished. I needed some water anyway.”

  “Oh. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Don’t be silly, chère. You’re no interruption.” He tucked his thumb in his jeans pocket and studied her. “Would you like to join me for a quick bite?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I need to check back with my grandmother.”

  Everything inside him propelled him to be insistent. Something about this woman called out to him. “There’s a sandwich shop across the street. Won’t take but a few minutes.” He noticed the battle in her facial expression. “There are a couple of things I’d like to discuss with you. Why someone would attack Bubba, for starters.”

  Since when did he all but bribe a woman to go out with him?

  “All right, I guess.”

  He fought to keep his smile cordial, not let it expand into the grin rising from his chest. Jackson offered her his arm. “Milady.”

  Her soft touch near his wrist sent his pulse spiking as they headed to the elevators. What was wrong with him? Not many women caused such a reaction. Must be because he was distraught over Bubba. That had to be the reason.

  As they waited for the elevator car to arrive, her grip on his arm tightened. He studied her from the corner of his eye. She paled under the harsh lights. Her lips were pressed tightly together, making her high cheekbones even more prominent. He noticed a small red circle right under her lip, something he’d never seen before. A birthmark? Still, a striking woman. But one who’d suddenly become quite uncomfortable. “Something wrong?”

  She jerked her gaze to his face. “What?”

  “You’re tensing up. Is something wrong?”

  “Oh. I’m just not fond of elevators.”

  The doors slid open.

  “Would you rather take the stairs?”

  “No, thank you. I’m okay.” As if to prove her point, she marched into the car.

  He grinned and followed. “Claustrophobic?”

  “Something like that. So, tell me how the sheriff’s doing.”

  Good change of subject. Smooth. He h
ad to give her points. “He’s about the same. Still in a coma. They found two bullets in his stomach when they performed his surgery.”

  “He’d been shot?”

  “Shot twice, stabbed eight times and beaten with a hard, blunt object.” He led her from the elevator. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive and that his major organs weren’t damaged more than they are.”

  “Mercy sakes alive! I had no idea.”

  “Wish I knew who did this to him.” Jackson escorted her out of the hospital and onto the sidewalk. “I mean, Bubba’s a really likeable person. The attack has to be linked to a case.”

  She arched a smooth eyebrow. “Did Bert and Ernie tell you anything this morning?”

  “Who?”

  She laughed, the sound surprisingly light and airy. “I’m sorry. I was referring to the two FBI agents at the station.”

  He paused, puzzled. Then it dawned on him. Sesame Street. He let out a loud laugh. “Good comparison.” Jackson held her elbow as they moved to the crosswalk. “No, they didn’t tell me anything. Matter of fact, they treated me as the main suspect. I’m concerned they won’t even bother looking for the real attackers.”

  “Why do you think they won’t investigate thoroughly?” Her question appeared innocent enough, but Jackson caught the hesitant tone.

  “Mainly because I’m an outsider here. I’m an easy suspect. Bubba did say my name.”

  “Oh.” She kept walking toward the sandwich place.

  “Small town people are normally leery of outsiders.”

  “But the agents aren’t from here, either.”

  “True.” Yet he’d gotten the impression the agents wanted to close the case quickly, even if that meant blaming the wrong guy.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “N’Awlins.”

  He opened the door and let her precede him into the shop. The enticing aroma of grilled onions and peppers filled the small space. His stomach rumbled as they wove around tables for two to the counter. They ordered dressed po’boys and colas. The cashier took his money, gave him change and a ticket number, and told them to have a seat. They found a vacant table shoved up against the window.

  “New Orleans? I’m from there,” she continued the conversation once they sat down.

  “Really? I don’t hear the accent, chère. Besides, I thought you were born and raised in Lagniappe.”

  “Not hardly.”

  “But, I th—”

  She shook her head. “My parents were killed in a car accident when I was fourteen. My sisters and I were brought here to live with our grandparents.” She blinked away tears. “But I moved as soon as I graduated.”

  The distaste came across clear in her voice. He tried to imagine her scenario—on the cusp of womanhood and losing your parents, then being yanked from a big city into a little bumpkin town. Yeah, he could understand her displeasure with Lagniappe. “Where’d you go to college?”

  “LSU.”

  “Go Tigers, eh?”

  “All the way, baby.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling.

  The girl behind the counter called their number, and he retrieved their tray. Alyssa reached for one of the sodas, while he separated the wrapped sandwiches and handed one to her. She removed the paper, lifted the bread and doused the meat liberally with pepper.

  “Ah, but you eat like a true native.”

  She laughed as she set down the shaker.

  “Would you like me to pray?”

  Her smile vanished. “Uh, okay.”

  That answered his question from last night—her use of the word praying had merely been a phrase. He hated the disappointment filling his chest, but ducked his head and offered up grace.

  Alyssa ate with relish. He tried to keep up an ongoing conversation, but his heart beat cold.

  Why, God, did You make me feel there was something special about this one, only to let me find out she’s not really following You?

  A Scripture flickered across his mind. He couldn’t recall the line in its entirety at the moment, nor the chapter and verse, but he recognized it from Kings. And he sure knew why he’d recalled this particular Scripture at this moment.

  For You alone know the hearts of men.

  God had a reason for placing this particular woman on his path time and again. Jackson’s job would be to figure out what the Lord wanted him to do about her.

  FIVE

  “So, what did you want to tell me?” Alyssa took a final pull of her soft drink and stared at Jackson amid the crowded sandwich shop. She marveled at herself—when had she begun to think of him on a first-name basis? What had happened to her initial feeling of dislike?

  He wiped his mouth with the napkin before squishing the paper into a tight wad and dropping it onto the tray. “You’re a reporter, yes?”

  “Right.” On the road to becoming the best, if she could ever get out of this hick town.

  “Have you ever worked on a story involving a federal government investigation?”

  “One or two.” Only white collar crimes, and only as a backup reporter, but he didn’t need to know the details.

  He glanced around the small shop, his gaze lighting on the patrons closest to their table, and lowered his voice. “Then you know they aren’t always after the truth, but just getting a conviction.”

  Words failed her, which was pretty sad considering how she made her living. Her mind recalled several stories she’d helped research about the corruption of officers and how their supervisors demanded a high percent of convictions in their cases. The Shreveport Times had run a front page article, exposing the frauds, not even six months ago. “Yeah, I’ve seen that.”

  “It’s very likely the FBI will focus on me and my presence here, and let the real attackers get away, despite Deputy Anderson’s report to the contrary. Already over twelve hours have passed since you found Bubba. You know as well as I do that the first twenty-four hours are the most critical.”

  He looked so earnest, so sincere. Why would he try to convince her, of all people, and not the police? She didn’t carry any weight in this town. Yet everything he’d said made perfect sense, and her gut instinct told her to trust him.

  “Mr. Devereaux, I don’t know you. Why are you telling me all this?””

  “Because you’re a reporter, and I think once you hear what I have to tell you, your gut instinct will be to dig for the truth.”

  She considered that for a moment before nodding. “Go ahead.”

  “I’m going to take a chance and tell you what I know. Bubba’d been investigating a case, something just starting up, and he’d gotten stonewalled. He called me to come see what I could uncover. That’s the reason I’m here in town.”

  A wave of excitement surged within her. “What kind of case?”

  His gaze locked onto her eyes, as if reading her intentions.

  She sighed. “Look, you asked me to help, you trusted me enough to tell me what you already have. Just spill it.”

  “Bubba found a couple of money drops in the bayou.”

  “What, exactly, does that mean?”

  “A bag of money, sealed in a plastic bag, is tied to a small buoy. Someone drops the money into the water, normally from a plane flying under radar. The pick-up person comes by later and grabs the bag.”

  “Isn’t that normally done in drug trafficking?”

  “Yes.” He pulled the lid from his cup and crunched on ice.

  “Hard to believe drug deals would be happening in Lagniappe.”

  “The town does have a lot of voodoo, which oft times involves drugs.”

  She sucked in air through her teeth and tried to evoke the memories she’d suppressed for so many years. Her grandmother had never condoned use of any drugs in any of her ceremonies or rites, as far as she knew. “Drugs aren’t always involved in voodoo stuff.”

  “No, not always. Something else you have to remember—the intercoastal ports are only ten or so miles away. Easy access to move the drugs, which would make th
e money drops in the bayou logical.”

  Alyssa tapped a finger against her chin, rolling ideas around in her mind. “We pretty much can figure the shipments are going out of the intercoastal port.” This could be a great story. Something big enough that Simon wouldn’t consider the subject local and of no interest to the rest of the state—something that would mean her time here wasn’t a total waste. Alyssa tried to mask her excitement by forcing her voice to remain even. “What did the sheriff discover in his investigation?”

  “Bubba tried running some leads, but each way he went, he hit a dead end.”

  Alyssa thought of all the articles she’d studied and assisted in researching. Oh, yeah, this could be huge. “To have the power to stop a police investigation normally means someone of importance is involved.”

  “Right. That’s exactly what Bubba thought, which is why he called me and asked me to help. I’ve been doing a little undercover investigation.”

  She didn’t like the gleam in his eye, screaming trouble. “What?”

  “I’m doing some temporary grunt work down at the intercoastal port.”

  If he exposed where the drugs were going, he’d put himself right in the line of fire. Wait a minute. Why did she care? She shouldn’t, but the thought of him in danger…

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I mean, it could be months before you find out something useful.”

  “Not if I’m determined to snoop, as I am.” The cockiness in his tone left no argument.

  “What if you’re exposed?”

  “Chère, Bubba set me up with someone already working on the dock who hadn’t a clue about any drug smuggling but was all too happy to help out. The night foreman, Burl, has already tried me out.” He smiled that easygoing, disarming smile of his. “Don’t worry, I’m good at digging out the truth.”

  She stared hard at him as another thought slammed her—she hadn’t a clue what Jackson did for a living and why the sheriff would be inclined to call him for help on a case. “Are you in law enforcement?”