by Joanna Wayne
* * *
HUNTER ARRIVED SHORTLY after Robicheaux left. She still thought it strange they were driving out of the city for target practice when he didn’t even have time to eat or sleep on a regular basis.
The good news was that Hunter seemed more relaxed on the ride down to Eulalie’s than he had since she met him. This might turn into the perfect time and place to seek closure, although any serious reckoning about their past would complicate working with him on the killer’s phone calls.
They crossed the Crescent City Connection, the wide cantilever bridge that separated New Orleans from the area known as the Westbank. Forty minutes later, they turned onto a gravel road and she spotted a wooden sign that read Eulalie’s Swamp Tours and B and B with an arrow that pointed to the left.
Hunter took the first quick left next to three wooden mailboxes perched atop rusting metal posts.
“It’s difficult to believe anyone lives in an area this isolated, much less runs a business.”
“Out-of-state tourists love this kind of atmosphere for a swamp tour. But don’t fret. The house is comfortable and once you taste Eulalie’s cooking, you’ll never want to leave.”
“It sounds as if you come out here often.”
“Every chance I get, which hasn’t been much lately. The only reason I can make it today is that my supervisor ordered me to take a day off. Claims I’m going to collapse in the middle of a shoot-out if I don’t get some sleep.”
“Which you’re not getting.”
“Actually, the sun got up before I did this morning. Haven’t slept that late in weeks.”
“Are your long hours tied to the serial killer investigation?”
“Not entirely. I still have to take my share of the department’s homicide cases. But dealing with a serial killer who seems to schedule his strikes by the calendar has upped the urgency.”
Which meant the odds were good that the killer might contact Helena again soon. For as long as the call lasted, discovering a clue to the killer’s identity would depend solely on Helena’s ability to guide the conversation. She’d never backed away from a pressure situation, but neither had she ever felt this unqualified to make the right decisions.
She tried to ease the enormity of that responsibility by studying the passing landscape. There was a scattering of trees, mostly cypress, and huge clumps of tall grasses in various shades of green. Bluebird and purple martin houses were plentiful. Large blackbirds sat on telephone wires. Several buzzards circled an area about fifty yards to the west.
They stopped at a fork in the hard dirt road. Signs indicated one way for the swamp tour and another for the B and B check-in. Hunter stayed left following the arrow to the B and B. Helena’s mind slipped into artistic mode and began to frame a painting in her mind. A young woman walking through the tall grass. The woman would be small, the focus on the isolation. Deep shadows. Dark clouds.
A house came into view, breaking her concentration.
It was a small clapboard structure, set on stilts, with a railed veranda that circled the building. A set of wooden steps led to the covered porch.
“This doesn’t look big enough to be a B and B.”
“That’s just the house,” Hunter explained. “There are five small fishing cabins on the back of her property.”
“Then the house is just where Euralie lives?”
“Only in part of it. She rents the two bedrooms and a shared bath on the back of the house. Her living quarters are the front half of the house. She claims she likes a cozy space.”
Hunter followed the road to a graveled parking area to the left of the house. A big yellow mutt and a smaller black retriever came running to meet them from the far side of the porch. Hunter hunched over to greet and pet them. They responded with excessive licks and tail wagging.
“This is Captain,” Hunter said, giving the yellow mutt a good ear scratching. “And the black beauty here is Bailey.”
Helena took to the dogs instantly but quickly realized that she’d never seen Hunter interact with any kind of pet before. Another heartwarming side of him she didn’t need to discover right now.
When their fingers accidentally tangled in Captain’s long hair, a heated zing vibrated through her.
She pulled away and hurried to the steps that led to the veranda. Hunter followed. The dogs went running off again. By the time they reached the porch, Eulalie was waiting for them.
She fell into Hunter’s arms for a warm bear hug before she even bothered to look at Helena.
She looked younger than Helena had expected, around midfifties she’d guess. That made sense. Cory Barker was likely only a few years older than Helena.
Eulalie had an athletic build and long brown hair that she wore pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed in a lightweight denim shirt over khaki trousers and sneakers, as if ready to take off on one of her swamp tours at a minute’s notice.
No makeup but a nice tan and a great smile. She turned and flashed it in Helena’s direction.
“Who’s the jolie femme?” Eulalie asked.
“This is Helena Cosworth,” Hunter said.
“Are you kin to Mia Cosworth?” Eulalie asked, switching easily from the Cajun expression for “pretty lady” back to English. Helena imagined the Cajun French that seemed to come so naturally to Eulalie was a hit with the tourists.
“Yes. Mia was my grandmother. Did you know her?”
“I never met her, but I saw her on TV when she was raising money to help catch that French Kiss maniac. I was so impressed with what she was doing to help, I made a small donation myself.”
“I don’t know what you’re cooking,” Hunter said, “but if it’s half as good as it smells, it’ll be wonderful.”
Helena knew he was trying to change the subject for her benefit. He wouldn’t have known that Robicheaux had already told him how close they were to the crime scene. His effort to control the conversation didn’t faze their hostess.
“Bad enough he killed that pretty young teenager, but he did it on my stomping grounds. Tell you one thing,” Eulalie said, continuing her rant. “If I ever get my hands on that scum, he’ll rue the day he ever came my way. I wouldn’t feed him to the gators, though. They’re too good for him.”
“I agree,” Helena said. And she had zero affinity for alligators.
“I was sure sorry to hear about your grandmother’s fall,” Eulalie said. “She looked in perfect health on TV and too young to be your grandmother.”
“Thank you. I still miss her very much, but she had a good life, full of passion and joy. She’d be the first to tell you that.”
“Sounds like you inherited her good spirit.” Eulalie opened the screen door and motioned them inside. “Now how are you two connected? Cory said Hunter was bringing someone out to use the driving range today, but he didn’t mention it was a female.”
“We’re old friends,” Hunter said, as he followed Helena and Eulalie inside.
Old friends was definitely not how Helena would have described them.
“Lunch won’t be ready until about twelve, but I got a mess of greens cooking on the stovetop and a pineapple-coconut cake baking in the oven. You should see the way Hunter can attack one of my cakes.”
“I’m sure he can and will,” Helena said, “but I hope you didn’t go to all that trouble for us.”
“Of course she did,” Hunter teased. “And a good thing, too. If I showed up to an empty table, I’d swear I was no longer Eulalie’s best beau.”
“Listen at you go on. You know I don’t play favorites with my guys. Spoil every one of you the same.”
“How many do you have to spoil?” Helena asked.
“Well, it’s mostly Romeo and Hunter here who Barker brings around, but he sometimes brings other buddies out here to shoot or fish. Now you two just make yourself at home while I stir up a fresh s
killet of corn bread. Can’t have greens without corn bread.”
“Take your time,” Hunter said. “In fact, I was thinking Helena and I could get in a little target practice before we stuff ourselves on your home cooking.”
“You go right ahead. You know where everything is. Grab yourself a soft drink to take with you. You know where I keep them. It will get hot fast in the sun. I’ll be tickled pink when that cool front they keep promising finally gets here.”
Helena nodded. “I can’t wait for that even if it does mean thundershowers.”
“She’s talking Louisiana cool, not Boston cool,” Hunter said. “Don’t get too excited or bother to put your shorts away.” He walked to the door and called back to Eulalie. “Be back in about an hour.”
Helena followed him down the outside steps. They retrieved their soft drinks from a large black refrigerator just behind the red Jeep that was parked beneath the stilted house. The covered area seemed as much a catchall as a place to park.
There was also a pile of bricks, several large covered containers and a tire swing—rope attached—just waiting for a tree and a kid.
Hunter looked at her feet. “I hope you have some other shoes in that tote bag you brought with you.”
“I have a pair of well-worn sneakers.” She reached into her tote and pulled them out.
Hunter looked dubious. “I doubt those will keep your feet totally dry. Why not grab a pair of boots—or swamp stompers as they’re known around here—from that large basket by the fridge. They’re loaners for tourists who show up unprepared.”
“Whatever you say, marksman.”
“But shake them out first to make sure there’s no spiders or scorpions waiting inside.”
“On second thought, I’ll just go barefoot.” She didn’t, of course. She could be walking through worse—if there was worse.
Helena checked out Hunter’s footwear, hiking boots that could likely handle the worst of the swamp. She retrieved her sunglasses from the car while Hunter picked up his backpack and tossed it over his shoulders.
She walked beside him down a worn path that cut around the side of the house and off to the right. A few yards farther and the damp earth became even more soggy. She was thankful for the boots when the mire grew ankle deep in some spots. A fifteen-minute walk and they reached Cory Barker’s famous shooting range. It exceeded her expectations.
“This actually is a gun range,” she said.
“What did you think it would be?”
“Beer cans lining a row of fence posts.”
“We started with not much more than that,” Hunter admitted. “A couple of years ago, we pooled our monetary resources to upgrade a notch or two. Robicheaux put up most of the cash. He’s making a killing in the security business.”
“Yet he still volunteers to work with your task force?”
“Police work gets in your blood and he made a name for himself while with the FBI. He’s even written a very successful book on getting into the mind of a serial killer. He’s tried several times to get me to leave the force and go into business with him.”
“Did you consider it?”
Hunter placed his backpack on a long cement table. His expression was strangely brooding, the depths of his gaze seeming to swallow her.
“It took years too long, but I’m finally in a place where I feel comfortable in my own skin,” Hunter said. “I like where I am. I fit into this world. I feel like what I do makes a difference.”
Hunter turned away quickly as if he’d said more than he meant to.
He lifted a petite, solid black pistol from his bag. It had to be for her, but she couldn’t leave things this way. She might not like the answer to her question, but she had to ask it.
“Was needing to find yourself the reason you ran out on me, Hunter?”
Chapter Eleven
Hunter turned away and cursed silently. He’d said too much. He’d been afraid he’d have a weak moment like this if he spent too much time alone with Helena.
“This isn’t the best time to talk about that.”
“Why not? There’s certainly no one around to hear it.”
“The investigation is consuming me and delving into old emotions could put it and you in danger.” That was neither an exaggeration nor a lie. But it was an evasion and he doubted she’d settle for that.
“I can take the truth, Hunter. I’m not looking for another chance with you or even an apology for the way you left. I just need to know why. Really why. Not the pathetic excuse that you gave about not being able to go through with the wedding.”
He leaned against the shooting rest and searched his mind for the right words.
“I wasn’t lying to you back then, Helena. Walking out was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I had too many inner demons I needed to deal with before I could be a decent husband. Marrying you then wouldn’t have been fair to you.”
“Do you think giving up on us without discussing those demons was fair to me? Was making me feel like our whole relationship was fake fair to me?”
He could hear the building anger in her voice, but it was tinged with sadness. He deserved the anger, but he couldn’t let her turn on him now. Her safety was at stake.
“The decisions I made had left an innocent woman dead and a young boy an orphan. I had to find a way to live with that before I could face myself much less have anything worthwhile to offer you.”
“It was self-defense, Hunter. The police cleared you of everything, only by then you’d resigned and left the area. Just one more question, Hunter.”
He nodded, anxiety riding him hard as he dreaded whatever was coming next.
“Why did you bring me here today? That can’t be a typical detective responsibility. Why did you go to the trouble to hook me up with Robicheaux and his security firm? We both know what we had died years ago, so why pretend like there’s something special between us now?”
A relationship that died six years ago. That made it damn clear how she felt.
He reached for her hands and was shocked when she didn’t pull away. “I care about you, Helena. I care a lot. I never stopped caring, but right now the most important thing is keeping you safe.”
“You never called,” Helena said. “In six years, you never once called. That doesn’t sound like caring to me.”
“I called Mia several times to ask about you. She said I’d hurt you enough. You’d moved on and the best thing I could do for you was to stay out of your life.”
“And you just took her word for that?”
“It made sense. I was stationed in Afghanistan. I watched friends die and worse. I wasn’t sure I would get out of there alive. I had nothing to offer you. By the time I moved back to New Orleans, Mia assured me that you were a success and the last thing you needed was me raking up the past. I did what I believed was best for you.”
When Helena looked up, her eyes were moist. “You and Mia were probably right. You broke my heart. I’m not sure there’s enough of it left to try again even if we dared risk a second chance.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I won’t lie. There’s still some chemistry between us but I don’t know if I can ever love and trust you the way I did back then.”
“And that’s why all I’m asking now is that you let me keep you safe,” he assured her. “Now, are you ready to learn how to use that pistol?”
“No, and I probably never will be, but since we’re here, I’ll give it a try.”
He ached to take her in his arms, but she was right. They’d both gone through a lot in the past six years. They lived in two different worlds now and he couldn’t see himself fitting into hers. One thing he knew for certain. He never wanted to fail her again.
* * *
HELENA FELT AS if she were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, so disoriented that she ha
d no idea where she was going or why. She’d been searching for closure. Instead she’d been sucked inside an altered reality that bounced wildly in every direction.
She had no doubts about the strength of her sexual attraction to Hunter. Any lingering uncertainty disappeared the night he’d fallen asleep on her sofa. Her reactions to his smile, his touch, the sound of his voice made her dizzy with desire.
That had been true from the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him. True for her, but apparently not for him. Did she dare open her heart to him again?
If killing a man in self-defense made him run from his commitment to her, how could she trust that wouldn’t happen again? He was still a cop. Was serving in the Marines enough to desensitize him to killing? If so, was that a good development?
If she let things go too far, if she made love to him, would she lose all ability to make anything close to a rational decision about their relationship? About their future?
Did she want to give up a new life in Boston to stay here with him? She definitely couldn’t see him moving to Boston with her. He’d made it clear, he fit right here.
She shouldn’t even be thinking about that. It was premature. They’d only just reconnected. But if she sold the house and moved to Boston, would she be giving up any chance of finding out if they could overcome the past and find real love again?
She struggled to push those questions aside and focus on learning to handle the pistol that felt so foreign in her hand.
Her shooting skills showed no marked improvement over the following hour. She was more than relieved when Hunter suggested they’d had enough practice for one day.
Eulalie welcomed them back with her contagious smile and questions about their target practice. “If a ten-foot target is two feet away, I can probably hit it,” Helena said.
“She was better than that. She was even opening her eyes when she pulled the trigger by the time we finished,” Hunter teased.
