Bayou Corruption (4 page)

Red hot anger coursed through her veins. Her heart thudded so hard her ribs hurt. “Fine. For how long?”

“Until we can get this case wrapped up.”

“How long do you think that'll be?” She clenched and unclenched her hands.

“It all depends.” The light reflected off his bald head, casting a glare around him. A dark blue infused the light.

“Are you okay, Ms. LeBlanc?”

She glared at Lockwood. “I'm fine. I just don't want to be here.”

“We understand,” Ward started.

Alyssa held up her hand toward Agent Ward, but focused on Lockwood. “Just hurry up and do your job so I can get out of here.”

 

Jackson took quick steps toward the sheriff's office. His mission—find out everything he could about the money dropped in the bayou and see who else Bubba might've told. Everything Bubba shared with him about the incident, the location of the money drop and the tag on the bag, stank of drug trafficking—he'd reported on it countless times back in New Orleans. But here in Lagniappe? Then again, there was the intercoastal port. Would make smuggling easier. Too bad he'd only moved around sealed crates last night on the docks.

His mind already flipping through his mental Rolodex, Jackson kept marching toward the police station. A breeze stirred the air, carrying the clear smell of wet soil. Just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open, nearly slamming against him. He jumped back onto the sidewalk and opened his mouth to speak when he noticed who'd nearly knocked him on his can.

Alyssa LeBlanc. And from the look on her face, she wasn't a happy camper.

“Good morning, Ms. LeBlanc.”

She jerked her gaze to meet his. The anger slipped from her eyes. “Oh. Mr. Devereaux.”

Hey, she remembered his name despite the circumstances of last night. Bonus points. “How're you this morning,
chère?
”

Her eyes darkened, the green rings around the irises flashing under the morning sun. “Not so good.”

“What's wrong? Have they uncovered something about the case?”

“No. That's the problem.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Uh-oh. Pure defensive body language.

He risked taking a step closer. “I understand. It's frustrating to see Bubba like that and not have a clue who's behind it.”

“Those imbeciles won't figure out a thing.” She met his stare. “How's the sheriff?”

“I talked to the nurses before I headed here. They said he had a rough night. Came out of surgery okay, but he's in a coma.”

Softness seeped into the edges of her eyes. “I'm so sorry. I'll stop by and look in on him.”

This woman was an enigma. Strong and steady in a crisis, yet emotional about people. What a rare combination. One that pushed his heart rate up a notch or two. He owed it to Bubba to concentrate on the case at hand. He couldn't afford distractions, no matter how attractive. “I guess I'll see you later then,
chère.
I've got to go answer more questions.”

A strange expression clouded her delicate features for a fraction of a second before she straightened her shoulders. “Good luck with that. Hope you have a good day, Mr. Devereaux.” She marched toward her dirty Honda.

“Jackson.”

Pivoting, she tossed him a puzzled look. “Excuse me?”

“Jackson. It's my name.”

“Oh.” She spun around and opened her car door. “Good day, Mr. Devereaux.”

He watched her drive away, her spunk giving him a charge. He'd bet his bottom dollar she'd earned her stripes as a reporter. Oh, not as good as him, but good nonetheless. With a chuckle, he headed into the sheriff's office.

Missy, the dispatcher with that bright yellow-blond hair, stood behind the counter. He knew she'd broken the thirty-year mark recently, but the lines in her face told of a harder-than-normal life. Her eyes lit as he approached. “Well, well, well, Mr. Devereaux. How are you?”

Her attraction came across too obviously for Jackson's liking. Not at all like the elusive Alyssa LeBlanc. He smiled easily. “Been a long night.” With no sleep. “I'm supposed to answer more questions this morning.”

“Let me call the agents for you.” She smiled knowingly as she lifted the receiver, spoke in whispers and replaced the phone. “Go on back to the conference room.”

He nodded his thanks and pushed through the swinging door. So many people milled about. Off-duty officers called in to help, or new eyes brought in to work the case. He skidded to a stop at the interrogation room.

Two suits, screaming standard-issue agent, hovered around the doorway. “Mr. Devereaux?” the young man with the knot of his tie pressed against his Adam's apple asked. “I'm Agent Lockwood with the FBI. This is Agent Ward.”

No big shocker. Suits, no personality, same neutral expression—of course they were FBI agents. He'd have to play nice to get the info he needed. Mustering a fake smile, he extended his hand. “Morning, gentlemen.”

Agent Lockwood escorted him into the interrogation room, gave the basic introductions, then recorded his account of last night's events with his digital recorder. Pretty much same old, same old for Jackson's line of work.

“Why, exactly, are you visiting Sheriff Theriot?” Agent Ward asked, his bald head resembling an egg.

Ah, now they were getting there—the big questions. “We're old frat buddies. We hadn't seen each other in several months, so when Bubba called and invited me, I came.” Jackson leaned the chair back on two legs and met the agents' stares head-on. Let the games begin.

“Isn't that a bit difficult for you? Being a big-shot reporter and all?” Lockwood took over the questioning.

“Not really. There was nothing pressing in N'Awlins, and a change sounded like fun.”

“Coming to Lagniappe?”

Jackson smiled. They wouldn't trip him up. “Visiting my friend sounded like fun.”

“I see. You arrived in town when?” Agent Ward hunched over his notebook.

“Wednesday.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Well, we didn't exactly say, but now…I intend to stay until Bubba's better.” He plopped the chair down to all fours. “And until the culprit is apprehended, of course.”

Lockwood and Ward exchanged a quick glance. These two obviously hadn't been in the field long—standard rule of the federal boys: don't communicate in any manner in front of an interviewee. Jackson refrained from shaking his head. Alyssa had been right. The agents didn't instill confidence in their crime-solving abilities.

“Why would the sheriff invite you to visit, Mr. Devereaux?” Agent Lockwood asked.

Finally, they asked the right question. Too bad they wouldn't get the right answer. “Maybe he was lonely. He called and invited me. I came. That's it.”

Lockwood all but sneered. “Sure seems your timing is impeccable, Mr. Devereaux. You're here not even a week, and someone viciously attacks the friend you're visiting.”

“You were the first to arrive on the scene after the report of the incident,” interjected Ward. “Before the police and medical personnel could get there.”

“And Bubba said my name before he lost consciousness.” They were wasting time. Valuable time. “I'm sure it'd be neat and tidy to put me at the top of the suspect list, but you're barking up the wrong tree, boys.” Jackson stood and pushed his chair under the table. “Bubba is my friend. I'm staying at his house. If I wanted to hurt him, do you think I'd beat him within an inch of his life and then leave him in the middle of a road? Puh-leeze. Think about it—I got there first because I heard the dispatcher's report over Bubba's scanner.”

“The sheriff just happened to mention your name when he told Ms. LeBlanc not to let them get away with it.” Ward stood, pocketing his notebook. “Care to explain that?”

“Maybe he wanted someone to call me. Let me know.” They'd waste time investigating him. Sure, it looked off to them, but if they had an ounce of good detecting skills, they'd have already ruled him out as a suspect.

“Uh-huh.” Agent Ward glared at him. “Guess it goes without saying that you need to stay in town.”

“Like I said, I have no intention of going anywhere until I know my friend is okay.” Jackson jammed his thumb into his pocket and turned toward the door. “Now, if that's all, I want to get to the hospital to check on Bubba.”

And follow up on some leads, since the men in black appeared to be what Alyssa had called them—imbeciles.

S
he could slam a revolving door right now.

Alyssa fumed in the hospital parking lot, grasping her cell phone in a death grip. She smacked the side of her fist against the steering wheel. How could she call her editor and tell him she'd be stuck in stupid Lagniappe until the stupid cops solved an attempted murder case? She'd lose all she'd been working so hard for. So not fair. She'd done the right thing, and now she'd be penalized. Where was the justice?

Knowing she couldn't prolong the agony anymore, she punched the speed-dial button for Simon's cell. One ring. Two.

“Simon Woods.”

“Hey, boss. It's Alyssa.”

“How's your grandma?”

“She's okay. Looks weaker than I remember.” She glanced at her watch and grimaced. “The doctor should be making rounds soon.”

“Great. I've managed to hold off giving your assignment to Marlee since you'll be back in a couple of days.” His deep laugh resonated in her ear. “She wasn't exactly thrilled, either.”

Alyssa could imagine. For the past several months, the aggressive up-and-coming reporter nipped at Alyssa's heels, waiting to swoop in and steal Alyssa's prime assignments. Repressed sobs burned in her chest. Marlee would get her chance. “About that…”

“Don't tell me.”

“It can't be helped. I'm an eyewitness in a federal felony case, and the Feds won't let me leave town.” The tears made tracks down her cheeks as she eased the lip balm from her pocket.

“You're kidding, right?”

No, I'm making it up just to annoy you.
“I wish I were.”

“Can they do that?”

“They're the FBI—they can pretty much do whatever they want.”

The silence over the line prophesied the death of her career.

“Guess them's the breaks, kid.” Simon's voice held a hint of irritation.

I'm fine, thank you for asking. Don't worry for a second I might be a target for the bad guys, but hey, that's no big deal, right?
“It's not like I want to stay here. You know I hate this place.”

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“I know.” She gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Maybe I can cover this crime for our paper.”

“What happened?”

“Assault on the sheriff.” Did he miss the part where she'd said she was an eyewitness?

“Too local. Not of interest to our readers.”

Dismay mixed with frustration threatened to suffocate her even more than Lagniappe. “I see.”

“Hey, I know.” Simon's tone went upbeat. “Cover the politics in that neck of the woods. Heard there's a hot Senate race in that district—someone daring to run against the incumbent of, like, twenty years or something. Maybe you can dig up some dirt. Scoop those locals down there. We all know you're better than those small-time reporters.”

His compliment did little to soothe the knot in her chest. And his concern for her well-being was touching, just touching. She swallowed her irritation. “Sure. I'm on it.”

“The incumbent's name is…” Papers rustled over the connection. “Edmond Mouton.”

She blinked several times as her heart caught. It'd been a long time since she'd heard the name. Her parents' funeral, to be exact.

“Alyssa? You there?”

“Uh, yeah. I know Mr. Mouton. Well, I did.”

“Even better. Get to digging, girl.”

“I'll get right to it. Thanks, boss.”

He broke the connection without saying goodbye. Typical Simon. She dropped the cell phone into her purse.

Edmond Mouton. He'd been a friend of her mother's, granting Claire LeBlanc access he denied other photojournalists. Some of those liberties won her awards. No one had run against Mouton for his Senate seat in a decade and a half. Maybe she could use her mother's connection to get an exclusive with him. He could jump-start her career as he'd done her mother's.

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 had 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?”