Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) (10 page)

“Hey, aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee? I know you have some of my special blend made, because I can smell it. And I put a fresh pound in the rig not two days ago.”

It went against the grain, it really did. He was saved from answering, however, by the squeak of the screen door.

“Of course he’s going to invite you into your own RV,” Mandy said, her smile for Trey entirely too welcoming. “Come on in. Have you had breakfast?”

Trey’s eyelids flickered as he took in the sight of Mandy in the doorway, barefooted and bare-legged as she held the screen door open. The glance he sent Lance’s way was hooded, considering, as he moved ahead of him up the steps.

Mandy stepped back out of the way as the two of them came inside. Lance breathed a sigh of relief as he saw she’d skimmed back into her bikini before appearing at the door. Still, the knowledge that it was still damp, clinging to her body in myriad places, made him feel more than a little light-headed.

He set the bags he held on the table and did a quick check before handing them to Mandy. She peeked inside then caught them to her chest as if they were treasure beyond price.

The sight made Lance feel about two inches tall. He was responsible for her security, rather than for her comfort, but he could have stopped somewhere the afternoon before, or at least made a call to Trey. If Zeni could send him out here, he could have done the same.

“Thank you so much,” Mandy told Trey, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“Thank Zeni,” Trey said easily, and repeated what he’d said earlier.

“It’s beyond thoughtful of her, but she won’t lose by it. I’ll pay her back as soon as I can get back to my purse at the house in town.”

“Never mind that. Zeni picked my pocket for the cash before she went shopping.”

“Then I’ll pay you back,” Mandy said with a lift of her chin and defiant glance his way that made Lance wonder if she thought he was seeing her as the pickpocket.

Maybe he was, at that. Lance grimaced as he eased around Mandy and poured coffee from the maker that hung under the upper cabinet. He couldn’t help thinking she might have played that game while on the street, or others along the same line.

Trey’s expression turned serious as he took the cup Lance handed him. “Delivering the shopping isn’t the only reason I’m here.”

“No?”

“First, there’s this that I thought you might want.” Putting his free hand behind his back, he brought it forward again with a Glock in it.

“Good thinking, thanks,” Lance said as he took the gun he used as an alternative to his service weapon that he’d turned in. He’d slip it into the pocket of the driver’s side door later. “What else?”

He glanced at Mandy, then away again. “Sheriff Tate didn’t want to call you on an official line, but there’s been a development he thought you should know about.”

“Excuse me,” Mandy said at once as she backed toward the bedroom, still hugging the shopping bags. “I can’t wait to see what’s in these.”

Lance didn’t object, and neither did Trey. In fact, they were quiet while she pushed the sliding door closed that divided the bedroom from the rest of the RV. Lance reached to flip the control that started the air conditioning unit overhead. Under the cover of its rumbling, he asked. “What kind of break?”

“They found a body floating northwest of New Orleans, in the backwaters of Lake Pontchartrain. It’s been identified as Bruce Caret.”

“They’re sure?”

“Identified by his dental work. Something else, it seems he was tortured before being shot execution style, with a nice, neat bullet in the back of his head.”

Lance grimaced. “A bad way to go. But it means that Mandy—“

“Yeah. Your charge is officially a widow.”

“Son of a gun.”

Mandy, listening at the sliding door, couldn’t catch everything the two men said, but she heard enough. Tears slowly rimmed her eyelids and tracked down her cheeks.

She’d been half-convinced Bruce’s disappearance was a hoax, one he’d arranged for reasons of his own. Why he might do that, she wasn’t sure; there was much she’d never understood about his business interests. Or his associates, either, if it came to that. That didn’t mean she noticed nothing.

Because she’d hit the streets, dropping out of school, Bruce always assumed she was incapable of understanding what went on around her. He seemed to forget she’d earned her diploma and read voraciously while at the correctional center. Besides, long hours in a classroom weren’t the only way to gain an education. Life was often a better teacher.

A major lesson was that little difference existed between a street gang and a group of high powered businessmen. One way or another, they all wanted to be on top.

The news Trey had brought changed everything; she saw that clearly. Before, she’d been Bruce’s little wife who might know more than she realized. Now she was a possible murderess, a Black Widow who had persuaded her husband to put all his assets in her name and then hired someone to kill him—even she had watched enough police dramas to know a bullet to the back of the head was the signature of a hired hit.

Never mind that someone seemed to want her dead.

Mandy closed her eyes, wiping at tears with the edges of her hands as she turned to lean against the wall next to the sliding door. Poor Bruce. The thought of him being found the way Trey described was horrifying. He hadn’t been a bad man, at least not entirely. He’d helped her out of a difficult situation when she had nowhere else to turn. He’d loved her in his way, though it sometimes seemed more like obsession. He’d asked so little of her, and she’d felt sorry for him. She’d thought…

What had she thought? She hardly knew anymore. And what difference did it make now?

In a peculiar way, she’d been saying goodbye to him for the past year, going from denial that there was a real problem in their marriage, to anger that he saw her not as she was but as he wanted her to be, from depression that there was nothing she could do to mend matters to final acceptance that she needed to go. The more she detached from him, however, the harder he held on until it felt as if she were choking.

Now it was Bruce who was gone. Somehow she was left with this crazy situation he seemed to have created. She had been over it until her brain was numb from the effort, but could come up with no explanation for what was happening.

She hadn’t known Bruce had put his assets in her name. What was that about? Was it the tax dodge she’d suggested to Lance, or something Bruce was attempting to hide? If the last, who was he trying to fool? And why in heaven’s name hadn’t he told her?

Unless he’d meant to tell her, but never had the chance? The thought brought fresh tears.

“Mandy?”

That call, coming from outside the door next to her, startled her so she jumped and nearly fell over the corner of the bed. Her voice was husky as she answered. “Yes?”

“You decent?”

Now there was a loaded question, since she was fairly sure Lance didn’t consider her anything near it.

“Just a minute!” She scrubbed the tears from her face and whipped off Trey’s T-shirt. Shimmying her way out of her bikini, she reached for the panties and bra that spilled from one of the plastic bags.

“Staying here is too risky. We need to get moving.”

“Who says?” she called, jerking off tags before fastening the bra, pulling on a pair of jeans and a women’s T-shirt, and then stepping into a pair of flip-flops. Everything fit, for which she blessed Zeni yet again.

“Sheriff Tate.” His answer was fainter, as if he was moving away. “Hold on to something. I’m pulling out.”

The sheriff ought to know if anyone did, Mandy thought. But risky for whom?

From outside came the rumble of Trey’s motorcycle cranking up. Seconds later, the sound revved to a higher pitch as he took off. Mandy barely had time to tear a new hairbrush from its packaging and drag it through her hair before the RV started moving. She grabbed for the sliding door, shoving it open and fastening it back.

Lance was in the driver’s seat, brow furrowed as he eased through the trees, bumping over ruts and hummocks of grass while branches slapped the sides of the RV. Moments later, he reached the overgrown drive, and their forward motion became smoother.

Mandy moved toward the front then, catching onto cabinets and walls for balance until she could plop down into the passenger seat. Reaching for her seatbelt, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere else,” Lance answered with a side glance that lingered a second longer than necessary, as if he might have noticed her red-rimmed eyes.

That meant he didn’t know, or so she figured. She didn’t ask again. And was just as glad that he didn’t question why she was upset.

They drove for hours, stopping only for diesel fuel and to stretch their legs. Avoiding Interstates and major highways, they kept to backroads and scenic by-ways. They also stayed away from restaurants and fast food outlets, snacking on cookies and chips as they drove. Their general direction was north, away from the bayous and flat river plains and into the pinewood hills of the upper portion of the state. Lance piloted the RV with confidence, though Mandy suspected him of turning right or left at crossroads and intersections based on some kind of mental coin toss.

They hardly spoke at all. The grim nature of their flight put a damper on frivolous comments, and everything else seemed off limits. Mandy spent a lot of time staring out the window, coming to grips with her changed circumstances yet trying not to think about the way it had happened. She offered to drive once or twice, but Lance refused the help. Whether that was because he didn’t trust her with Trey’s baby RV or he thought she’d take off and leave him the first chance she got was impossible to say.

It was while they were eating a fast lunch made from staples out of the refrigerator that Lance finally got around to mentioning Bruce. Putting down his ham sandwich, picking up a potato chip, he watched her a minute before he spoke.

“You overheard what Trey said, didn’t you?”

She barely glanced at him. “The RV isn’t that big or that sound proof.”

“So you know your husband is gone.”

Gone. It was a handy euphemism, but exact in a strange sort of way. She lifted her head, swallowing the tears that threatened before she answered.

“You mean Bruce was shot in the head and dumped in the river like so much trash. Do they have any idea who did it?”

“If the NOPD does, they haven’t shared it with the sheriff’s office.”

“Or why, either, I suppose?” Anger and frustration at the lack of information still, after long days with no word, roiled inside her.

“I thought maybe you could answer that.”

“No, I can’t. I told you before, and I’ll say it again, I had nothing to do with what happened. I don’t know how, when, why or really even where. Bruce simply left the house one morning and didn’t come back. That’s all I can tell you.”

“And you don’t much care if he did.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, so don’t presume to know how I feel!” She gave him a glare edged with hot tears. “Bruce was my husband. The murder of any man is painful to think about, but especially when it’s someone you’ve lived with for any length of time. I may have been planning to leave him, but I didn’t want him dead.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice soft as he watched her.

“Yes, it’s so.”

“Funny, but I keep thinking about that shot aimed toward your head, putting it together with the bullet hole in Caret’s.”

She shuddered at that too vivid description, though she couldn’t tell if it was typical police callousness or an attempt to shock her into saying something rash. She’d been trying for hours to not think of exactly how Bruce might have died.

“Me, too,” she answered. “That’s what the man who tried to kidnap me said, that he’d put a bullet in my brain if I didn’t do exactly as he told me.”

“But he didn’t,” Lance said at once.

“No, but I think—I’m almost sure there was a silencer on his gun.”

He dipped in head in assent. “It was in the report. They found it in your car after the wreck.”

“Then why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“Who says they don’t?”

The look she gave him should have turned him to stone.

“It’s only your word that says there was ever a kidnapping.”

“But the man who was killed—”

“Could have been with you for some other reason, which means you’re not in the clear yet.”

How could he say such a thing after the terror of that drive with a gun at the back of her neck? Or was he suggesting Bruce had somehow involved her in something that might end in her arrest. Again. The very thought made her feel cold inside, yet furious with it.

“Maybe I’m not,” she said, picking up her uneaten sandwich and rising from the table, “but I still have to wonder if I’ll see a hit man instead of a lawman the next time I answer a doorbell.”

Mandy stepped to the kitchen area to put her trash in the can under the sink. Closing herself in the small bathroom, then, she held a wet washcloth to her face while she fought the urge to cry. It wasn’t for Bruce this time, but because Lance was like all the rest, willing to believe the worst of her. She won that battle, but was relieved when she felt the RV begin to move again, and she knew Lance wasn’t waiting to renew his questioning.