Bayou Blues (26 page)

Women like me.

Once I was finished, I glanced around me, hoping one of them had had the common sense to bring beer. Alas, I had to settle for a room-temperature Diet Coke. I drank the whole thing in one long gulp, the fizz bubbling up in my throat.

The silence was long and heavy, with the men staring at each other, then at me. I wondered if perhaps men parsed information through the air, like intellectual osmosis. Finally Cash cleared his throat. I hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until he spoke, and every word was suddenly as loud as a shout.

“If all that is true, we need to get Wilder’s brother moved to a different jail immediately. Even county lockup will be safer for him than the sheriff’s office.”

“We might be able to use their treatment of Wilder as probable cause that Hank’s safety is at risk,” Matt suggested. He started rifling through the papers next to him, though I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what could be printed there that might help us.

He grabbed a thick, stapled list and began flipping through it. If he knew what he was after, all the power to him. I didn’t know Matt well enough to have an opinion on whether or not he was a genius or an idiot, but if Cash trusted him, it was good enough for me.

“There’s a judge in Hammond I’ve worked with before. He’s got a soft touch about supernatural issues,” Matt announced.

“You mean he thinks we’re people,” Wilder corrected.

“I mean he doesn’t sympathize with the Church of Morning, and he’s more likely than anyone else within fifty miles to get your brother moved. I can’t guarantee we can get Hank somewhere
nicer
, but it’ll be a hell of a lot safer than him staying here.”

Wilder and I exchanged wary glances. If the jail in another parish could offer Hank more security, that was great, but I didn’t think he was going to be truly safe until he was back with Callum.

“I think we’re missing the point,” I said. “If Deerling is crazy enough to kill ten werewolves in as many years, he’s crazy enough to kill a woman and frame a werewolf for doing it. I don’t think Hank was the one who killed that woman.”

Wilder frowned. “Even seeing what we saw at the church?”

“If you’re willing to think it was him, fine. I know what we saw was messed up, but we didn’t see him kill her. And as much of a dick as your brother can be, I don’t think he’s ever murdered anyone in cold blood before.” I wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but it sounded good in front of the humans. And if Hank
had
killed anyone, I imagined it more as a heat-of-the-moment bar brawl sort of thing. Not cold-blooded homicide.

“It’s not enough for us to take Hank and get out of here. We need to get this guy. He can’t be left to hurt anyone else.” I was shaking my head as if there might be any disagreement. Really, I think we all agreed if Deerling was responsible for killing someone, he needed to be brought to justice.

Even if he hadn’t killed her, he was still to blame for her death.

But the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that Hank hadn’t been the one to do her in. The signs of an animal attack were there, but he hadn’t had enough time to do that sort of damage. Only a minute or two had passed from the time Wilder and I saw Hank lunge at her until she had disappeared.

Nothing about this sat right.

“What do you suggest?” Cash’s tone was grumpy. Given how little most of us had slept over the last couple days, it wasn’t too surprising we were starting to get annoyed with each other.

“For starters, we should bring in the real cops.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Wilder countered.

“You wouldn’t.” Cash wasn’t looking at Wilder, but the way he spoke made me think he’d been doing some digging on the younger Shaw brother. My curiosity was piqued, but now was so not the time for this.

“Outside cops are less likely to be under Deerling’s influence.” I picked up a napkin left from the previous day’s lunch. I needed something to do with my hands. “They won’t have the same prejudices and preconceived ideas. I think they’ll be more willing to believe Tim’s a killer. Especially if we can show them that creepy-ass compound of his.”

“You mean the compound we were trespassing on? It’s all private property. They won’t be able to search anything without a warrant, and they’ll need a good reason to get one.” Wilder glanced at Cash. I suspected he was hoping for a voice of reason to back him up.

“Isn’t my testimony about being kidnapped and almost killed enough?” My voice hitched up. What kind of stupid world was this where I couldn’t get a man arrested for trying to murder me? Some justice system.

“It doesn’t look great that you were already arrested for trespassing on his land,” Cash agreed. “He could probably play the harassment card successfully, even with outside cops. There’s no evidence Deerling was responsible for grabbing you. You said yourself you didn’t see him when you were there.”

I crumpled the napkin in my palm. I wanted something that would make a more dramatic show of how I felt. A pop can to crunch up or a glass to break under the pressure. Squishing a napkin didn’t have the same effect.

Wilder lifted his hand like he might touch me, thought better of it and scratched his chin. “There’s another problem with calling in outside police.”

“Jurisdiction?” Matt said.

“Well, that and something Genie and I did before leaving New Orleans.”

“You were in New Orleans?” Cash’s attention was all for me. “
After
you left?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to maybe come home? Or talk to me?”

I shook my head again. “We were only there for an hour. I knew someone who could help us find Hank, and that’s how we learned about this place.”

This goddamn stupid town, like a Southern version of a Bruce Springsteen song. If Bruce Springsteen sang about hell instead of dying New Jersey burgs. I would be glad to put it in my rearview mirror. I swore to myself if we all got out of here alive, I would never complain about St. Francisville as long as I lived.

Home was a heavenly concept to me. Whether that meant my house near Tulane, or my bedroom at Callum’s mansion where there would always be a warm meal on the table and a cold beer in the fridge. I missed those things, as though I would never have them again.

Cash didn’t seem appeased by my excuse, but he didn’t argue about it any further. I suspected that would wait for later. It was a safe bet there would be more than one thing he’d want to yell about when this ordeal was said and done. Some stuff he’d be justified to be angry with me for, and I’d let him be mad about those. But there were other things—Wilder-related things—that I knew he was mad about whether I deserved it or not.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, right?

Trust will only go so far when you run off with another man. I got it, but I didn’t need to like it.

“What did you guys do in New Orleans that might factor in here? Did you rob any banks I should know about?”

My headache was coming back, and this time it had nothing to do with magic. “We struck a bargain with Cain at The Dungeon.”

If Cash or Matt had been part of the supernatural community, this statement would have been enough, but they both gave me a look that said
and
…?

“Wait, are you talking about Beau Cain?” Matt asked.

“Yes.”

He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Huh. I thought that guy was a myth. Like a modern Al Capone for the supernatural set.”

“You know Al Capone was real, right?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. His name comes up in all sorts of cases all across the board. You name it, I’ve heard Beau Cain’s name mentioned.”

“He gets around,” I agreed.

“I can’t believe he’s real,” Matt said again, awed.

“He’s real,” Wilder said. “And Genie and I struck something of a devil’s bargain with him. Before we knew what was happening out here, that is.”

“What
kind
of bargain?” Cash pulled his chair closer. In spite of the fact Wilder was the one speaking, Cash was staring at me.

“We agreed we wouldn’t kill Timothy Deerling.”

“I do
not
want to hear any more about this.” Matt got up and patted his pockets until he located a pack of cigarettes. “I’m not on retainer to either of you, so if you’re going to talk about anything illegal, I need to go outside.”

Before I could offer to pay him for his services he was already through the door. He paced back and forth in front of the window, dragging huge puffs off his smoke, muttering to himself all the while.

“Go ahead,” Cash urged.

“Cain knew tensions might run high. Sometimes the way pack justice is served isn’t… Well, it might be frowned on if people knew about it. But that’s neither here nor there, because I gave him my word neither Wilder or I would kill Deerling.”

“What did you say you’d do with him?”

“I said we’d bring him back to New Orleans. Let Cain sort him out.”

I sat back in my chair and met Cash’s stare, challenging him with my own expression to say something.

Cash mirrored my gesture, his warm brown eyes showing how exhausted he was. Not just with this situation, but I think with me too. I had tried so hard for so long to be his perfect woman. Now he saw what a mess my life really was, and I didn’t know if he was too keen on the relationship he’d signed up for with me.

The look in his eyes was sad enough to make my heart hurt because there was nothing I could do to fix it. I’d pretended to be normal, but I wasn’t.
This
was my world. It was dark, it was bloody, and no one wished their way into it. But still, it was all I knew.

He was raised in a family where his biggest concern had been what law schools he’d be accepted to and whether or not he’d try to become a judge like his mother or go into politics like his father.

I guess I was debating my own political career now.

“So…” He left the sentence to trail off unfinished.

“So,” I agreed.

“Let Matt and me worry about Hank.” He got up and went to find the papers Matt had been poring over. “If you and Wilder are planning to do something to Deerling, I don’t want to know what it is. Confidentiality doesn’t extend to future crimes.”

Wilder and I exchanged uncertain glances.

Bringing in the cops wouldn’t work, but I still wanted to expose Deerling for what he really was, even if I need to resort to wild-kingdom justice.

I suppressed a grin because it would make me look as crazy as I felt in that moment.

I’d been willing to follow the letter of the law on this, but if the law was against us, we’d find our own way.

Cash was right to turn a blind eye.

He didn’t want to know how low I was willing to go to make Deerling suffer.

Stealth was out.

Following was out.

We needed a plan that would let us act quickly, grab Deerling without a fight and get him back to New Orleans. I worried about the Church, and whether they’d continue his legacy of death when he was gone. A small part of me was scared about what Cain planned to do with Deerling when we delivered him.

Then I remembered what those Church of Morning nutcases had wanted to do to me, what they
had
done to others, and my sympathy vanished.

Fuck him.

I hoped Cain would sell him into a life of service at a vampire blood den. I hoped he would be cursed to have his dick rot off. There was no punishment too awful to inflict on Timothy Deerling. If I could have made him suffer myself, I would.

I wondered about his kids. If the ginger army at the complex was his, that was a half dozen kids who would be left only with fleeting memories of their father, and God only knew what those memories must be. Then there was the baby yet to be born to think about. I felt the worst for that child.

Like me, they’d never know their father. Everything they learned would be someone else’s telling, if anyone told the kid anything at all.

My mother said my father was a killer. That might have been a dream, but it still nagged at me. It was hard to imagine my flesh and blood doing anything as awful as what Deerling had done. But wasn’t my mother a monster in her own way? What if my father had been worse? What did that make me?

I was struck by the sudden, intense need to show the world what Pastor Tim had done. They needed to understand that the man who was giving voice to all this hatred wasn’t basing his beliefs on fact. He wasn’t trying to protect people. He was using the approval of the public as permission to kill my kind.

The American TV-viewing public was sanctioning the murder of werewolves every time they listened to Maureen Cranston speak on CNN.

If the people wanted sensation, I could give them all the scandal they craved.

“Let’s go to the church,” I declared.

Wilder and I had taken Cash’s car again, broken window and all. The glass had been mostly limited to the backseat, and Wilder had cleared out the bulk of it, but I was still uneasy, considering all the trouble I’d recently had with my feet.

As far as shoes went, I’d been forced to make do with what was available to me. Since it was four in the morning and I couldn’t buy anything, I was wearing a pair of tennis shoes from Matt’s gym bag, with two layers of Cash’s socks to make them fit.

I couldn’t run well, but it was a lot better than going barefoot.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Wilder said.

“No, hear me out. I think he was holding Hank there. I think that’s where he sent the video from. And if we can get him to come to us, I think we might be able to get him to admit it.”

“This isn’t a bad TV cop drama, Princess. He’s not going to tell you about his nefarious scheme while you broadcast it to the world.”

“He was already dumb enough to send his video to Callum.” If this plan of mine failed, I’d get Callum to release
that
video once Deerling was in Cain’s hands. But I wanted Tim to confess to trying to kill me. I wanted him to admit he was responsible for the woman’s death. The more I could get him to cop to, the worse it would look for the church.

“This might be the worst idea you’ve had yet. The church will have a security system in place.”