Authors: Liz Talley
Spencer giggled then latched his arms around her neck, giving her a sloppy kiss.
“Blech,” she said, swiping off the wetness, but deep down inside her heart throbbed, much like Picou’s hope. She didn’t want to love Spencer, because he was a job, but there was something so utterly sweet and innocent in him, something she wanted to touch as if it might heal her, help her capture a piece of the innocence trampled long ago.
She’d tried to use Seth and Mallory to do that. To heal herself and pretend she was like any other woman. She’d wanted to love Seth quite desperately, hoped to find in him and Mallory what she’d lost the day she buried her mother. The day her prayers had failed. The day her father drank too much and lost himself in the liquor and later still when her sister had run away and fallen into trouble. Life had slapped her in the face, knocked her down and dragged her by her heels. Loving her father, sister, even her grandmother who passed away soon after her mother, had left her heartsick and battle weary…and very lonely.
By the time Annie had graduated from high school, she’d stopped feeling as if she cared for anything or anyone. She was an empty shell inside—one she’d filled with ambition. Her life had been her career, first in the Air Force and then in the FBI.
Everything had been about protecting herself—financially and professionally.
Until Christmas Eve last year.
When she sat in her spartan apartment in Philly with no Christmas tree, no holiday ham, no presents, and watched that damned movie. At that moment she’d realized she didn’t matter to anyone. And she hadn’t wanted to live that way.
One month later she met Seth, a widower accountant testifying in a case. He’d dogged her footsteps, repeatedly asking her out.
Finally, she agreed. He brought his eleven-year-old daughter on their date and for some reason, still unknown to Annie, she’d gotten in her head that if she had a family, she could be whole again. She could be like the women who brought their toddlers to Starbucks and read self-help books with other women. She could serve on PTA boards and they could take Christmas-card pictures with the golden retriever Seth would buy her on their first wedding anniversary.
Yeah, she’d snapped.
And it had been a disaster.
So she didn’t want to love a boy who couldn’t be hers. Who might disappear like poor Della Dufrene had. What if Annie couldn’t stop whoever wanted to harm Spencer? What if caring for him made her blind? Made him more vulnerable?
No.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She set Spencer away from her. “Let’s get something to eat. You have a worksheet on numbers to do then we’ll have a story before nap time.”
“Mr. Bader and his Ghost Town Gator?”
“Sure.”
Her phone binged and she slid it out of her front jean pocket. Good. Jimmy could meet her. While Spencer napped under the watchful eye of Brick the bodyguard, she’d slip out and meet him. With her gun in hand, no one would get to Spencer unless he or she could get through a bullet first.
Annie wouldn’t fail in this task.
AFTER SEVERAL DAYS of interviewing the production crew and anyone who might have seen anything out of the ordinary, Nate concluded the whole dead-bird threat was more challenging than he’d originally thought. Whoever poked a stick at the Keenes was savvy enough to hide any cracks in his or her composure—a happenstance not typical in Nate’s realm of experience.
The most effective method of investigation other than an out-and-out eyewitness was the interview of a suspect. For Nate, interrogation was his bread and butter. In most cases, from petty theft to possession to murder, the suspect sang like the sweetest of birds when confronted with the evidence and prosecution. And if the suspect didn’t squeal, he or she at least gave him angle to work. But with this case, nothing. He hadn’t felt the slightest waver in any of the people he’d interviewed over the past few days, perhaps because many were actors accustomed to hiding their true emotions behind a façade. And that presented a stubborn wrinkle in the case.
The one person he hadn’t spoken to in-depth was Annie. Since their odd exchange in the library, he’d avoided questioning her on her background and on her impressions of the Keene family. Maybe because he was afraid of the desire that uncoiled when he was around her.
Damn it. She was a suspect. A viable one. She’d been hired around the time of the threat and he knew she was a liar.
So why hadn’t he already done his job?
He’d find out that afternoon, as soon as he finished the reports on those he’d taken statements from that morning. Time to interview the nanny.
He stared down at the forms and then shoved them toward where his cold coffee sat.
“You going to the Stumpwater Inn tonight?” Kelli asked, propping a hip on his metal desk.
“Is there ever a good reason to go there?”
The flirty detective ran a long red fingernail on top of the only photo sitting on his desk—the softball league championship pic
—and gave him a barracuda smile. “There is tonight.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What?” she said.
“You’re eight months pregnant. You can’t go to the Stump.”
Kelli raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “So? What are you saying? I’m not hot enough for action down there?”
Nate shook his head, picked up the hand still tapping the photo and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss. “Never.”
“Hey,” Wynn said, “get your lips off my wife.”
“Get your wife off my desk.”
Wynn’s mouth twisted into a grin. “I couldn’t pick her up if I tried.”
Kelli lifted a half-full coffee mug. “You wanna say that again, big boy?”
Wynn strolled over and took the coffee mug from his wife’s hand. “I couldn’t pick you up if—”
A quick kiss silenced him.
“Ugh, we’re in the office,” Nate complained, rolling his chair back.
Wynn broke off the tame kiss and smiled sweetly at his very rounded wife. She grinned back, before smoothing her maternity uniform shirt over her growing belly. “At least there’s no chance of knocking her up.”
“You hit it the first time, didn’t you, sugar?” Kelli giggled. They’d been married for less than a year, so Nate let their inappropriate behavior slide, but soon he’d have to tell them to knock it off. Kelli redirected her attention back to him. “So, I’m trying to get Nate to go down to Gerry’s Lounge at the Stumpwater. David Reneau and the Murky Water Boys are playing tonight, and I hear a lot of the Magic Man crew will be there. Might get lucky, Nate.”
Nate shook his head. “The only lucky I want is a break in this case. Blaine’s on my back, and he ain’t easy to carry around.”
“I meant on the case,” Kelli said, allowing her voice to drop down to serious business mode. Under her artfully streaked blond hair, stacked bod and big mouth beat the heart of a talented investigator. “Liquor loosens lips.”
“Among other things,” Wynn sniped.
Nate glanced up. “I’d rather put on a dress and heels and stroll down Main Street than go to Gerry’s tonight.”
Kelli got that look, the one married women got around their husband’s single friends. “You need to go. Not just for the case, but for social reasons. You need a woman in your life. You can’t remain an island forever. A sexless island, cold, hard and lonely when the sun sets.”
“Has she been reading poetry again or just listening to Simon and Garfunkel?” Nate rose and shuffled papers into one of the accordion files. He’d come in early tomorrow to complete the report and then get a summary to Blaine before noon. Not that there’d be much to summarize. He needed to catch a break. Soon. Before another threat. Or worse.
“Kelli’s right, you know. You should go.”
Kelli smiled and latched an arm through her husband’s. “I love when you say I’m right.”
Wynn ignored his wife and looked at Nate. “For the case.”
Nate sighed. Both Wynn and Kelli had a point, but damn if he wanted to shower, shave and head out to the meat market of Bayou Bridge. The last time he’d been there, he’d spent twelve dollars for three beers and ended up driving an old high school friend home praying she didn’t vomit in his new car. In Bayou Bridge, a single man with a steady income and all his teeth had a bull’s eye on his back. Made a man twitchy.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
Wynn snorted. “Maybe I should come with you.”
Kelli’s elbow caught him. “You’ve got a nursery to paint.”
Nate shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll wear an ugly shirt or something. Maybe paint a tooth black.”
Kelli rolled her eyes. “Please. You act like it’s torture to go out and have fun. Women aren’t that desperate to nab you, Nate Dufrene.”
He ignored Kelli’s bait, instead grabbing his piece from the top desk drawer, checking the safety and sliding it into his harness.
He’d grab lunch at the Wing Shack then head out to Beau Soleil. He wanted to talk to the nanny before he went to Gerry’s that night. Part of him wanted to see her because he wanted to see her; the other part hoped she might give him some needed insight.
“Later. Have fun painting.”
Wynn gave him a blank stare. “Have fun drinking beer, listening to good music and prying hot women off your lap.”
Kelli whispered something in Wynn’s ear and smiled. Nate thought he’d rather be doing what they had planned that evening rather than what had been planned for him.
Gerry’s.
Hell.
He left the station, climbed in his car and tried to enjoy the scenery on the way to the place where’d he’d grown into a man, but enjoying the effects the heat had had on the surroundings was hard to accomplish in September. Everything looked plain worn-out, waving a white flag of surrender.
Annie wasn’t at Beau Soleil when Nate arrived at the house. That much was obvious from the moment he’d pulled into the drive and killed the engine. His mother looked exhausted. Her five-year-old guest looked enthused.
“Hey,” Spencer crowed as Nate climbed out and slammed the door. The little boy ran to him, grabbed his hand and gave it a tug. “We’re playing tag. Come play with us.”
Nate looked down at their linked hands and then at his mother who nodded. Vehemently.
“Sorry, I’m not here to play,” he said, untangling his hand, stepping over some yellow flowers and curving an arm around his mother’s shoulders. Perspiration ran down her lined face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother sweat.
“It’s fun. Peekaboo’s good at it. Almost as good as Annie,” Spencer declared, kicking at the stones lining the flower bed before hopping past him and scrabbling up the steps. “Can I have another popsicle, Peekaboo?”
His mother slumped against him. In relief? Exhaustion? “Sure, sweetheart. I need to take a break.”
“You still want grandkids?” Nate muttered.
Picou slid her gaze to his. “Of course. Did you think I’d let a five-year-old beat me? I won at tag.”
Nate climbed the steps. “I need to talk to the nanny. Why isn’t she here?”
“She’s out running,” Picou said, pushing through the screen door into the cool house. Nate and Spencer followed her. “Spencer woke up early from his nap, so we decided to play outside, but it’s too hot.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. The boy’s brown hair was plastered to his head and he greedily yanked free the paper on the popsicle, shoving the red frozen confection in his mouth. He pulled the treat out again leaving a ring around his mouth. “Too hot.”
Nate hadn’t been around many kids, but this one was cute. Annoying, but cute. “So why’s she running? It’s nearly ninety-two degrees with eighty percent humidity.”
“That’s what I said, but she said she had to run whenever she can get it in. Spencer napped, so I told her I’d keep an ear out for him while I worked on my tatting.” Picou offered Nate a wrapped treat. He waved it aside. “Fitness seems important to the girl, though I can’t say it’s particularly smart to go out in this heat. I’m not her mother, so…”
Nate changed his mind and took the popsicle and unwrapped it. He took a bite. It was blue raspberry. “Where does she run?”
Picou shrugged. “Usually runs on the highway, but she had trail shoes on this time. Maybe the woods?”
“I’ll walk around and see if I can find her.”
“Needle in haystack,” Picou murmured, swiping the granite countertop with a worn dishtowel. “Why don’t you wait around until she gets back?”
“Yeah, I’m good at tag,” Spencer added.
Nate shivered. The last thing he wanted to do was waste time chasing Spencer around in the stifling heat. “Nah, I fancy a walk.”
“’Kay.” Spencer nodded. “I wanna go to the Invian mounds again.”
He looked down at the kid, knowing horror was etched on his face. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like children, he just didn’t know what to do with them. “You better stay here, Spencer. Mom will read you a story or turn on the television.”
Nate glanced at his mother who wore a knowing grin. She nodded. “Or we can do a puzzle.”
Spencer stuck out his chin. “I don’t wanna do a puzzle. I wanna go on a nature walk with him.” He pointed a sticky finger at Nate.
“No. I need to talk to Annie about some—”
Tears trembled on the boys lashed. “You don’t like me?”
Nate blinked. How had the boy made tears so fast? He looked at his mother. She wore a secret smile, very Mona Lisa-like in nature. “You’re crying?”
Spencer turned weepy brown eyes upward. “Why don’t you like me? I’m good. I won’t step on any bugs or get my shoes dirty.
I promise. And I can help you find Annie, too.”
Nate didn’t know what to do—and he always knew what to do. But this had him beat. “Um, well, I guess it will be okay.”
“Cool. I’m not supposed to go off with anyone except Peekaboo, Annie, my mom and dad, and Brick. He’s our bodyguard.
But you’re a po-lice, so that’s okay.”
Picou shook her head in amusement.
Nate tossed the half-eaten popsicle in the sink, not bothering to hide his disgust. He had business to conduct and he wasn’t into babysitting. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Picou turned with a bottle of something in hand. “Let me put some bug spray on his arms and legs. Oh, and sunscreen, I may need to reapply.”
Spencer made a face and sprinted toward the back door. Picou caught him.