Bayou Betrayal (22 page)

“Well…I'm going to be a cousin again.” Her voice lifted at the end.

“Huh?” She'd so lost him.

She giggled, actually giggled. The sound warmed him more than the air gusting from the heater's vent over the desk. “CoCo and Luc are expecting.”

“Oh. Wow.” He kept trying to envision CoCo pregnant. He couldn't picture her out in her airboat, tracking gators with a bulge in her belly. “That's great.”

With Alyssa having just had a baby, and now with CoCo expecting, he couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before the sheriff announced that he and Tara were starting their family.

“I know. I spent the day with Felicia and CoCo, nursery planning.”

He chuckled. “Poor Luc.”

She giggled again. “So, what'd you find out?”

“About your case…”

“What?” All traces of laughter died from her voice.

He proceeded to tell her what the warden had told him.

A long pause hung over the connection when he'd finished.

“So, you think there's a connection between the arsonist and my biological father?”

“It's possible.”

“That's so…I don't know, personal. I've barely even met my father, and I don't know this Kevin Haynie character at all. Why would he burn down my house?”

“I'm not saying he did. Remember, the gas was supposedly stolen from his place before your fire.”

“But now that you've learned of his contact with Justin, you think it might be him?”

“It could be. I won't know anything until I find out more.”

“I still don't understand.”

How could he lay it out on the table without dragging up pain for her? “There's a good chance Justin's behind all of these attacks against you.”

“Why?”

“For the trust-fund money.”

“But why just warn me to leave? Why not just kill me?”

“Maybe because whomever Justin hired isn't very successful.”

She sighed. “I suppose.”

“There's more.”

“What?”

Oh, this was what he dreaded telling her. “The warden said that Justin's lawyer has been filing paperwork to get him an early release due to a medical condition and the passing of some new act.”

“What?”

He told her all the details he knew, then waited in silence.

“I can't believe they'd even hear an argument to let him out early. A halfway house? For a double murderer? Are they insane?”

“If you'd like, I can find out when the hearing is scheduled to take place. You're entitled to attend.”

“Please do. I'm sure Felicia and Luc would like to know, as well.”

“I'll let you know.” Just as soon as he figured out a way to get the proof he needed. His top priority was to keep Monique safe, independent streak of hers or not.

That new dog of hers began barking in the background. “Hey, your mom just pulled up. Looks like she's got a big dish for me.”

“Probably a casserole.” He loved his mother, but sometimes, her timing messed with his social life.

She laughed. “Good. I haven't finished stocking up on staples yet and wondered what I would eat for supper. A PB and J was sounding mighty good.” Her voice became muffled. “Down, Homer. Sit. Stay.” She got louder. “She's at the door. Thanks for filling me in. Let me know when you find out the date.” And she hung up before he could tell her goodbye, much less ask her out.

Oh, yeah. His mother's timing really left a lot to be desired.

T
he phone rang on Gary's bedside table, startling him. He must've dozed off. He scrubbed a hand over his face and lifted the receiver. It'd better be important. “Anderson.”

“This is Investigator Walkin, from Monroe?”

Gary sat up straight and glanced at the clock—ten. “Yes, I remember.” Why was the man calling him? How'd he gotten Gary's home number?

“I don't know if Mrs. Harris informed you of recent information regarding her husband's case or not—”

“Yes, she told me today.”

“Good. Well, we were able to apprehend Stanton Ogburn, Knight's cousin.”

“The driver?”

“Yes. After leaning on him and informing him that Knight had rolled on him, we learned who hired them to take out her husband.” The man let out a heavy breath. “I would've called Mrs. Harris herself, but due to the late hour, I thought I'd better call you instead. Especially since you called and inquired. I had to pull rank on your dispatcher to get your number.”

“Of course.”

“Ogburn confessed to being the driver and setting up the shooting, and at this point, with the evidence provided, I have no reason to doubt his statement.”

Get on with it. “Right.”

“He says a fellow inmate from prison, Justin Trahan, hired them to do the deed after Ogburn was released. I checked with the warden at Oakdale and he verified Ogburn and Trahan were cell mates. He also told me you'd asked about Trahan, as well, so I figured I'd give you a call.”

Bingo! Everything went straight back to Justin.

“Thanks, Investigator. I really appreciate your call.”

“Figured it's the least I could do. Mrs. Harris swore up and down Knight hadn't acted alone and her husband's murder wasn't random. Guess she was right all along.”

He got off the phone, his mind racing. Justin Trahan had paid to have Monique's husband killed? He'd probably paid to have Haynie burn down her house and threaten her, too. But why?

Gary lifted the phone and dialed her number. They were too close to finding out the truth. Justin had murdered his nephew and his brother, and tried to murder his great-nephew. He'd hired someone to kill Monique's husband.

He wouldn't think twice about having Monique murdered, as well.

 

Grrr!

Monique looked up from her book. “Homer, quiet.” She glanced out the window across the bayou, studying the landscape. Nothing seemed amiss. Probably Deputy Mike out making his nightly rounds. She smiled to herself and took note of the time—10:15 p.m. Where had the time gone? She must've really gotten involved in the book she'd been reading.

She stood and stretched. Homer whimpered. She rubbed his head. “No, boy, we're not going out there tonight. It's bedtime.” She snapped and pointed to the canine pillow at the foot of her bed.

The dog whimpered again, then plopped onto the pillow. Monique chuckled and got ready for bed. Her head barely hit the pillow before her eyelids collapsed.

 

No answer! Where was she? Too late to be out.

Gary dialed Monique's cell phone. Four rings and voice mail picked up.

Something wasn't right.

Pulling on jeans and a tee, he raced to the living room and lifted the mic from the radio unit he kept at home. He called into the dispatcher, asking to be patched through to Mike's unit. Gary slipped his feet in boots while he waited for the patch to go through.

“Deputy Anderson, no response from that unit.”

For once, he really wished Missy was on duty. She'd try until Mike answered her. “Try again, please.”

“Hold on,” she said and sighed loudly.

First thing in the morning, he'd deal with the nighttime dispatcher's attitude and lack of initiative. Right now, he could only focus on Monique.

“Still no answer, Deputy Anderson.”

Frustration nearly choked him. “Thank you.”

He reached for his cell, punching in the speed-dial number for Mike. It went straight to voice mail. What was it with people not having their phones on them or turned off?

All sorts of scenarios played out in his mind…Mike didn't answer the radio because he'd seen someone snooping around Monique's place and had gotten out of his vehicle in a hurry. He left his cell in there, as well.

Didn't work with the phone being off, which the call going directly to voice mail usually indicated.

Okay, Mike took his cell, but is creeping up on the guy and doesn't want to blow the element of surprise, so he turned off the phone.

That made sense. It was logical.

Gary grabbed his service weapon and keys, running to the cruiser.

But it also meant someone was on Monique's property.

 

Wwrrp! Wwrrp!

Monique bolted upright in bed. What in blue blazes was that sound?

Homer jumped up on the bed, whining and putting his paws over his ears.

She threw off the covers and grabbed the dog's collar, then raced to the alarm keypad in her bedroom.

The code for the smoke alarm flashed.

Her heart nosedived. Not again.

Homer whined.

“Sorry, boy. I can't deactivate the alarm or the fire department might not come.” She sniffed as she pulled on jeans and a tee—she couldn't smell any smoke. She grabbed her gun and slipped it in her waistband against her back.

She pulled out Homer's leash and clicked it onto the ring on his collar. “Come on, boy. Let's get out of here.” She headed down the hallway to the front door, only to find it was stuck. Her heart caught in her throat.

Wait a minute—she couldn't smell any smoke, she couldn't see any flames and she didn't hear any crackling.

Monique peeked out the front window. The cruiser sat on the road at the end of the driveway. Surely Deputy Mike had heard her alarm and would come to check?

Spinning, she tugged Homer's leash and headed to the kitchen door. She gripped the knob and turned. Nothing. She pushed against the wood. The door didn't budge.

Her heart thudded. She was trapped, and her house was on fire!

She ran back to her bedroom, dragging the dog behind her. She tried to open the window to no avail. With both hands, she lifted the rocker Gary had given her and hurled it through the window. Glass shot to the ground, and the rocker cleared the small cobblestones past the hedges.

A loud boom rattled the house, and smoke filled the room. It must've needed oxygen to spread. And spreading it was. Already, she could hear the telltale crackling as the flames ate their way down the hall.

Monique grabbed a pillow from the bed and laid it over the sill. She eased herself out, then gently tugged on the leash, coaxing Homer to jump. He resisted.

Another loud boom rocked the house. Homer jumped, nearly knocking her down. “Good boy.” Letting go of the leash, she ran down the driveway, toward the cruiser.

Sirens wailed somewhere off the main road.

She panted as she reached the police car. Bending, she peered inside to find Deputy Mike slumped over the seat. A cell phone battery lay on the seat beside him. The radio sat silent.

Homer barked and growled in the distance behind her.

She spun.

Something went over her face. She couldn't breathe. With flailing hands she reached for what was over her head.

A sharp pain split the back of her head. White dots danced before her eyes. A brief moment of nausea washed over her.

And everything went dark.

G
ary's chest tightened until he thought he could no longer breathe.

Fire trucks led the way to Monique's house. He flipped on his lights and siren, as well, racing behind the fire department's engine. They turned onto Wyatt Lane. Smoke filled the bayou.

Déjà vu all over again.

He skidded to a stop beside Mike's cruiser and jumped out of the car. Mike lay slumped back against the headrest. Gary's hand shook slightly as he checked the other deputy's pulse. Slow, but strong and steady. Not wanting to disturb any evidence, Gary went back to his cruiser and radioed in to the dispatcher, then changed radio frequencies and radioed to the EMT unit at the burning house to order attention for his deputy.

Torn between staying with Mike or rushing to the house to check on Monique, Gary bowed his head.

Father God, I can't be in two places at once, so I pray You keep everyone safe and show me where You want me to be.

Another EMT unit shuddered to a halt beside him. “Got the call a deputy needed medical assistance.” The paramedics jumped out of the truck and grabbed cases.

Gary nodded toward Mike. “His pulse is slow, but strong.”

“We got it. You go on up to the house and see what you can do there,” the driver of the unit said.

That was all the sign Gary needed.

He hopped into his car and sped down the gravel driveway. Rocks pinged against the cruiser's undercarriage. He continued to pray silently for Monique's safety. He jammed the car into Park and rushed from the vehicle. Homer ran up to him, barking furiously.

“Where is she, boy? Huh? Where is she?” He grabbed the dog's collar and headed toward the fire trucks.

“Have you found anyone inside?” he asked.

Daniel, a member of his church, turned and faced him. “No one's inside. We think we've got this one contained with minimal damage to just one part of the house.” He shook his head. “The doors were all jammed from the outside.”

Gary's heart ached. “The owner, Monique Harris, this is her dog. Have you seen her?”

“No, but we think she got out through the bedroom. A rocking chair was thrown through the window and a pillow put over the sill. Pretty smart thinking.”

So where was Monique?

He glanced down at the dog. “I know you've only been with her a few days, but you're a good dog. Show me where she is. Find Monique.” He let go of the collar.

Lord, please let me find her. Keep her safe until I do.

Homer took off at a dead run toward the end of the driveway, barking. He stopped suddenly, turned back to look at Gary, barking, then ran toward the road again.

Trying to lead him to Monique? Gary didn't know, but he had no other options at the moment. He kicked his leg muscles into overdrive and sped after the dog.

Adrenaline pushed him to go faster. His thighs burned as he ran as fast as he could over the loose gravel.

Homer took a stance and barked at Mike's cruiser. Had the dog just been trying to tell him Mike was down? Gary bit back the disappointment.

The EMT shut the back door. “He's fine. Coming to. Looks like a chemical was used to knock him out. We've got him on oxygen and will take him to the hospital for monitoring, but I think he'll be just fine.”

“Thanks.” Gary watched the truck pull away. He stared at the cruiser. Great. Another vehicle to work as a crime scene.

Homer stood at the passenger side of the car, barking and growling.

“What is it, boy?” Gary moved beside the dog, scrutinizing the area.

And then he saw it—drag marks on the ground beside the car, going toward the back of the cruiser.

His heart skipped a beat as he squatted and studied the marks. It had to be Monique. Not much of a scuffle, so either she was overpowered quickly or…Well, he didn't want to consider the other options his training screamed could have happened. He'd have to work the scene later. Right now, a woman's life was in danger.

The woman he was falling in love with.

 

Man, her head pounded.

Darkness enveloped her. Monique knew she was awake—coherent, but she couldn't open her eyes. A blindfold covered them. She strained to hear. Off in a distant part of the building where she lay, she could just make out a man's voice.

A greasy stench wafted under her nostrils, causing her stomach to heave. She attempted to hoist herself up from her reclining position, but fell against the restraints holding her hands confined. Using her legs, she eased herself into a sitting position.

Fear surged as realization dawned—she'd been kidnapped!

Reverberations of footsteps bounced off the walls surrounding her. Monique's palms sweated. Her heart raced.
He,
whoever he was, drew closer. Her heartbeat echoed in her head. She leaned back against a hard object—a wall?—and felt cold steel dig into her spine.

She still had her gun! Whoever had her must not have checked. Must have thought she had raced out of the burning house without taking anything.

Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step.

His breathing sounded strained, coming in bursts and pants. She could smell an undertone of fuel in the close room. If only her hands weren't tied in front of her, she could reach her 9 mm. She struggled against the restraints and detected a little play in the knots.

Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Step, stop.

Panic overtook her. While she couldn't see through the blindfold, she could
feel
his presence. Feel his stare. She worked her hands faster.

Harsh hands yanked the fabric covering her eyes. She blinked several times, trying to focus in the dim room. Why, she was in Spence's church.

But who was the man standing in front of her?

He was shorter than her five-foot-five-inch frame and looked to be early to mid-thirties. Very slight build, with a thick head of hair. Yet, she didn't recognize him.

His scowl was very intimidating. “You've caused me quite a bit of trouble, Mrs. Harris. Guess it's time to return the favor.”

Dear Lord, I know we just got back on an even keel, but please help me.

She stiffened her spine and mustered all her strength, pushing it all into her voice. “You have the advantage—you know who I am, but I don't know you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Who I am isn't important.”

“But you've kidnapped me. Why? I haven't done anything to you.”

“No, you haven't. But it's
who
you are that's important.”

“I'm nobody. Just a widow trying to rebuild my life with my new family.” Tears filled her eyes. Images of Felicia, Luc, CoCo and Spence's faces flashed before her.

And Gary Anderson.

No, she wouldn't give this man the satisfaction of seeing her cry, seeing her broken. She worked her hands until she felt a little more slack.

“And if you'd have stayed in Monroe and forgotten all about your
new family,
you wouldn't be in this pickle.”

And then she knew. She froze. “You're Kevin Haynie.”

He cocked his hip out. “Very astute.”

“Why does my father want me away from Lagniappe? It's not like he's ever coming back here.”

Kevin snorted. “Shows what you know. He'll be out within sixty days.”

“He murdered his own brother and nephew. Last time I checked, they don't let murderers like that go free.”

“You'd be amazed at what the Trahan money can buy, honey. Even an early release, if you know how to work the system.”

“But Justin doesn't have any money. It's all in a trust fund that has reverted to Luc and Felicia upon his incarceration.”

“Not quite, toots.”

Oh, no. That stupid special trust fund for any legal heirs. Now everything made sense. All of it—Kent being murdered, the threats, the fires…all because of Justin Trahan's greed.

“Why kill my husband? How does that have anything to do with the trust money?”

“Ah, I see you've figured a few things out all on your own. Good girl.”

“What was the point?”

“We'd hoped it'd distract you. Since Justin rejected you, we'd hoped you'd stay in Monroe and forget all about Lagniappe.” He sneered. “We didn't count on you being so stubborn.”

Her mouth went dry as her false bravado vanished. She glanced around the church, looking for something, anything, to distract him. Just long enough to work a hand free to get her gun.

“Well, I've enjoyed our little chat, but now it's time for me to get back to work.” He lifted the gas can and tossed the contents all over the red carpet covering the center aisle.

Stall him! “Why here? Why not my house?” She ignored the rope burning into her wrists. Just a little more play and she could squeeze her right hand free.

“Couldn't take a chance on you escaping again. Which you did.” He trailed the liquid down the aisle and into the entryway. “Besides, Justin's still upset with his niece and nephew. Burning down the church seems a bit poetic, wouldn't you say?”

“Why not just shoot me, the way you shot Kent?” Working her hands against her wrists, she felt a little more slack in the knot.

He sashayed back to her, frowning. “I didn't kill your husband. Justin hired those bozos before I came into the picture.”

“So why not shoot me?”

The smile that spread across his face sent icy spiders up her back. “Because I'm not a killer. I give life. I let fire loose, let it breathe and eat and play.”

Oh, sweet mercy, this man was insane. She struggled frantically against the ropes.

He pulled out a matchbox, withdrew a match and struck it. The flame danced upward. The scent of sulfur filled the air, mixing with the greasy fuel stench.

Her heart pounded.

“Isn't it beautiful? See how it moves, how it's alive.”

She held her breath as the flame ate the matchstick.

Just before it reached his fingertips, he blew out the fire. He smiled. “I love this part…where I'm about to unleash it, but am still holding it back, controlling the beast.”

Sick. The man was sick. And she'd better think of something fast before he killed her.

He withdrew another match and held it against the strike-plate.

Her gaze darted around the front of the church. The altar.

“Wait.”

He let out a sigh, but held the match. “What?”

“At least let me pray before you do this.” Finally, only a little left and she'd have her hand free.

Kevin tilted his head, considering. “Why not?” He nodded toward the altar. “Go ahead and pray.”

She stood on wobbly feet.

He held the match against the strike-plate. “But no funny stuff, or you go poof.”

She dropped to her knees, using the movement to block his view of her hands. Despite the pain, Monique jerked her right wrist free.

Her hands were untied!

But he held the match…he could strike it and drop it before she could stop him. As much fuel as he dumped everywhere, the place would go up immediately—no chance for her escape.

God, help me here. I don't have any other choice but to pull my gun. Please don't let him strike that match.

In a single, fluid movement, she rose and put her weight on her toes, slipped her hand around her gun, spun and held the shooter's stance with Kevin Haynie in her sights. “Drop the matches, now!”

 

His heart raced faster than the cruiser over the roads to Vermilion Parish Community Church.

Gary couldn't believe it when the dispatcher came over the radio and redirected all available emergency personnel to the church because a Monique Harris had stopped arsonist Kevin Haynie from setting the church on fire and held him at gunpoint.

Well, glory be praised that she had her gun. The woman never ceased to amaze him. And when he saw her, he intended to tell her just that.

After he hugged her to make sure she was really okay.

He whipped into the church's parking lot just seconds before an EMT unit. Not knowing the situation, Gary withdrew his weapon and ran into the church. The smell of gas, grease and sulfur nearly gagged him. He crashed through the entryway into the sanctuary.

And skidded to a stop at the sight before him.

Kevin Haynie sat quietly in the first pew. Monique leaned against the podium, gun trained on Haynie.

If he'd had any doubts that he needed to pursue a relationship with the woman, they were dispelled now.

He rushed forward, handcuffed Haynie and read him the Miranda rights before turning to Monique.