Blackmail (7 page)

“We'll cross-reference them with the evidence we have.” Lockwood spoke to Ward, ignoring Jon and the sheriff. Arrogance seeped from his every pore.

Jon took the papers and handed them to the sheriff. “Here you go.”

Agent Lockwood intercepted, almost yanking them from Sheriff Theriot's grasp. He narrowed his eyes at Jon before turning and striding from the office. Agent Ward followed silently.

“You're welcome,” Jon said to their retreating backs.

“I'm sorry about that.” The sheriff held his hat in his hands.

“Not your fault.”

Sheriff Theriot chuckled. “Thanks for understanding. Appreciate your getting that so quickly for them.”

“I learned my lesson long ago to just do what the men in black ask. A lot less aggravation that way.”

“Amen to that.” The sheriff moved to go. “Thanks again.”

Jon returned to his desk and reprinted the lists he'd given the agents. Which one were the FBI about to focus on?

And what could he do about it?

D
esperation guided Sadie's drive to Vermilion Parish Fellowship, Spencer Bertrand's church, despite her resolve not to involve him. She just knew she needed to find some peace.

Her life had been sucked into hurricane-strength velocity and she needed something to cling on to. Some form of peace and direction. Blackmail, work, Caleb…how was she to cope with the enormity of it all?

She couldn't, which was why the shelter she'd found last year in Jesus beckoned to her as she left Lagniappe's city limits.

But Sadie couldn't stay long—she had the afternoon appointment with the group of fishermen. Deacon expected her to put out all the media fires, including the outcry of these men, but she had something else in mind. The timing of it all struck her as suspicious—the wells went up in the bayou, these men complained with a vengeance, then the sabotages began. Maybe she could ferret out something in her meeting with them. Of course, now they had a legitimate reason to be outraged—the leaking of contaminants into the bayou would directly affect their income and way of life. Would they have stooped so low as to damage the facility for the sake of proving their claims about the danger they represented?

But on the other hand, she'd called the investigators recommended by the company's lawyers and turned over her suspect list of five laid-off workers to them. She'd also given them the
names of the nature-loving protestors Georgia had compiled. So many people had motive to sabotage the facilities. So many people, individually or as a group, could be the guilty parties.

Which group were the blackmailers aligned with?

Sadie parked in the loose gravel lot outside the church. Oppressive heat and humidity cloaked the air. Her legs felt sluggish, as if stuck in the swamp, as she climbed the rickety stairs and entered the sanctuary. Gentle coolness encapsulated her immediately. She barely made it to the last pew before collapsing. Tears of despondency washed her face.

“Sadie, what's wrong?” Pastor Spence's words were as comforting as his hand on her shoulder.

She swiped the tears away. “I can't take it anymore. Work's gone beyond bad, having Caleb isn't at all like I expected, his probation officer thinks I'm an unfit guardian and…and, well, there's so much emotional stuff to deal with right now.” Her body trembled.

“Life can seem overwhelming. Let me ask you this, how do you normally deal with stress?” Spence lowered himself beside her on the pew.

“A year ago, I'd have gone to the club, had a few too many drinks and found somebody to party with to forget all about the stress.” She sniffed and offered a shaky smile. “I can't do that anymore.”

He returned the smile. “No, you can't. But you already know that.” A somber expression covered his face. “Have you prayed about all this?”

“Yes and no.” She shrugged. “I just assumed that it'd get easier.”

“What would get easier?”

“You know, everything. Once I gave my life to Christ, I knew I'd still have bad times, but not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

Where to start? “Well…” How could she explain without going into detail? Start with the most minor infraction. She cleared her throat. “Caleb's probation officer thinks I'm an unfit guardian because of my past.”

Spence's eyes widened. “He came right out and said that?”

“No, but the way he questions me…stares at me, I know.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “He knows about my past and doesn't approve. Probably thinks Caleb would be better off in a foster home. How do I deal with that? The whispers, the innuendos? I've worked so hard to change, to prove to these people I'm not that person anymore.”

“You can't control what others think, Sadie. All you can do is pray for them. Father will deal with them in His way, in His time, just like He did with you.”

“But it hurts so much.” Fresh tears burned her eyes.

“I know.” Spence touched her shoulder again. “You've been handling the gossip and talk for several months without it really getting to you. Why's it upsetting you so much now?”

She hesitated, not knowing how to answer the question. Why was she so upset? Why were Jon's assumptions so different from everyone else's? “Well, because if I'm determined to be an unfit guardian, Caleb will become a ward of the state, and I refuse to let that happen.”

“It takes more than a colored past to prove you are an unfit guardian, Sadie. I'd also suggest you talk with Caleb's probation officer. It's my experience that they really do try to make things work.”

But Caleb being in danger and her not being able to protect him would throw him right into the state's waiting arms. Maybe she should tell Jon and let the state take custody of him—at least then he'd be safe. She recalled the foster home where she'd been placed. If the foster homes now were anything like what she'd experienced, Caleb wouldn't be safe as a ward of the state. She took another deep breath. “And it's hard because we aren't as close as I'd like.”

Spence chuckled. “Typical teenage guy. On top of that, there's no telling what he was exposed to under his father's influence or even in the detention center.”

“True, but I'm trying to help him.”

“Give him time, he'll come around.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Have you turned it over to God?”

“I think so.”

“If you've given the situation to Him, stop trying to take it back. Not seeing immediate results doesn't mean He isn't working on the situation.”

“I know all that, I do, but sometimes…”

“Lean on your faith, Sadie. He brought you to it, so He'll see you through it. Not to say it'll be easy, there are no guarantees of that, but He won't leave you to go through it alone.”

And she knew Pastor was right. She had to trust God. But it was so hard…“And work's all a mess.”

“I caught your press conference. I'm so sorry everything seems to be happening to you at once. Is there anything I can do to help you? You know I'm praying for you.”

“Would you pray with me?”

“Of course.” He took her hand.

She bowed her head and listened, opening her heart to her Redeemer.

Thirty minutes later found Sadie refreshed and renewed in spirit and pulling into the parking lot of the office. The angry group of locals circled the door. She'd been wrong—the press weren't the vultures, these guys were. Was one of them the blackmailer?

Sadie took a deep breath, fixed a nonpatronizing smile upon her face and headed into the mob. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. If you'll follow me.” As she said the words, Sadie turned and led them down the hall to the downstairs conference room.

The men followed, albeit mumbling and grumbling, but at least not shouting. Yet.

She waved at the receptionist, who already had security standing at the ready. Sadie winked at the two burly men as she led the group to the room off the main hallway. She immediately noticed the water pitchers and glasses in the center of the table. At least Georgia was on top of her game. Sadie
took a seat at the table, but not at the head. She didn't want them, even subconsciously, to think she perceived herself their superior. No, she wanted them to feel as if they were on a level playing field.

The men filled in the seats around her, the odor of dirt and sweat permeating the room. Sadie poured herself a glass of water and fought to compose herself. Deacon should be here defending himself and his company. These men didn't want to hear her platitudes—they wanted answers directly from the man himself. Yet that's what he paid her to do, so she'd do her very best to remain calm and try to get these men under control.

“Gentlemen, let me first say that the management of Vermilion Oil is completely distraught over the contaminants leaked into the bayou. Every precaution had been made to ensure the wells and facilities would protect the bayou.”

“Apparently they didn't work so well,” one of the gruff hunters spat out.

“Actually, they did and would have continued to do so had they not been sabotaged.” Sadie swallowed against a dry mouth. These men were more than concerned; they were angry. The sad part was she understood they had every right to be.

“Don't matter. If the rigs weren't there in the first place, this leak never woulda happened.”

She took another sip of water. “I understand how you feel. But Vermilion Oil's rigs in the bayou produce over twelve hundred barrels of oil each month. That's twelve hundred barrels that's produced in the United States, not in the Middle East.”

One of the men slammed his palm on the table. “I don't care where the oil comes from. I do care that now I can't fish for a year because the oil's leaked and the fish will die. What am I supposed to do about money for this year?”

Sweat pooled at the base of her back. How was she supposed to defuse such logical complaints? “Vermilion Oil is working with the Coast Guard and other agencies to enact the fastest and most productive form of cleanup possible. I can assure you that
we're taking every conceivable step to quickly remove the contaminants from the waterways.”

“And what do you intend to do to prevent it from happening again?” a woman's voice asked from the doorway.

Sadie spun to find a very pregnant CoCo LeBlanc-Trahan striding into the room. CoCo, alligator conservationist. Lover of the bayou. A formidable opponent.

And the bayou was definitely CoCo's forte.

“Sorry I'm late.” The dark-haired woman took the seat at the head of the table, smiled at several of the men already seated, then stared at Sadie. “So, what measures is the company taking to ensure another leak doesn't happen?”

Sadie's stomach knotted. Oh, of all the people in Lagniappe to have to face on opposite sides of an issue, why did it have to be her? CoCo had always been devoted to opposing oil and gas rigs in the bayou, clashing with Sadie on a couple of previous occasions. Before she'd been saved, Sadie had made passes, numerous passes, at Luc Trahan. Now Luc was married to CoCo and they were expecting their first child in two months. The dynamics of the situation turned Sadie's stomach. She straightened her shoulders. The bayou might be CoCo's passion, but the boardroom was Sadie's.

“Vermilion Oil is working closely with law enforcement in cooperation with other governing agencies to find these culprits so no future sabotage will occur.”

CoCo tilted her head slightly. “Really? All that to say you haven't a clue who's behind these acts, so you have no way of guaranteeing something like this won't happen again to Vermilion's rigs.”

“There's no way to guarantee such.”

CoCo smiled, sending unease throughout Sadie. “Sure there is. Close down all the wells in the bayou until you catch the guys.”

 

“Mr. Garrison!”

Jon stood from behind his desk. Lisa had already left, so the man's voice surprised him. He stuck his head out of his office
door to see the man standing in the room. “Bruce. What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you. I have to report something.” The man wore a tense expression.

“Sure, come on in.” Jon waved the man inside before returning to his desk. “What can I do for you?”

Bruce sat on the edge of the wooden chair in front of the desk. “According to my papers, I'm supposed to report to you any contact I have with the police, right?”

“Right. Let me get your case open.” Jon searched for the file on his computer, worried about the man as he read the notes.

Bruce Boudreaux: incarcerated four years for assault on his supervisor who'd just pink-slipped him; time served without incident; sentenced to two years probation and five years supervised release; already served eighteen months of probation with no violations.

“Okay. Have you had a run-in with the police?” Jon studied Bruce, taking in the wideness of his eyes, the paleness of his complexion.

“The FBI. Two agents came with Sheriff Theriot, asking me about those damaged wells.”

Oh, no. The feds sure acted fast on this one. “I know. They're just following all leads.”

“They came to my place of employment. Asked me where I was on certain days—like I can remember things like that. They told me they'd be checking out my story and coming back.” The man's hands shook. “I don't know what they're talking about. I didn't do anything.”

Jon knew he couldn't be involved. Bruce was one of the few men on Jon's roster who looked to beat the statistics. He'd gotten married a year ago and his wife expected their first baby in five months. Bruce held down a steady job with a local attorney, doing courthouse records lookups and such.

“Calm down. I'm sure they're just questioning a lot of people right now. You don't have anything to be concerned about.”

“I think you're wrong, Mr. Garrison. One of them asked me about my wife's ex-husband working for Vermilion Oil. They said maybe I'd struck out at the company to put him out of work.” Bruce stood and paced. “They sounded real serious when they said they'd be back. What am I gonna do? I don't know anything about those damaged wells.”