Bayou Corruption (19 page)

Why couldn't he just ignore the way she seemed to wiggle into his heart? Every time he looked at her, pain sliced through him like a knife. A slow, dull knife.

“Where's my sister?”

“She and Luc went to talk to the doctors. To see if there's any new information about Bubba's condition.”

“Oh.” She opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut, as if she reconsidered saying anything more.

“While you were gone, I did what you asked.”

“Which was what?” she questioned.

“I put in a call to one of the old-timers at the paper to see if he could dig up what your mom had been working on before…before the accident.”

“Before she was murdered.” Her voice quivered on the last word.

Jackson's heart pounded. He didn't want to be at odds with her. Not when he had a sneaking suspicion he'd fallen for her. “He said he'd get back with me tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

No longer able to resist the echoes of his heart, he took her elbow and drew her to him. “Alyssa, I need to know something.”

“What?” Her breath fanned his face.

“Are you just using me, or do you care about me?”

Her eyes widened, the green flashing. “Do you really think that—that I'm just using you?”

He swallowed, his Adam's apple scraping against his throat. “I don't know. I just want to make sure because I think I'm fall—”

“Jackson, Alyssa, come here. The doctor has something to tell us about Bubba,” Luc yelled.

“H
is trachea sustained damage in the assault. His vocal cords suffered the brunt of the injury. We don't know the full extent yet, but for now, he can't talk.”

Alyssa held Jackson's hand tighter, trying to convey the support she offered him. He squeezed back. “But he's okay, right?”

Dr. Wahl gave a noncommittal shrug. “We can't say just yet. His organs are functioning. We were able to remove the breathing and feeding tubes without incident. The preliminary tests reflect a positive prognosis. But until we get the rest of the results back, I can't estimate the level of his recovery.”

Agent Lockwood and Deputy Anderson exchanged glances in the semicircle. Law enforcement personnel and local townspeople filled the ICU waiting room. News of the sheriff's awakening had spread across the bayou.

“Can he communicate in any method? Writing or blinking?” Agent Lockwood asked.

“Both of his hands are incapacitated at this time. But his eyes are responsive.”

“Maybe I could get him to blink answers?”

The doctor held up his hand. “Right now, Sheriff Theriot needs his rest to recuperate. His body is drained and the tests have been exhaustive. No one will be allowed to see him for several hours. I'd suggest you all go home and come back later. We'll know more then.”

Agent Lockwood pulled Agent Ward to the side. They conversed in whispers in the corner. Alyssa studied them. She'd love to be a fly on the wall.

“I guess there's no point in hanging around,” CoCo said.

People filed from the waiting room until only a few remained.

“I need to let Felicia know what's going on. She'll be praying until I get back.” Luc smiled as he mentioned his sister. He hugged CoCo to his side. “Wanna ride home?”

CoCo stared at Alyssa. “You leaving?”

Alyssa glanced at Jackson. “I'll be home shortly.”

Her sister darted glances from Alyssa to Jackson. “Okay. Well then, I'll see you at home. I'll check on Grandmere and Tara.”

Agent Lockwood nodded to Alyssa before moving to stand outside the sheriff's hospital room. Relief filled her. At least he kept his promise.

Jackson let go of her hand. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. What had he been about to say before Luc interrupted them? Would he tell her now?

“I'm going to talk to the nurse for a second. She's let me see Bubba after visiting hours every day this week. Maybe she'll at least let me slip in and say goodbye.”

Disappointment flooded her as he walked away. She'd really hoped to get the topic back to what Jackson had started before. She needed to make him understand she wasn't using him. Maybe she'd be brave enough to tell him just how much she really cared. Too much to turn back now.

Alyssa clasped her hands in front of her. Jackson moved from the nurses' station. He'd understand. But he didn't approach her. He slipped inside the sheriff's room.

 

The room felt colder than Jackson remembered. He stood over Bubba's bed, staring down at his friend. At least with all the tubes removed from his mouth, he looked more like the buddy Jackson loved.

Bubba opened his eyes. His lips curled into a smile of sorts.

“Didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to check on you before I headed out.”

Blink.

Deliberate. Now his friend stared intently at him.

“Are you trying to tell me something, pard?”

Blink.

Jackson pulled the chair next to the bed and sat. “One blink means yes?”

Again, a deliberate blink.

“All right. Two blinks means no, okay?”

Bubba blinked once.

“Do you know who did this to you?”

One blink.

Jackson leaned forward, his toe tapped the floor. “Was Martin Gocheaux involved?”

A fast blink.

It was one thing to suspect, but another to get confirmation. Both of Jackson's feet bounced against the floor. “What about Roger Thibodeaux—was he involved?”

Blink.

“Anybody else?”

Another blink.

“Someone else in the department?”

Nothing.

“Do you know the other man?”

One blink.

“Do I?”

Blink. Blink.

“Look, I've been working with Alyssa LeBlanc in unraveling all this. She's got me all tied up, but that's another story. Would she know this other man?” And if she did, why hadn't she recognized his voice?

No response.

“You don't know that either.” Leaning back against the chair, Jackson flipped things over in his mind. “Is it someone from Lagniappe?”

A slow blink.

“And he's connected to Roger Thibodeaux and Martin Gocheaux?”

Another affirmative reply.

“I'm still working undercover on the docks. I found…”

Bubba blinked several times over.

“I'm on the right track with the docks, aren't I? The money in the bayou is payment for smuggling, isn't it? From the rice plant.”

Another yes.

“Drug smuggling.”

Two blinks.

Jackson cocked his head. “Not drugs? Are you sure?” He'd been so certain. “But it is smuggling, right?”

Bubba blinked.

Smuggling something other than drugs. What? Something worth a lot of money, obviously. Jackson flipped through his past assignments. Drugs, illegal aliens—which wouldn't apply here…

A recent article he'd written flared in his mind. Jackson jumped to his feet. “Are they smuggling illeg—”

“You aren't supposed to be in here,” Dr. Wahl admonished. “My patient needs his rest. You need to leave.”

“Just a second, Doctor.” Jackson turned back to Bubba. “Illegal weapons?”

“You'll have to leave now, Mr. Devereaux.”

“But—”

“Now.”

Dejection headlined his emotions. He opened the door and cast a glance over his shoulder to his friend.

Blink.

J
ackson came out of the sheriff's hospital room, his face aglow.

The FBI agent huffed. “No one was supposed to be in there.”

“Bubba communicated with me.” Jackson faced Agent Lockwood. “He confirmed that Martin Gocheaux was one of his attackers. He confirmed Roger Thibodeaux was involved. He con—”

“How did he confirm anything?” the agent asked.

“I did what you said, got Bubba to blink a response. One blink for yes and two for no.”

Agent Lockwood pulled out his notebook and scribbled. “Gocheaux and Thibodeaux involved. What else?”

“Someone else was, too, but I don't know that person.”

“Anything else?”

“They're smuggling out of the rice plant, like Alyssa and I suspected, but it's not drugs.”

“Then what?” Alyssa interjected.

He smiled at her. “Guns.”

“That's why the DEA dog couldn't sniff out anything.” Alyssa couldn't fight her smile.

“Bingo.” Finally, they were getting answers.

“Excuse me,” Agent Lockwood interrupted. “Guns are being smuggled out of the rice plant?”

Jackson nodded and explained about the rice plant and the intercoastal port.

“Haven't you two just been the busy little beavers?” Agent Lockwood asked when Jackson had finished.

“He's my friend and called me to help.”

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Alyssa wet her lips. “There have been allegations that Senator Mouton could be involved.”

The agent rolled his eyes. “And the hits just keep on coming.”

“Nothing proven. I haven't been able to link anything yet.”

“And you won't, either. As of now, I'm going to order you two to stay out of my investigation. I'll call in ATF to investigate the gun-smuggling theory, but you two are to stay out of this. Got that?”

Neither Alyssa nor Jackson moved.

“If you don't, I'll have you arrested for obstruction of justice. I'm not kidding.” Agent Lockwood threw them a final glare before yanking out his cell again.

Jackson grabbed her hand and headed to the elevators.

“The sheriff's okay?”

“He looks good. From the way he acted, there's nothing seriously wrong with his mind. He was totally coherent, knew what I was asking. Always the cop.”

The elevator dinged. They stepped inside and Jackson continued. “I asked Bubba if you would know who the other men involved were, and he indicated he didn't know.”

“I wish
I
did.”

“I know.”

The doors slid open. Alyssa led the way to the parking lot. She unlocked the Honda. “What are you going to do?”

“Follow you home, of course.”

Goosebumps of joy raced up her arm. “Okay.”

Remembering to keep her speed under the limit, Alyssa kept checking in her rearview mirror. Jackson's truck stayed on her tail. That could be a good thing.

Or bad.

 

Couldn't the woman drive any faster?

She was going as slowly as if she were out on a Sunday afternoon drive. Jackson tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and offered up thanksgiving for Bubba's healing.

The ringing of his BlackBerry interrupted his prayer.

“Jackson Devereaux.”

“Hey, there. It's Mac.”

“How're things back in the room?” The old newshound had bestowed the nickname on the newsroom two decades ago, and everyone still used the moniker.

“Good. Listen, I went back and pulled everything we had on what Claire LeBlanc was working on at the time of her death. You have no idea how dusty it is in the storage room. You owe me.”

“You got it. What'd you find?”

“There's nothing official here, but I did find her handwritten notes from her desk calendar. They were stuffed in a box marked her articles. Can you believe they kept all this?”

“Mac,” Jackson ground out.

“Right. Well, according to her notes, she was following up on an old interview with the mayor of N'Orleans and also planned to head to her hometown to work on something undercover.”

Jackson's heart leaped into his mouth. “Are there any notes on the undercover assignment?”

“Looks like she'd jotted down random phrases. None of it makes sense to me.”

“What are the phrases?”

“Rice plant, then the name Kevin Arnold under that.” Rustling of papers sounded over Mac's hoarse breathing, indicative of his many years smoking. “The name Roger is on the next page with a circle around it.”

Bull's-eye.

Mac coughed. “There's a little rectangle on the side with the name Edmond in it. Has a question mark beside his name.”

Oh, no. Lewis might be right.

“That's it. Any of this helpful?”

“All of it. Thanks, Mac. Can you fax it to me, here? I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than that, boy.” Mac harked out a wheeze before asking for the fax number.

Jackson tossed the BlackBerry into the truck's console and followed Alyssa into her driveway.

How would he find the words to tell her that she'd been right?

Her parents had been murdered.

 

She waited for him on the veranda. He dragged his feet as he trudged up the stairs. When he finally met her gaze, a sense of foreboding clawed its way into her chest.

“What?”

“I got a call on the way over.”

“The sheriff?” Her heart thudded.

“No.” Jackson nodded to the big rockers. “Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

She dropped into a chair. “What?”

“I heard back from my man at the paper.”

Oh, no. Her mother.

Alyssa dove her hand into her pocket for her lip balm. “What'd you find out?”

He ran a hand over his hair.

“Just say it.”

He twisted his hands. “You were right. Your mother was working on something involving all this. Her handwritten notes are jumbled, but basically she wrote the words: rice plant, Kevin Arnold, Roger and Edmond. The notes are being faxed to Bubba's house.”

She swallowed. Why hadn't she made the connection sooner? Lewis had told her Kevin Arnold had contacted a reporter at the
Times-Picayune
to help him expose the discrepancies at the rice plant. Of course, he'd contacted her mother. She hadn't picked up on the reference because her mother'd been a photojournalist, but to a layman, journalist and photojournalist were close enough. Hadn't Senator Mouton made the same implication?

Senator Mouton. Her mother had implied his involvement with his name in her notes. But how? Why? He'd helped build her mother's career. He spoke at her funeral. Surely he couldn't be involved. Dismay nearly choked her.

“Are you okay?” Jackson's gentle touch on her hand softened the heartache.

“She
was
murdered.”

“We don't know that, but it looks like a definite possibility.” His hand grasped hers.

“So this Kevin Arnold called her and asked for help.” She closed her eyes, drawing strength from Jackson's touch. “Knowing Momee, she'd agree to help. She probably made some connections like we did—Roger Thibodeaux to the rice plant.”

“
Chère,
you can let this drop if it's too painful.”

She jerked her gaze to his face. Such concern and…what other emotion shone so brightly in his face? She shook her head. “No, I need to know. I have to know the truth.”

“I understand.”

“I need to figure out the link between the Senator and this smuggling.” She stood, immediately missing the warmth of his touch as she did. “I still find it hard to believe he would be involved with anything that hurt my mother.”

“I hope he wasn't.” Jackson stood and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“But I have to know.”

His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips.

Her scar tingled.

As if he knew, he cupped her face in his hands. His thumb gently caressed her scar. She closed her eyes.

“I'm going to kiss you again,
chère.
” His voice came out husky, but she didn't have time to think about that before his lips were on hers. Moving softly, caressing her. She wound her arms around his neck, responding.

He ended the kiss well before she would have liked. He planted light feathery pecks against her cheeks, eyes and forehead before kissing her scar. She stared into his eyes.

“Now's not the time to have the discussion I wanted to, so I'll save it for later.” He planted a final kiss on the end of her nose. “But we
will
eventually talk about this thing between us.”

Alyssa watched him get into his truck and pull away. Her heartbeat raced as if she'd just been chased through the bayou.

Inside, CoCo sat on the couch beside Grandmere and Tara. She glanced up as Alyssa shut the front door. “Did you hear anything more about the sheriff's condition?”

She brought them up to speed on the sheriff's communicating with Jackson.

“So you were right?”

“Not only about that.” She glanced at her grandmother, taking notice of her skin tone. Rosy, not the pallor she'd exhibited in the hospital.

“What else,
ma chère?
”

“Someone did set out to murder Momee.” The tears she'd held back when Jackson had revealed what he learned sprang forth and made tracks down her cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” Tara asked.

Between sniffles, she filled her baby sister in on her memory and what she suspected. Then she told them about Momee's handwritten notes. “That's why they killed Momee and Papa.”

“You don't know that for sure, Al,” CoCo said.

“It sounds pretty definite to me.” Tara jumped to her feet. “Why didn't anyone tell me about your dream?”

“I'm sorry. I should have. It's just been so…hectic.”

“I can't believe you didn't say anything. You found the time to tell CoCo. Just because I'm the youngest doesn't mean you sh—”

“Enough, child.” Grandmere shifted on the old floral couch. “Do you believe Senator Mouton could really be involved in something that would have harmed Claire?”

“Of course, he couldn't,” CoCo interrupted. “He was her friend. Remember the lovely things he said at the funeral?”

“Aside from that.” Grandmere peered into Alyssa's face. “You do think it's possible, don't you,
ma chère?
”

“I hope I'm wrong, but I do.” Alyssa twisted her hands in her lap.

“How do we find out?” Tara asked.

“We can't. We don't. We leave it in the hands of the police.” CoCo glanced at Alyssa. “The FBI and now the ATF are involved. We let them handle it.”

“Like you let the police handle the investigation into Beau Trahan's death?” Tara spat out.

“Well, we certainly can't just go up to the senator and accuse him,” CoCo retorted.

Alyssa felt all the blood drain from her face, leaving her chilled.

“Child, what's wrong?” Grandmere laid her hand over Alyssa's.

“That's it.” Alyssa shoved to her feet so fast, her equilibrium faltered and dizziness washed over her.

“What're you talking about?” Tara asked.

“That's what Momee would've done. If she thought her friend, someone she cared about, could be involved in something like this, she would have confronted him.”

CoCo's eyes widened. “She wouldn't have confronted the senator.”

“
Mai, ma chère,
I think Alyssa may be right. Claire probably would have.”

“And once the senator knew she was hot on his trail, he what? Denied it?” CoCo planted her hands on her hips.

“Or ordered her to be taken care of,” Alyssa whispered. “Told someone to murder her and make it look like an accident.”