A Different Kind of Man (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Cox, Suzanne

  Her lips thinned and her pulse quickened to a rapid pace. Finding the number for the sheriff’s department on her beeper wasn’t usually a good sign. Putting her pen and notebook aside, she found her cell phone and called the number.

  “Dana, it’s Em. What’s up?” Emalea tapped her finger on the desk hoping someone had dropped a boat motor in the river and needed help locating it.

  “Thank goodness I got you, Em. There’s been a shooting at the boat launch at Red Bluff Road.”

  “A shooting? What do you mean?”

  “I mean someone’s been shot and killed. The body’s still there. Jackson thinks the shooter might have tossed the gun in the water. Matt wants you to get your gear and come have a look-see.”

  Emalea groaned inwardly. “I’m on my way.”

  Diving in the river was something she absolutely hated, though she’d never admit it. The water was muddy and she was never sure just what she might find in the heavy silt.

  Leaving the school behind, she tried to keep herself calm. She hadn’t even asked who’d been shot. People just didn’t get shot in Cypress Landing. Unless you counted the time Ole Sebe’s hunting rifle had gone off and the bullet had grazed Grady Redding’s arm. Unfortunately, working search-and-rescue meant seeing some ugliness firsthand. She generally ended up knowing way more about crimes in the community than she wanted. This was definitely going to be one of those times.

  THE SCENT OF MUDDY WATER, crushed grass and car exhaust was thick in the air as Emalea sat on the tailgate of her truck tugging her wet suit on over a bright blue swimsuit. The water wouldn’t be cold, but she liked the protection of the wet suit, and if the search took very long, even the warmest water could begin to chill.

  She watched the deputies keep back a few nosy onlookers. With its grassy parking area and shade trees, Red Bluff boat launch was a more likely place for a picnic than a shooting. The launch itself was at the bottom of the hill and not quite as picturesque. The current here didn’t make it a very good place to launch a boat, so few people used it, but the parish kept it in working condition as best they could, though she remembered hearing that it was underwater only a few weeks ago.

  With her weight belt fastened and her tank secured to her buoyancy compensator vest, she was ready to go. The buoyancy compensator, or BC jacket, could be inflated with air to keep her from sinking to the bottom of the river once she was underwater. The regulator she would breath from was also attached to the tank and swinging near her arm. With fins and an underwater metal detector in hand, she set off in a cumbersome gait to the river’s edge.

  “Em, sorry I had to call you.” Matt took off his shades to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “I tried Bud and Cody, but they were both working out of town.”

  The wet suit was making the heat feel oppressive, and Emalea took a deep breath. “No problem, I can do it. Was the victim someone from around here?”

  Matt shook his head. “No. He had an Illinois driver’s license.”

  A large body appeared between Emalea and the river. “What are you doing?”

  Her mouth was dry, and she had to wet her lips with a parched tongue before she could speak. “I’m searching for the gun you think is in the river.” She flapped her fins against her leg. “Kind of obvious I would think.”

  Jackson turned to Matt. “Absolutely not. She’s not doing this. If there’s no one else, I’ll do it.”

  Matt winked while attaching a safety rope to the front of Emalea’s vest. “She’s doing it, Jackson. You’re the investigator. I need you up here coordinating. She’s the search-and-rescue diver. This is what she does.”

  Jackson didn’t move for a moment, then his fingers closed around her upper arm.

  “No. It’s too dangerous. The current’s fast, and who knows what could be down there.”

  Emalea made a half step but the restraint at her arm tightened and she jerked to loosen his grip. When he wouldn’t let go, she felt a little sick. She twisted roughly away from him, nearly upending herself. Matt held her shoulder to keep her from falling.

  “Enough already. We did handle things before you got here.” The sheriff glared at Jackson.

  Bossy, and overbearing, that’s what he was. She poked his arm with the metal detector. “Don’t worry, boss, I can handle it.” She moved away from him and waded into the water.

  Following her, he caught her upper arm again but this time with less force. She noticed Matt still watching them. If Jackson planned on manhandling her, he’d have a huge fight on his hands. Instead he helped her balance, as she lifted one foot then the other to slide her fins in place. When she reached for her mask, he still held on.

  “I’ll be needing that arm.”

  He tightened his grip. “Be careful. If something doesn’t feel right, I want you back here immediately, understand?”

  “You act like the shooter’s sitting on bottom waiting for me.”

  “I don’t want you sitting on bottom.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  Grabbing the slate and pencil hanging from her BC, he jotted compass coordinates. “Use your compass and work this grid. I don’t know how deep it is here but don’t go deeper than fifty feet.”

  Emalea flashed him a thumbs-up then settled her mask on her face. She placed the headphones attached to the metal detector over her ears before wading into the murky water. Her first thought was how many times she’d have to wash her hair to get rid of the gunk.

  Two flicks on the hose had the air adjusted in her BC jacket and she turned on her headlight. Now she was ready to work. Kicking hard, she made her way around the river bottom in small squares as Jackson had planned. Nothing but thick brown water swirled around her while the staccato beats of the metal detector sounded in her ears. The darkness began to close in and her chest tightened. She forced herself to breathe slowly and repeat, “Stay calm, this is important.” Her pulse slowed and she began the painstaking process again.

  With only one small section of her search incomplete, Emalea had nearly decided the gun wasn’t there. Then the beeping of the machine changed. Her hand plunged into the mud, fingers connecting with something solid. Even through her gloves, she could tell it wasn’t a gun. Probing farther, she realized it was a heavy cloth, probably a bag that had fallen off someone’s boat.

  She grasped the strap of the bundle, but it was wrapped around what she thought was a tree limb. Giving the bag a jerk, she sent silt swirling into the cone of light from her lamp. The thing felt as if it weighed a ton. Whatever it was would be the devil to get to the bank. Her fins planted in the mud, she hauled at the object. Something was coming toward her. It was… Oh God, a man’s face. And most of the flesh was missing from one side.

  Letting go, she pushed for the surface. At the first brush of late evening sun on her skin, she flung the regulator aside sucking in the warm thick air. When she exhaled, the scream that had been bubbling all the way from her toes went with it. In her peripheral vision she saw Jackson shove the deputy holding her safety line to the ground. Then he grabbed the line himself and pulled until she was at the bottom of the launch. Her legs wouldn’t seem to work so she stayed on her hands and knees, gasping.

  A huge pair of hands jerked her gear off and carried her to the back seat of the sheriff’s cruiser. Jackson swept scraggly wet hair away from her cheeks, until she could at last get her eyes to focus.

  “Everything’s fine, Emalea. Just relax, then tell me what happened.”

  Those brown eyes should have revived harrowing images of surging, dirt-filled water, but they didn’t. She could have happily, peacefully drowned in these depths.

  “It’s… There’s another body.”

  Jackson shot a look at Matt, who leaned into the car.

  “I found something that felt like a bag. I think the arm of whoever it is might be tangled in the strap. When I yanked it really hard, a corpse floated right here.” She held a hand in front of her face, her body shivering uncontrollably.

  Her wet suit
would soak Jackson’s clothes, but the thought of protesting never crossed her mind when he pulled her close. She was beyond questioning why.

  “Get someone in here to recover that body before the current takes it,” Jackson said to Matt.

  “No, I can do it.” Dragging someone else in to finish her job wasn’t an option.

  Arms tightened around her. “You’re not going back down there.”

  She pushed him away. “Of course I am. I know where to find the body. Send me with an extra line and I’ll tie it off. You can pull in the body and the bag.”

  “I’ve got another line in my trunk,” Matt said and headed for the back of the car.

  Jackson moved with a swiftness Emalea hadn’t expected of such a big man. With one hand to the shoulder, he spun Matt around. “I said she isn’t going to do it.”

  Matt spread his feet and stared. Jackson’s hands were clenched into fists, and she waited for him to take a swing. But Cypress Landing’s sheriff wasn’t one to back down, even when he was outsized. Matt continued to stand his ground.

  Where was the man she’d shared a glass of tea with just a week ago? She’d been right to be afraid when he’d mentioned people letting loose their bad side. Emalea shivered and this time not from the cold water or the thought of the dead body she’d pulled from the mud. Jackson’s face was tight and the anger in his eyes seemed to have a life of its own.

  Finally, Matt spoke, his lips thin and voice tight. “This is Emalea’s job as part of the SAR team. She said she’s willing to do it, so she will.” He paused for a moment. “I thought you told me you had a handle on this.”

  Jackson’s whole body seemed to droop as he looked away. He strode quietly to the river as if he’d forgotten both of them. Had a handle on what? she wondered.

  Matt retrieved the rope from the trunk and handed it to her. “He has a problem with his temper, so you steer clear.” He stood in front of her for a moment before going to answer a call on the radio. He didn’t bother to explain what had just happened, but one thing was obvious. She couldn’t risk getting to know Jackson Cooper.

  As she pulled on her gear, Jackson appeared beside her. She would have preferred to ignore him, but he seemed intent on trying to help her.

  “I’ll tie the bag and the body to this extra line, then you can pull both to the bank,” she told him.

  He took the rope from her and knotted it to her vest. “This is the kind of stuff that will give you nightmares,” he said in a gruff whisper. His breath was warm against her ear. She hadn’t realized he was standing so close.

  “They’ll have to get in line.” Their breath intermingled, and Jackson leaned toward her then blinked and quickly straightened. Emalea waded into the murky river again. More afraid of what was on the bank than what was in the water.

  Using her compass as a guide, she went immediately to the spot where the body had been. Of course, the current had shifted it. As the minutes ticked by, she was certain the men on the shore were getting more anxious. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the slow pace.

  Just when she was beginning to think she’d never find the bag or the body, she felt something. This time, she grasped a pant leg. Continuing to delve around the muck, her hands landed on the bag. She found what felt like the handle and ran her extra line through it. Now for the worst part. Locating the leg again, she inched her hand along until she found a belt loop. Not allowing her brain to dwell on exactly what she was doing, Emalea knotted the line onto the loop then swam away. She surfaced and waved to the men.

  As she started toward the boat launch, she felt herself being propelled through the water. Glancing ahead, she saw Jackson pulling at the safety line hooked to her vest while a few feet away deputies hauled in the body and bag. With his help, she was on the bank in a matter of seconds.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, taking off her gear.

  He stepped forward to help her but she waved him off.

  “I’ve got it. I just want to get this stuff off me. I’m sure they need you over there.” She tipped her head toward the bank where the body was lying.

  He took a step away, then paused. “I’d like to see you before you leave.”

  She frowned. “Sorry, but I’m going straight home to bathe for an hour or three. I imagine you’ll be tied up here a while.”

  For an instant Emalea thought she heard him sigh. But he left without another word. Struggling to her truck, she dumped her gear in the back and slammed the tailgate. She’d spend the first hour washing the dirty water from her diving equipment. As the truck rumbled down the road, she wondered if anything would wash from her mind the image of the body floating in front of her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JACKSON PUT ON LATEX GLOVES before grasping the handle of the muddy bag. So much for a calm job in a quiet town. He’d come here expecting a less stressful life and all he seemed to find was more confusion. Two dead bodies, one with a bag full of who knew what, only promised trouble for the folks of Cypress Landing.

  He tugged at the sludge-covered zipper with one hand while scraping mud from its path with the other. Someone had made a hasty exit to leave this behind.

  When he finally opened the bag, he cursed. He hadn’t expected this. Drugs, yes. With the city of New Orleans not far away, it would only stand to reason that a certain amount of drug trade would be happening in the smaller surrounding towns. Drugs could be quick money, dangerous but quick.

  A canvas bag full of guns was another matter entirely. Guns were one of the favorite items of trade for the Mafia family he’d investigated while still part of the FBI. Just when he thought he’d be tracking down stolen boats and lost hunting dogs, he’d found a bag of guns. And these weren’t destined for the local deer hunter, either. Right at the top were two assault rifles. If a sportsman planned on landing a trophy buck with this, he’d sure taken a risk.

  “Do you think these two were together?” Jackson recognized Matt’s voice above him and looked to see the sheriff motioning toward the first body they’d found on the riverbank.

  Jackson lifted one of the assault rifles turning it slowly from side to side. “My guess would be yes, although we’ll know more when we get the autopsies and some of the forensics back.”

  “No serial number.” Matt pointed to the gun before Jackson dropped it back in the bag. “That could have been made in somebody’s own makeshift gun factory or else there’s a gun maker doing a few illegals. Either way we can’t track guns without serial numbers.”

  “Let’s hope they’re not all like that.” Peeling off his gloves, Jackson got to his feet. The scenery was different in Cypress Landing, but that might end up being the only difference if his cases continued to be like this one.

  “I’m going to talk to the guys collecting evidence.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER Jackson had three men helping the state crime lab officials scour the area for pieces of evidence as he leaned against the sheriff’s car writing notes on a pad. Nearer the river, Matt stood in the glare of car lights and battery-powered spotlights they’d set up to help them work into the night. Beside him a slim woman with long black hair squatted fingering the dirt before making marks on a piece of paper she had fastened to a clipboard. Jackson returned to his own notes only to look up fifteen minutes later and see her still there, moving about in an ever-widening circle. Every few steps she would pause, look at the ground, scratch on her clipboard or shuffle through the papers. Several times, she touched the ground or picked up a piece of dirt and held it to her nose. After thirty minutes of this, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to know what she was doing. Besides, she was stomping around in his crime scene, even if she did have Matt’s permission.

  “What’s going on?”

  Matt held up his hand to silence him and Jackson crossed his arms and sighed impatiently. Several more minutes passed before the woman stopped in front of them.

  “Finished?”

  “I’ll need a bit longer then I’ll type it up for you if you like.”


  Jackson stared at the two of them as they ignored him.

  “Good.” Matt nodded. “Remember, give it just to me.” He glanced at Jackson.

  The woman smiled. “I know, it’s all unofficial.” She stuck out a slightly grimy hand. “Hi. Brijette Dupré. Matt called me in.”

  Jackson shook her hand “What exactly are you doing here?”

  “Brijette’s on the search-and-rescue team. You didn’t get to meet her the other day, but she’s our tracker.”

  He gave a quick glance at Matt. “As in she follows human tracks?”

  The woman gave a soft laugh.

  “How exactly is that supposed to help us?”

  “Brijette, why don’t you give Jackson here your brief first impression so far.” Matt winked at the girl and Jackson felt like he was missing the joke, but then there wasn’t a lot of call for trackers in Chicago.

  “This is what I can see.” She started walking, with Jackson and Matt following close behind. “Four guys got off a boat or boats here.” She pointed to the ground where Jackson only saw a bunch of footprints. “They all jumped off. One of them had something heavy, probably that bag you found. Then another person came from the parking area. He walked down here and at some point, the guy with the bag got back on the boat. Something happened, and they moved really fast from this spot. Possibly the shooting of the guy you found on the bank. The person who came from up the hill went back to his car and one of the guys from the boat went with him. The other got back on the boat in a hurry.” She pointed to the edge of the water. “Someone slipped right here. I’ll look some more and be more detailed in the written report.”