by BJ Bourg
BUT NOT
FORGIVEN
A Clint Wolf Novel
(Book 2)
___________________
BY
BJ BOURG
www.bjbourg.com
BUT NOT FORGIVEN
A Clint Wolf Novel (Book 2) by BJ Bourg
This book is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or
reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author, with the exception of brief
excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2016 by BJ Bourg
ISBN-13: 978-1534776999
ISBN-10: 1534776990
Cover design by Christine Savoie of Bayou Cover Designs
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 1
Sunday, July 6
Main Street, Mechant Loup, LA
Susan Wilson stopped at the corner of Bayou Tail Lane and Jezebel Drive and sat there, her left turn signal clicking impatiently. She gripped the steering wheel of her marked cruiser and stared straight ahead, wondering if what she was about to do was inappropriate. It wasn’t illegal, but was it morally okay?
“You’re just an officer bringing her chief a birthday cake,” she said out loud. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
With renewed determination, she jerked the wheel to the left and drove south along Jezebel until she came to Clint Wolf’s house. Clint had been hired as the new police chief less than a month ago, but it seemed like a year. A lot had happened in that short period of time and she felt like she knew Clint better than some of the locals she’d known for years—better than her own family, even. She would never admit it out loud, but he was the first man who truly excited her. Sure, his chiseled cheeks, dark features, and muscular build didn’t hurt, but there was much more to her new boss. Something deeper drew her to him. Is it the dead look in his eyes and the fact that he’s suffered so much grief? she wondered. Is my fascination with him some deep-seeded desire to fix him? Is it a motherly thing? She grunted and shook her head, laughing at the idea. “I’d rather break someone. Nope, I think I’m—”
Susan suddenly stopped speaking when she saw the vehicle in the yard. She knew it wasn’t Chloe Rushing’s car, but she didn’t recognize it and that bothered her. She knew every car in town. She glanced toward the front of the house and could see through the screen door enough to tell that the main door was open, but she couldn’t see inside from that angle. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering if she should get down. What if it was someone from the city—some old friend visiting after everything that had happened? What if it was his mom?
“To hell with it. Everyone likes cake.” She slipped from the driver’s seat and paused long enough to tug at the bottom of her red dress. It had been years since she’d worn one and she felt ridiculous in it. “Why’d I put this damn thing on again?” she asked herself, snatching the cake from the seat and pushing the door shut.
Susan strode across the yard—the muscles in her tanned legs rippling as she walked—and had just reached the steps when she heard a loud voice booming from inside the house.
“You took away the last thing that mattered to me, Clint Wolf. For that, you have to die.”
Susan’s heart began pounding in her chest. She kicked off her shoes and tiptoed up to the porch, craning her neck to see inside the house.
“All this time you pretended to be grieving with me, but you were plotting against me,” came a heated response. It was Clint and he sounded equally as angry as the other man. “You shady bastard.”
Susan inched across the porch and reached for the screen door, pulling it open.
She heard Clint saying, “You don’t have the balls to pull—”
Just as Susan stepped through the doorway, a gunshot exploded directly in front of her. It only took a split second for her to take in the scene; some man—a large man—had just shot Chief Clint Wolf point-blank in the stomach. A scream of anger ripped from Susan’s throat as she dropped the cake and struggled to rip her gun from the thigh holster. Everything in the room seemed to slow down and Susan found herself thinking very clearly. She was astutely aware that Clint’s knees had hit the floor at the same time the cake did and that the man was stepping forward to finish him off. Using her left hand to grip the holster, she jerked upward as hard as she could, ripping the gun free. The metallic click of the man’s revolver being cocked was deafening. Susan tried to bring her hand up as fast as she could, but it, too, was moving in slow motion.
Clint knelt before the man, staring up at the revolver that was pressed to his forehead. “Do it,” Clint said, straightening his shoulders proudly.
The explosion that followed was deafening and Susan jumped in her skin. Relief quickly surged through her body when she realized she’d gotten her shot off just in time. The man hollered in pain, but Susan didn’t waste any time or take any chances. She stepped forward and fired the next shot right into the back of the man’s head, shutting him up forever.
The man collapsed and Clint sank to the ground beside him, struggling for air. Susan pulled her phone from a pocket in her dress and called 9-1-1, barking orders at the call taker. When she’d given her location and requested emergency medical assistance, she rushed forward and dropped to the floor beside Clint, cradling his head in her lap. Blood oozed from his belly and matched the color of her dress. He tried to talk but couldn’t. She knew it wasn’t good and panic started to settle in the pit of her stomach.
“Clint, can you hear me?” she called, trying to project an air of confidence. “It’s Susan. Hang on! Keep breathing. An ambulance is en route. Come on—keep breathing!” Tears welled up in Susan’s eyes as she suddenly realized what had drawn her to him…he reminded her o
f her father. “Please don’t die, Clint. Please, not you, too!”
CHAPTER 2
Fifteen months later...
Thursday, October 8
Chateau Parish Courthouse
I cleared my throat and glanced around the large courtroom. The hearing was closed to the public, leaving the two dozen wooden pews empty. The only chairs occupied were those in the jury box and at the prosecutor’s table. Adjusting the ballistic vest under my tan uniform shirt, I leaned close to the microphone. “I’m Clint Wolf, chief of the Mechant Loup Police Department.”
First Assistant District Attorney Isabel Compton nodded, and then asked me to recount the events of July sixth. Although it had been over a year ago, I remembered every detail like it was yesterday. I turned to face the grand jury. There were twelve of them—seven men and five women. The youngest was a female who looked to be about nineteen and the oldest was a man who had to be knocking on seventy.
I’d testified in court dozens of times as a patrol cop and even more as a homicide detective for the City of La Mort, but this was different. A lot was riding on my testimony. What I said would mean the difference between Susan Wilson being indicted for first degree murder or going free. In Louisiana, being convicted of first degree murder meant one of two things—the death penalty or life in prison without parole. I took a sip from the glass of water that the court reporter had offered me. When I returned it to the counter, my hand shook and I almost spilled it. I cleared my throat again and took a deep breath.
“I’d just returned home from the hospital,” I began. “My house was a wreck, so I started to clean things up when I heard a knock on the door.”
Isabel stepped forward and pushed a length of blonde hair behind her ear, shifted her dark brown eyes—which were even darker than mine—down to her notes. “Before you go any further, can you explain to the jury what happened that caused your house to be in such disarray?”
I nodded and turned back to the jury. Starting from the beginning, I described everything that had happened, down to the very end. When I went over the bad parts, I noticed some jurors shaking their heads and one even gasped out loud. After I was done, I turned to Isabel and nodded. She straightened her red suit jacket and removed several photographs from her file. She then walked to the witness chair and asked me if the photographs accurately depicted what my house looked like after the shooting.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Is there any doubt in your mind that Susan Wilson’s actions saved your life that day?”
“No doubt at all.” I turned and made eye contact with each of the jurors, one at a time. “Had it not been for Sergeant Susan Wilson’s actions, I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair talking to y’all today. Instead, I’d be rotting in a coffin and a murderer would be walking free.”
Isabel looked out over the jury, pursed her lips, and nodded. “Thank you, Chief. That’ll be—”
“Isabel, I have a few questions for Chief Wolf.”
I turned to the large man sitting at the prosecutor’s table. He wore a dark pinstriped suit with a purple tie. I guessed him to be in his mid fifties. Although we’d never formally met, I’d seen District Attorney Bill Hedd’s picture on billboards up and down the parish. The Elvis Presley haircut and large flapping jowls were hard to miss. He’d remained mostly quiet throughout the hearing, but it was clear something was on his mind now.
Isabel looked a little surprised by the interruption, but smiled and took her place at the table as he stood and sauntered over to the witness chair. For those who didn’t know better, he was an intimidating figure. He had to be at least seven inches taller than my five-foot nine-inch frame and, at four hundred pounds, was more than two hundred pounds heavier than me. But his hands were soft, and his life marred with tragedy.
“Miss Compton just showed you a series of photographs.”
I nodded and waited for a question.
“How many times was the victim shot?”
I scowled. “I’d hardly call him a victim, sir. He came over to my house to kill me.”
“Right.” DA Hedd stared at me for a long moment. “But he didn’t kill you, did he?”
“Not for lack of trying. He shot me pretty good. I was in the hospital for a long time.”
“You lived, but he died.”
I nodded.
“Please answer out loud, so the court reporter can record your answer.”
“Yes, sir. He died.”
“Tell me, Chief, what did the victim do after Sergeant Wilson fired the first shot?”
“The would-be murderer who came to my house with the specific intent to kill me screamed when Sergeant Wilson shot him. His eyes grew wide. He was obviously surprised that someone was there to save me.”
“Was it necessary for Sergeant Wilson to shoot the victim twice?”
I stared DA Hedd in the eyes for a long moment, anger rising to the surface. When I first rolled into town two years ago, I’d heard whispers about his wife being brutally murdered twenty years earlier by some local bar owner. They said she’d been cheating on Hedd with the man and he wanted her to leave Hedd. When she refused, the man killed her. It was bad enough to learn your wife had been murdered, but to learn she was murdered by her lover? That was just cruel and unusual punishment. Although I didn’t know him, I felt a strong connection to him back then. I always said I’d shake his hand and tell him how sorry I was if our paths ever crossed. But now that our paths were crossing for the first time, I only wanted to punch him in the face.
In a controlled voice, I said, “Yes, it was absolutely necessary for her to shoot him a second time.”
“In the back of his head?”
“After she shot him the first time, he was still a threat and he aimed to kill me. Had she not taken swift and decisive action, I wouldn’t be here today.”
“I see.” He seemed to be staring at something on the wall behind me. After thirty seconds or so, he looked down at me. “Why did Sergeant Wilson show up at your house that day?”
I hesitated, not knowing the answer to the question. I remembered the cake falling to the ground and Susan running up wearing a dress—something I’d never seen her wear—but, beyond that, I had no clue why she’d decided to visit my house. I’d thought about it many times in the months following the shooting, but I’d never resolved it within myself. My girlfriend had her own ideas, and she even voiced them once during an argument. According to Chloe, Susan had a thing for me and was trying to get to my heart through my stomach. I had dismissed the notion as foolishness, but Chloe would not be deterred.
“Why else would she bake you a cake and show up at your house in a red dress that revealed more skin than a bikini?” Chloe had argued.
That got me looking at Susan in a different light. Not bad, just different. Before then, I’d looked at her the same as I’d looked at my other officers—only she was much tougher than them. To me, she was just another tough cop who’d have my back in a pinch and who’d sacrifice her own life to save the life of another. Nothing more, nothing less. After Chloe’s comments, I still saw her as a tough cop, but I also recognized she was a woman with needs and desires that could only be satisfied by a man. Just the thought of her having those feelings for me made me uncomfortable, considering I was her boss and Chloe was my girlfriend. We’d been alone many times over the course of the past year and I’d thought about asking if Chloe was right, just to clear the air between us, but then I’d talk myself out of it. Some things, I knew, were better left unasked.
When it seemed I had waited too long to answer Bill’s question, I shrugged and said, “I don’t really know why she came to my house that day, but I’m glad she did. Every breath I take is because of Sergeant Wilson and I will forever be grateful to her.”
The district attorney waved his hand toward the door. “You’re free to leave now.”
As I stood to leave, I saw Isabel sitting at the table frowning. She mouthed an apology as I walked by the table and out the
door. My head was spinning as I took a seat in the hallway. Susan was not going down for saving my life—for doing her job. What would I do if the grand jury returned an indictment for murder? When I’d worked as a homicide detective in the city, I’d learned firsthand that the district attorney could indict a tomato can if he wanted to, and that scared the shit out of me. Based on his questions, he seemed to be gunning for Susan. Sure, the man she killed had been an officer of the court, but he was a bad man—a murderer.
Footsteps echoed at the end of the long corridor and I looked up to see Reginald Hoffman approaching at a brisk pace, his fingers dancing across the screen of his phone as he walked. DA Hedd’s chief investigator was tall and lanky and looked much younger than his forty-seven years. His dark hair was slicked back with some type of gel, making it seem even darker, and it was parted to the left. It had to be the gel that made him look younger, because his face was a bit weathered—like a man who spent his spare time in the sun.
Reginald didn’t seem to notice me sitting there, so I was surprised when he stopped in front of me and nodded. After he finished texting, he shoved his phone in his pocket and pursed his lips.
“Isabel texted me and told me what’s happening,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing. My investigation was complete and my testimony will be convincing. Sergeant Susan Wilson used only the force that was absolutely necessary—and completely authorized by law—to save your life. When I’m done testifying, that grand jury will put her up for an award. They’ll want to name a street after her.”
I nodded my thanks, but didn’t share his optimism. I’d seen too many good cops get indicted for murder by overzealous prosecutors who took a “Monday morning quarterback” approach to evaluating life-threatening situations that required split-second decision-making. Based on DA Hedd’s line of questioning, I feared he fell into that category.
I glanced at the large clock on the wall. Nearly ten-thirty. I had been inside for an hour telling my part, and I could only imagine how long it would take Reginald to lay out the entire case. I figured I had time to kill, so I stood to go outside.