Cypress Nights

by Stella Cameron

  Chopper blades thumping the air with their rhythmic, whump, whump, whump and the staccato pummeling of the engine.

  “Don’t you move,” Kate screamed. “George knows what he’s doin’. They are never goin’ to save you.”

  Rushing Kate would be too dangerous.

  They all sat as still as they could while the truck careened from side to side. Not one of them spoke.

  After a while, the sounds of the chopper grew more distant and faded altogether.

  Wazoo held Bleu’s hand and squeezed. They didn’t look at each other but Bleu had never felt so abandoned or disillusioned, ever, and she’d had reasons.

  The silly smile on Kate’s mouth didn’t help. She actually raised her weapon and aimed it back and forth over Wazoo and Bleu. “That was just coincidence. Probably crop dustin’.”

  Bleu didn’t point out that helicopters weren’t typically used for dusting.

  She closed her eyes. Very far away, so far she could have imagined it, she thought she heard the chopper returning. What she didn’t know was how it could help even if it did sight them and he knew George was a fugitive.

  She hadn’t imagined it; the chopper came back and she heard a bullhorn but not what the man was yelling.

  Roche had gotten her cell phone location traced, Bleu was sure of it.

  The next turn George took landed them all on their backs. Kate managed to keep her gun trained on them. For an “arthiritic” woman she was agile.

  Faster and faster George drove, and then he stopped.

  Seconds later he threw open the doors again. “Get out,” he screamed. “Get out, now. Fast. And pull him with you.”

  Somehow they managed to drag Sam between them, without help from Kate. Daylight turned the world shiny-white, until Bleu’s eyes settled down again.

  They were in a copse of trees and another, smaller truck waited there. A skinny little man shambled from the cab and stood by a back door that slid upward. It was open.

  “They gonna be trouble?” he asked. “Man, you ain’t paid me enough for trouble.”

  George tossed him lengths of twine. He came at Bleu and lashed her wrists behind her himself. The way he felt to her was familiar.

  “You’ve had practice at this,” she said. “You’re the one that grabbed me at Pappy’s.”

  “You should have been warned then, and stayed out of other people’s business afterwards,” George said.

  In minutes, Sam and Wazoo were with Bleu in the second truck and the door slid down with a thud.

  They were on the move again.

  “They’re taking us over the border,” Wazoo said. “I saw the license plates. With us gone, George and Kate can slide into the background, right there in Toussaint, and no one will be wiser.”

  Bleu gave a thin smile. “They’re not getting away with anything,” she said. “We may not live to see it, but they’ll get theirs. My phone’s still on in my pocket. I can’t believe they never checked for that. Even if the line I had open to Roche had been closed off, they do that ping stuff.”

  “My God,” Wazoo said. “Sounds like a war out there.”

  Gunshots blasted in rapid succession.

  “Sheesh,” Bleu cried. “They’ve blown a tire here. More than one tire.”

  “What if that man—the one driving—comes for us?” Wazoo asked.

  “If he tries, you’ll use your gun and he’ll be dead meat.”

  “You startin’ to sound like a gangster, Miz Prissy. Must be that worldly man you hang out with. He’s influencin’ you.”

  Silence came but lasted only briefly before voices started yelling. A single shot sounded, followed by a lot of pained screaming.

  “We better hope the right people are winning,” Wazoo said.

  “We’ll be all right,” Bleu said. “I wish Sam would wake up.”

  Wazoo shouted, suddenly, and the shout turned to a scream. The sound of automatic gunfire had started.

  A line of bullet holes opened the side of the little truck like popping the lid off a can.

  That line hit toward the top.

  Voices yelled. The bullhorn blasted. Engines sprang to life.

  And another row of holes split the side of the van, this one lower.

  “Lie flat,” Bleu shouted. “Help me get Sam as flat as we can.”

  “That’s Kate’s gun doin’ that,” Wazoo said. “Can’t they pick her off?”

  They struggled to stay down and get Sam stretched on his face at the same time—not easy with their hands tied.

  The rapid fire blasted out again. Both Bleu and Wazoo screamed. This time the bullets entered their space no more than a foot above them.

  “Why wouldn’t we know Kate could shoot like that?” Bleu said.

  “It’s gotta be George,” Wazoo responded, but a fresh bombardment of bullets drowned her out.

  This one was almost low enough to fill them all with lead.

  Bleu trembled. Spasms of shaking turned her body weak.

  The chopper had never left the area. Bleu supposed it couldn’t be of help in such confusion, other than to keep people informed of their whereabouts.

  A single shot rang out. Then there was a moment of absolute stillness before the voices started up and, within a few seconds, the back door of the truck shot open.

  First in was Roche. He pulled them upright, except for Sam who still hadn’t stirred. “He’s alive,” Bleu said. She wanted Roche to hug her, but he didn’t look at her as if that was going to happen.

  “You can get rid of that mealy-mouth, disapproving face, Dr. Savage,” Wazoo said. “Without us comin’, Sam there would be dead by now.” She frowned. “Most likely.”

  Two cops hopped in and set to work untying Wazoo and Bleu. Medics wanted to get at Sam, so everyone else got out of the truck. Bleu struggled with legs that didn’t want to move. Once outside, she felt furious, then faint, then mad all over again. She held Roche’s sleeve, and he finally put his arms around her.

  “Stupid girl,” he murmured, holding her crushingly tight. “Don’t you know I can’t lose you now?”

  She was too lightheaded to respond.

  “Darn it all, you thick-headed, gun-happy fools,” Wazoo shouted. “You killed George Pinney. You let that rat’s ass get some peace before he could pay back for what he’s done to good people and to a good town. I ought to punch you out.”

  Bleu felt instantly stronger. She turned to see Wazoo pointing at George’s prone figure. “Wazoo,” she said. “Cool it. We just got our lives saved.”

  “I wanted his life saved,” Wazoo insisted, pointing at George. “Me, I wanted him lynched proper.”

  Nobody argued with her over that idea. “He’s not dead, ma’am,” a cop said. “Just wounded. But we reckon his back’s broke.”

  “Broke?” Wazoo said. “Is that a fact?” A slow smile spread on her face.

  “He’s not getting away with anything,” Roche said. “Neither is Kate. She’s already spilling it to the police that she was an innocent victim. We’ve all got it figured out she was George’s accomplice. You should see the stuff they found at her house.”

  Bleu frowned. “More guns.”

  “I was thinking of the whips and chains. Kate Harper likes—”

  “Rough sex?” Bleu asked, all innocence. “That’s a disgrace.”

  Chapter 50

  Early the following morning

  “Where to, now?” Roche said.

  Bleu crouched between Killer and Toadie, put an arm around each of them. “I guess I don’t know,” she said.

  The quiet, the last breath of night on the early-morning air, not a building or a human in sight on this part of Parish Lane, just the two of them, she would settle for standing still in the moment—forever.

  “We can keep hanging out here, looking at each other, I guess,” Roche said. He offered her a hand and, when she took it, pulled her up. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Roche took t
he dogs’ leashes from her. “Two good ones I picked,” he said of the animals. “I know my dog flesh.”

  She smiled. “Ozaire does, you mean. We got lucky.”

  He pulled her in front of him, held her upper arms. “We are lucky, Bleu.”

  Some would think his timing was weird, but it wouldn’t get any better and it could become worse if he allowed them to fall into any pattern but the one he wanted.

  “I don’t feel muddled up anymore,” Bleu said. “Not at all.”

  He smiled. She looked so serious, as serious as he felt. “That’s good, isn’t it?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m so grateful Sam came around. He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

  Sam had rocky days ahead, but he’d been flown where he’d get the best of care and Roche had been assured the other man would make a full recovery.

  “Yes,” he told her. “The swelling around his brain is more his body’s way of protecting him than anything else. He came around and he recognizes people. That’s what counts.”

  “Thank God,” Bleu said. She and Wazoo had promised themselves they would be Sam’s slaves if only he got better. Now he was recovering, even if slightly, and Wazoo had already mentioned they might want to rethink the slave bit.

  “Do you know what you want? Is that why you’re not muddled up?” Roche said.

  Bleu looked away, toward Bayou Teche. If the trees weren’t so thick, they’d see it from here. “I know what I want,” she said.

  “I talked to Cyrus already,” Roche said. The priest, and Madge, were waiting in the kitchen when Roche and Bleu got back from an FBI questioning session earlier. “He says—”

  Bleu cut him off. “That they’ll want to carry on with the building projects, but not until after a decent interval. I heard him. I never did like that term too much. Who decides what’s decent?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you just know when the time’s right.” He could almost feel the questions circling in Bleu’s head. She didn’t know if she had ongoing work here, at least for the moment, and she wasn’t sure what that meant for her.

  “Cyrus and Madge have made peace,” she said. “I didn’t imagine that, did I?”

  “I saw it, too.” Roche wanted peace, too, and he hoped he’d get it.

  “You’ll need to get back and see if you can catnap before you start work,” Bleu said. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

  He tried a laugh. Not a good attempt. “Ever since we met, you’ve been telling me I need to go get some rest. Do I seem that infirm to you?”

  She bowed her head. “I say it when I feel awkward, I guess. When I don’t know what else to say.”

  The dogs had curled up together on the rough lane. They looked peaceful. “Look at that,” Roche said. “They’ve fitted right in and they don’t have a doubt in the world that they’re safe now.”

  Bleu bit her lip hard. She couldn’t bear talking in circles.

  “I had a chance to talk to Cyrus on his own,” Roche said. He wished he could calm his jumping nerves. “He’s a decent man.”

  “The best,” Bleu said. “What did you talk about?”

  “Getting married in the church.”

  She felt blood leave her face. Not a word that came to mind suggested she should open her mouth.

  Roche would not panic, even if she did look stricken. He dropped his hands to his sides. “Was that okay?”

  Her voice came out in a squeak that embarrassed her. “Was what okay?”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “I know what you’re not saying,” she told him. But warmth swelled within her. Her skin tingled. And now, if she couldn’t control herself, she would cry.

  “Madge thinks it’s a good idea,” Roche said. That had to be the lamest comment he’d ever made.

  “I’m happy for her,” Bleu said.

  “I think I’m making a mess of this,” he told her. “Cyrus says there’s some preparation, but he would see to that himself, so it didn’t have to be spread out over weeks.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “Madge was excited. She says she’s never been a bridesmaid. You would like a bridesmaid, wouldn’t you? Or more than one, if that’s what you want.”

  Bleu, stamping a foot, stunned him.

  “What?” he said. “What is it?”

  She covered her mouth, horrified. “I never did that before. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re frustrated. It’s okay.” He paused. “I’m frustrated, too. I never did this before.”

  “You wouldn’t like it if I shook you, would you?” Bleu said.

  He grinned. “I might.” She didn’t look too amused. “When do you think we should do it?”

  Bleu raised her chin and closed her eyes. Why not be reasonable and let him do this his way—which was to not really do it at all?

  “Oh!” He bent over and kissed her, hunching her shoulders with the power of his grasp.

  Once wasn’t enough. When he pulled back a little, her eyes were still shut, but her lips were parted and shiny. Again, he kissed her, pushed his fingers through her hair and used his thumbs to keep her face turned up to his.

  “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he told her between kisses. “Let’s go back to your place.”

  “For sex?” she said.

  He grimaced. “Do you have to be that blunt?”

  “Someone around here needs to be blunt. Remind me to tell you about my whipped cream experiment.”

  Roche blinked and held her away. “I’m reminding you.”

  “Good. I’ll keep it under consideration. But I’m not taking you home with me.”

  He looked aghast and overheated. “Why?”

  “You’re disappointing me.”

  Now he looked devastated. “Bleu?”

  “I’m glad you, Cyrus and Madge are all on the same page,” she said.

  Roche frowned at her. Then he coughed and shook his head. “You women are so old-fashioned.” He got down on his knees. “Better?”

  “You’re getting there.”

  “I’ve got to spell it out, right?”

  She kissed his forehead and jumped out of his way before he could grab her.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said. “I thought I had said it right. I can’t be without you, Bleu. Stay with me. Forever.”

  “That’s what I want, too.” With a hand either side of his face, she kissed his nose.

  “Then say you’ll marry me.”

  Dancing in place, landing pretend punches on the air, she said, “Of course I will. All you had to do was ask me. Get up and kiss me again, you fool.”

  Half an hour later, Bleu leaned her head on Roche’s shoulder and they wandered slowly toward St. Cecil’s where Roche had parked his car.

  “Will you tell me about the experiment now?” he asked. Once, he couldn’t have imagined being this happy, just because he was with a woman. That was before he’d met Bleu.

  She looked up into his face. “If you fill a bathtub with whipped cream—from those aerosol cans—it melts after a bit. I thought I’d give it a dry—a wet run to see if I could surprise you with my daring ingenuity.” She giggled. “I got in and it just got less and less when the air started going out of it. In the end I was cold and covered with slippery white stuff. It didn’t cover me anywhere and I couldn’t get a handhold on anything.”

  “I thought that was the point,” Roche told her. “Except you’ll need me for the handholds next time.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-3083-9

  CYPRESS NIGHTS

  Copyright © 2009 by Stella Cameron.

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o, Canada M3B 3K9.

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