He’d never bothered about her arousal in bed, cared nothing for what she might feel when they made love. She’s known there was something more; how could she not, given the transports depicted in books and movies? She’d felt cheated and had resented it, resented him for that and a thousand other reasons before it was over.
But she hadn’t wanted him to die. She hadn’t despised him enough to wish him dead.
She could never have had him killed. Never.
She’d thought Lance was different. By slow degrees, she had come to see him as something more than a protective presence. He was caring and considerate, intelligent, capable, hard-working, good with his hands; she’d seen all these things in him.
Yes, good indeed with his hands. He’d introduced her to greater realms of passion in a few minutes than Bruce had in all the time they were together. He’d done it while expecting nothing in return, yet seemed to revel in the closeness, the myriad sensations that came from being mouth to mouth, skin to skin.
He had touched her without being driven to own her.
That he had wanted her, she knew; she’d felt the heat and hardness of him against her. Yet he controlled that desire with iron strength, denying himself, refusing to take advantage of his position or her need.
He had defied the authority he respected, ignoring a direct order from the sheriff to bring her in, because of a promise to protect her. He was, beyond anyone she had ever known, a man of his word.
More than that, he almost died trying to keep her safe.
He was a man of honor. He held deeply felt ideas of right and wrong, and kept to those convictions with steadfast strength.
How could she not love a man like that?
She did love him for all the qualities that made him a true knight of Louisiana, but also for his smiles, his tolerance, his abiding interest in what she thought and felt, and his caring. He had cared about her for a few short days, even if he had never really loved her.
Mandy keeled over onto her side on the bunk, resting her head on the crook of her elbow and drawing up her legs. Eyes burning, she stared at nothing.
It was those same unwavering principles that had made Lance walk away from her when she had been forced to admit she married Bruce for money. Yes, and when it was shown she had a motive for hating her husband and wanting him dead.
Lance thought she was both mercenary and a murderess, and he couldn’t stomach it. He had left her here alone, left her to her fate.
Maybe she would cry, just a little.
The sheaf of papers hit the sheriff’s desk with such force it spun in a complete circle. Sheriff Tate looked from his ancient desktop computer where he was keying in a report with two fingers.
“What’s this?”
Lance met his glare with one of his own. “What does it look like?”
His cousin picked up the paper-clipped pages, glanced over the typed lines and the check that was attached. His eyes widened a fraction then narrowed. “How the hell—”
“You’re not the only one with pull around here.”
The sheriff tossed the pages back onto his desk. “So I see. I can’t believe you had the nerve to get Judge Martin out of bed for the sake of this woman.”
“He was already up when I got there. It was Granny Chauvin who got him out of bed.”
“And I guess that meddling old lady bent his ear about what a sweet, innocent young thing Amanda Caret is, and how she wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“She vouched for her, told the judge everything she knew about what’s gone on these past few days.” Lance hadn’t been at all sure he’d succeed when he set out for the judge’s house. He owed Granny Chauvin for paving the way for him, as well as for advocating for Mandy.
“Amanda Caret’s version, no doubt. And you backed it up with all this crap about how she’s been running for her life. The woman must be a witch, to fool the both of you.”
Lance leaned to brace his fists on the sheriff’s desk. “Who says we’ve been fooled? Has it occurred to you, even once, that she might be telling the truth?”
“If she’s so innocent, why are these creeps after her? No. I’ll tell you what’s going on. She made the mistake of reneging on whoever she hired to get rid of Caret, and now they want their money. They mean to get it or take it out of her hide. That being the way of it, here’s a question. Has it occurred to you she might be safer here in jail than anywhere else?”
“You could say that about anybody, but it doesn’t mean people would rather be locked up than walking around free. Mandy doesn’t deserve to be in jail.”
Tate slammed his hand down on the desktop. “Damn it all, Lance, what’s got into you? I’d have sworn on a stack of Bibles no female suspect could ever turn your head. I wish I’d never set you to watching the damn woman.”
There was a time when Lance had wished the same thing. That was days ago, not now. “Maybe my head is on straight for a change.”
“So you’re posting bail for her to the tune of a hundred grand? I don’t know if I can let you do it. You’re not a family connection of any kind.”
Lance reached over and tapped the pages he’d flung on the desk. “This piece of paper says you don’t have a choice. Now give me the key so I can take Mandy out of here. She’s been locked up way too long.”
Chapter 18
Mandy wasn’t asleep when she heard the jangle of keys, but only sitting with her eyes closed, arms folded, and back against the wall. The approach of footsteps was plain enough, but she thought it must be the duty officer making his rounds. Yet something in the man’s walk was familiar. Alertness zinged along her nerves an instant before the lock clicked open.
Lance.
Lance on official duty so changed into his uniform, with a badge on his chest and handgun on his belt. He looked official, authoritative, and incredibly handsome in a spit-and-polish fashion.
It hurt to see him that way. She turned her head, staring into the far corner.
“Let’s go,” he said, swinging the door open and standing aside.
She didn’t move. “Go where?”
“Out of here, for a start. Then anywhere you want as long as you don’t leave the state or the parish.”
That got her attention. “You mean I’m free.”
“As a bird, at least for now.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward.
It seemed she wasn’t to get her hopes up too far. Easing to the edge of the bunk, she stood up. “How? Why?”
“Bail has been posted.”
It didn’t make sense, not so soon, and not when the sheriff was certain she was guilty of a murder. She opened her mouth to argue, but then snapped it shut. Gullible she might be, but she was no fool. Skimming past Lance, she moved ahead of him down the hall.
He caught up with her in a few long steps. “Mandy? Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she demanded in a ragged undertone. “I’ve only been arrested and jailed for a murder I didn’t commit.”
“I got you out as soon as I could.”
“You left me here. You walked away without a word when you knew what was going to happen.”
He reached out and caught her arm, pulling her to a stop and swinging her to face him. “I left because I didn’t want to be the one to fingerprint you, search you and lock you away. I left because I couldn’t stand to see it done. I left because I knew a court order would take time, and the fastest way to get you out of here was to go see Judge Martin in the middle of the night instead of waiting for business hours. I left because I might have said or done something both of us would regret if I’d stayed, like knocking my cousin the sheriff’s teeth down his throat.”
She searched his face, though for what she wasn’t sure. “Would you really have done that?”
“Did you really think I’d deserted you?”
“You walked out. What else was I to think?” Resentment colored that accusation, in spite of all she could do.
“I couldn’t tell you what I intended.
For one thing, I hated the idea of your disappointment if I failed. The other was that Sheriff Tate was sitting there, and might have managed to block it. If he’d done that, I might have had to relieve him of his sidearm and take you out, court order or not.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re one of the legendary Louisiana Knights. You guys don’t do things that are against the law.”
“Even when the law isn’t right or fair?”
It wasn’t personal, what he’d done for her. What rankled with him was the unfairness of it. He’d seen to it she regained her freedom because of a principle; that was all. She should have known.
“I should thank you for arranging this then. Whatever your reasons, I’m grateful. I don’t—I’m not sure how you did it or what it cost, whether you paid my bail or arranged with a bail bondsman, but I’ll pay you back the first chance I get.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His smile was crooked as he slid his hand down her arm until he could take her hand. “Let’s just get out of here.”
It was a short walk from the sheriff’s office to the Watering Hole. The place was jumping when they walked through the doors. In spite of the early morning hour, almost every table was full. Zydeco music blasted from the jukebox, the coffee machine bubbled and hissed, the air was redolent of sausage and bacon, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, doughnuts and beignets. Granny Chauvin was there, sitting behind a stack of pancakes almost as tall as she was. Trey was manning the counter, taking orders, and Zeni was everywhere at once, twisting and turning among the tables while laying down food and tossing insults at anyone unlucky enough to get in her way.
A cheer went up as Mandy and Lance came through the door. Granny Chauvin led it with gusto.
“Come on in here, you two,” she called out in a voice high-pitched with excitement. “Hope you don’t mind this little get-together. At my age, I never miss a chance to celebrate!”
Everyone joined in the general laugh and good will, whether they understood the occasion or not. Soon, Mandy and Lance were surrounded, being hugged and pounded on the back as if they were heroes returned from the wars instead of suspects forced out of hiding.
It was heartwarming to be made welcome in that way, also to be among people. Mandy hadn’t realized quite how isolated she’d been in the past few days but also for years before. To stand next to Lance, basking in the waves of approval and concern that surrounded them, had the feel of a benediction. And it really didn’t matter that most of those present were members of the geriatric set that started the day with coffee and gossip at the Watering Hole every morning.
“Speech! Speech!”
That call rang out from the back of the room. Lance paid no attention. Mandy, hot all over at the mere idea, held out her hands as if to ward off even the possibility. The chant didn’t stop, but grew louder.
It was Zeni who saved them. Stalking to where Mandy and Lance stood, she turned on the hecklers like an angry mother hen.
“What the heck is the matter with you guys? Too much caffeine or something? You couldn’t string three words together if your lives depended on it, but you want to hear a speech this time of morning? Go home, and let these folks order breakfast in peace. Read yourselves a bedtime story before hitting the couch to snooze all day!”
Laughter ran around the room. As it died away, along with the heckling, a few people left. It was as the crowd thinned that Mandy caught sight of the corner table in the back. Two men sat there, one tall and hatchet-faced, the other heavy-set, with full, beard-covered jowls and no expression in his coal-colored eyes. Both were dressed in khakis too clean and pressed to have ever been worn to an actual job.
Something about them set alarm bells jangling inside her. She reached out to clutch Lance’s arm with tight fingers.
“What is it?” He leaned close enough that his warm breath filtered through her hair to her ear.
“There,” she whispered.
Even as she spoke, a third man, who had been half-hidden by the gathering, came into view. Beefy, with pudgy features and a belly that shoved his belt so low he was in danger of losing his pants, he was just getting to his feet. He said something to the other two, and then shuffled away toward the door. The closer he got to it, the faster he moved. The hatred in the glare he sent Lance over his shoulder before he pushed outside made the hair rise on the back of Mandy’s neck.
“Who was that?” she whispered.
It was Trey who supplied the answer as he came to halt next to Lance.
“Jackson Stout’s old man.”
That would make him the father of the football hero Lance had been forced to shoot. It made sense that he wouldn’t care to stick around. “And those two are the construction workers you checked out?”
“You got it.”
“Weren’t they seen talking with the Stout man before?”
“Got that, too.” Lance narrowed his gaze on the corner table.
The two men seated there stared in their direction with their heads up like hunting dogs scenting prey. A second later, the thin man noticed their interest and lifted his coffee cup in a salute. Then they both developed intense interest in their breakfast.
At that moment, Granny Chauvin came up with a perfectly made up and red-haired woman of a certain age in tow. She introduced her as Her Honor, Mayor Jessica Parnell. “I told the major all about your case, sweetie, and about what happened last night.” She patted Mandy’s arm, smiling as she looked from her to the town official. “Jessica, here, is always interested in happenings of the kind in Chamelot. And you know she and Sheriff Tate are on good terms, being they run the town and parish between them.”
It was impossible to ignore such an overture. Mandy said everything that was polite or might make even a ghost of a favorable impression when she came to trial. Her smile was less than easy, however, and it was difficult to keep her attention from wandering to the corner table. The instant the mayor moved on with Granny, she spun to look for the two men.
They were gone. Their table had been claimed by a young couple who ignored each other while texting on their cell phones. A swift glance around the noisy room revealed no sign of the khaki clad pair, though the heavy glass front door was still closing on its hydraulic hinge.
A shiver crawled down Mandy’s spine. Somewhere deep inside her the nebulous feeling that something wasn’t right grew stronger.
Lance, no more than an arm’s length away, turned from his own survey of the room. She met the grim speculation in his eyes for endless seconds. Maybe the two of them were paranoid, seeing threats everywhere after all that had happened. Maybe those men were the construction workers they seemed, and being at the Watering Hole, talking to the father of the young man Lance had shot, was only a weird coincidence. She wanted to believe that.
She tried to, she really did, but it just wasn’t possible.
Lance seldom felt more than pleasantly tired, but the stress of the long night behind him added to the remnants of his concussion was beginning to catch up with him. He’d answered all the questions he cared to about these last few days, said all he intended about his time on the run with Mandy. The music was getting to him, as were the rumble of voices, the smirks and winks. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he was going to explode or else smack some fool upside the head.
What he longed for more than life itself was the quiet and seclusion of the RV, shut away from everything and everybody. Everybody, that is, except Mandy. She was the most important part of that picture. Without her, it would be a prison.
Prison.
He couldn’t believe that was a real possibility for her. The idea was sickening. Something had to be done to prevent it. If he couldn’t make people like his cousin, the sheriff, see reason, he’d have to go higher. Or else he’d have to find out who killed Bruce Caret.
Yeah, sure, the investigation was ongoing, and would be for months. The New Orleans police were competent and had great resources. What they lacked was a solid reason to look beyond the obvious. The
y seemed to think the statistical probability that the spouse was the perp when a husband or wife died meant Mandy was first choice.
From what he could gather, they didn’t discount the possibility of a mob hit, but couldn’t seem to get past Caret’s status as an important cog in the machinery of the justice system. That meant he was above suspicion, at least to their minds. They could only imagine someone had bought the hit for more personal reasons. That being the case, back they went to the person most likely to benefit from his sudden death: the wife.
Lance had a different idea after hearing how Caret worked and his secretive nature. He figured the guy had something to hide. That was reinforced by the attempts to get to Mandy. Whoever was working with Caret thought she knew something her husband had told her, or maybe had something he’d given her.
Lance didn’t think so. He’d been watching her for the past hour, the way she glowed under the influence of the people who approved of her. She pretended to be independent, needing no one, and did a good job of it. She asked for so little, seemed to expect less. Yet she could be coaxed out of her shell with the right words, the right reward.
“You were right, Cuz,” Trey said as he came toward him with a cup of coffee in each hand. “I was wrong.”
Lance took the cup he was offered, but gave his cousin a suspicious look in return. “About what?”
“Your suspect.” Trey gestured toward Mandy with his cup. “She’s a sweet kid, once you get to know her, nothing like—”
“Yeah, nothing like Brittney,” Lance finished the sentence so Trey wouldn’t have to bad-mouth his ex.
“I mean, look at the way she’s having a heart-to-heart with Granny Chauvin now, there in the back. You’d think she’d known her all her life, that they’d baked cookies together, maybe had sleep-overs and made doll clothes. Hey, even Zeni likes her. You have any idea how rare that is?”
Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) Page 19