She would come through this fine if she made an effort. She would do the profile, take it right to Sam’s office and drop it in his lap. She would be polite, disinterested and, best of all, finished with him. She would shake her depression, throw away the unopened package of cigarettes she’d bought that morning and get on with her life.
And if there was a small part of her that still wished things were different, then that was to be expected. She was, after everything, just a human being. Understanding motivations and drives, feelings and needs, was one thing. Coping with them was another.
She stood, flipped off the TV, and headed to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. There was plenty of work to do to keep her mind occupied for the rest of the evening. She would finish the profile before morning. Tomorrow she would present it to Sergeant Sam Long.
Sam stared unseeingly at the mounds of paper on his desk. Paperwork was the thing he liked least about being a cop. No, that wasn’t quite true. The thing he liked least about being a cop was the inevitable phone call reporting a need for his services. He’d like to wake up one day and find out he was out of a job. He wouldn’t mind living in a world where enforcing the law was obsolete.
The papers blurred in front of his eyes. He’d been working around the clock. His other duties had been temporarily suspended, and he, along with two other investigators, was now working full-time on the Omega Oil case. The refinery fire had been a blow, proving, among other things, that Howard Fauvier, who was safely behind the locked doors of a psychiatric ward, had probably never had anything to do with the campaign of sabotage. It had been one more dead end, but there was hope for more leads in the next week. The corruption in Omega’s management was more deep-seated than anyone had guessed. The investigation was beginning to point to a small group of executives who had more to gain from Omega’s demise than they had to lose.
He did not feel the thrill of the hunter closing in on his prey. He was too tired to feel much of anything. Those things he did feel, he tried to push to the back of his mind, fully aware of what he was doing. When the exhaustion seeped past his defenses, he saw vulnerable blue eyes and felt the softness of a female form melting against his body. He smelled the scent of sweet olive and heard the deep, throaty laugh of a woman—right before he hurt her again.
He hadn’t wanted it to end the way it had. He had wanted to make love to Antoinette, wanted to take his fill and leave her filled, too. He had wanted to part friends as he had so many times in the past with other women. He knew now that he’d been wrong to let things go so far. He’d sensed the differences between Antoinette and the other women he’d known, right from the beginning. Even more important, he’d sensed the differences in himself.
There was no place in his life, in this life, for a real relationship. His job was his life. He’d been on the streets himself, he knew what went on out there. He was a good cop, a dedicated cop. He was also chronically in danger. There was one way to stay ahead, one way to stay alive. His concentration had to be single-minded. And he was happy that way. He wanted nothing better, nothing different.
He wanted her.
Sam put his head in his hands and stared at his desk. The room was filled with other desks, but short of taking out a gun and firing a shot into the air, no one would notice what he did. This was a police station, not an IBM executive suite. Phones were ringing, people were being booked, statements were being taken. No one would notice if one cop went quietly crazy from exhaustion and gut-wrenching loneliness.
“Sam?”
The voice was soft, musical and unmistakably hers. For a moment he was sure he’d imagined it. Sam lifted his head and stared at the woman standing in front of him. She looked exactly like he felt. “What are you doing here?”
Antoinette had dressed with care, selecting a prim navy blazer and taupe skirt that proclaimed her a professional. Her hair was parted precisely in the middle and pulled back in a perfect chignon. Her expression was equally proper. Unfortunately, she had a suspicion that the circles under her eyes, which had refused to relent to a skilled application of makeup, gave away her state of mind.
“I brought you the profile I promised. I’m sorry I didn’t finish it sooner.”
He blinked, flooded with the realization that he was being given a second chance. Or a third chance. Hell, he’d lost count of the times he’d rejected her. He wondered if she had. He stood, pulling an extra chair from the neighboring desk and bringing it alongside his own. “Please sit down.”
“No, thank you.” She was proud of the calm sound of her voice and not so proud that her hands were about to twist the handle off her purse. She forced them to relax. There were times when having the skills of a debutante was an advantage. “I’ve got to get back to my office.”
“At least let me look this over before you go. I might have questions.” He tried to hook her gaze, but he knew she was looking just a little to the right on purpose. It gave him time to examine every one of her features, like a man who has been without the gift of sight for years only to have it returned for one glorious moment.
“You have my number at the office,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll be glad to answer anything, and I’ll be free between three and four today. I hope this is helpful.”
“Antoinette, I’m sorry.” He walked around the desk and sat on the edge in front of her.
“For what, Sam?” she asked evenly. She hesitated for a moment, realizing that she was playing a game. She knew exactly what he’d meant. “You did us both a favor.”
He wondered if she practiced telepathy as well as hypnosis. He’d repeated that line to himself so many times in the past week that it had become his life’s motto. He’d thought about having it emblazoned on his shirts. “Did I?” he asked quietly. “Usually when I do myself a favor, I feel happy. I’ve felt lots of things this week, but happiness wasn’t one of them.”
The perfect facade seemed to crack as he watched. He remembered only too well the vulnerable, aching expression now in her eyes. “Don’t start this again,” she said huskily.
“Starting is much better than ending.”
“You should know—you’re quite adept at both.” Her words lacked the force to be truly sarcastic. They were merely tired.
There was no chance that they would ever be friends, no chance that she would believe him if he told her he wanted to try again. He knew he was still ambivalent. He wanted her, but he wanted no ties. He wanted to hold her, but he wanted none of the commitments that holding brings. He wanted to love her, but he wasn’t sure that there was room inside him for love.
He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t make her think he’d come full circle and was ready to give all the things he couldn’t. There was only one weapon he had that might bring them back together to deal with their future. The truth. The truth and a reaching out, a visible sign that he wanted more than the sadness that being away from her was bringing them both.
“I’m going down to my uncle’s place on Bayou Midnight tomorrow,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Come with me.”
“No.” She tried to pull away from him, but his fingers clasped hers in a grip that she knew she couldn’t break.
“I have a place down there, too,” he continued. “It’s not much, a fish camp in the middle of a swamp, but it’s mine and it’s private. We can have the whole weekend together.”
“What for? So you can decide you don’t want me at the last minute and we can spend a whole weekend in miserable frustration?”
His free hand reached up to caress her cheek. “Oh, lady,” he said softly, “it was never that I didn’t want you. Don’t you understand? I wanted you too much.”
She was rooted to the spot by the emotion in his voice and the fact that he would tell her such a thing in front of his colleagues. True, no one was watching them, and no one was listening. But she suspected that Sam valued his professionalism more than he valued anything in his life. It was a sign of how deeply he felt that he would say something so personal
in the middle of the police station.
“And now?” she asked finally. “Do you want me less, so it’s all right to have me? Or do you want me more, so you don’t care anymore? Or do you…?”
His fingertips touched her lips. “No answers. I have no answers. And no promises. And no plans beyond the weekend.” He hesitated. “And no lies, Antoinette. Let’s both just take a chance and try to forget everything else out there for a change. Come with me. Sleep the nights with me. Let me show you where I really grew up. Just be with me, and let it be enough for now.”
Sleep the nights with me.
She heard what he was offering. Her pride and her common sense told her it was not enough. But she also knew how little life was offering without him. She wanted to know him better; she wanted to understand what drove him. She wanted to be with him during the day and asleep in his arms at night. He knew just how to make it impossible to refuse him.
“I’m not very courageous,” she said finally. “And you’re going to hurt me again.”
“I’ve been trying not to hurt you.”
She nodded and turned her face to kiss the fingertips that still lingered on her jaw. “Obviously I’ve gone crazy, but I’ll come.”
He understood the true depth of his desire for her when her answer brought him no satisfaction. He had a whole day to get through before they could be together. He wondered how he was going to manage it.
“Good.” His fingers slid through her hair to the chignon, and he pulled her mouth to his for a brief, hard kiss. He heard the polite cough at the next desk. It didn’t faze him. He knew he’d pay the price when Antoinette was gone. “I couldn’t interest you in a preliminary run-through tonight, could I?” he asked in a voice that reached her ears only.
“Let me put this in perspective, Sam,” she said.
“Not in too much perspective,” he warned. “Don’t take the edge off it.”
“I think that would be impossible.”
She pulled away from him, and he saw that her cheeks were rosy. He laughed, squeezing her hand before he let her pull it from his. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at six.”
“Six? I haven’t been getting much sleep….” Her voice trailed off.
“Neither have I.” His eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lips turned up in a half smile. “And I don’t intend to get much this weekend. So go to bed early.”
Her answer was a look that could have heated the water in the station cooler. He sat on the edge of his desk and watched her wend her way between desks and out the door. He paid no attention to the laughter of the men around him when she was gone.
Packing for a love affair in the middle of the swamps took ingenuity. Antoinette wondered if the alligators and mosquitoes expected more formal attire than jeans and casual shirts. She wasn’t about to tell Sam, but like many other citizens of the City That Care Forgot, her definition of rural Louisiana had always been the sprawling suburbs that stretched on either side of New Orleans. The times she had traveled elsewhere had been as an adult in an airplane going to another big city for professional conferences or as a child going to one of the socially approved summer camps in the North Carolina mountains.
She knew the history of the Acadian people who had settled the bayous in the south. She had watched with interest as Cajun cuisine and lore had surged in popularity in the past years. She loved the spicy food, the wail of accordions, fiddles and mournful French lyrics that was Cajun music, the folktales and the pride in a culture that had not quite melted into the old melting pot. She had promised herself often enough that she would take a weekend and explore southern Louisiana someday.
She had not expected to explore it with Sam.
Antoinette stopped dropping clothes into her suitcase and wondered if she really had lost her mind. She was expecting Sam any minute. She was repacking a suitcase that had been packed the night before, just to give herself something to do. The bottom line, the absolute truth, was that she didn’t believe he was coming. She’d been up since five doing busywork to force that thought out of her mind, but it was relentless. She was, quite simply, waiting for Sam to reject her again.
The pounding on her front door and Tootsie’s alert barking assured her that, if he was going to reject her, he was going to do it in person. She snapped the suitcase shut and went to open the door. The look on Sam’s face assured her that she’d been worrying for nothing. She was so relieved that she went straight into his arms.
“I thought you might not come.” Antoinette linked her fingers behind his neck and stared into his eyes, trying to read any hidden signs of hesitancy.
“I thought you might not want me to.”
“I’ve packed twice, just to keep busy.”
“I’ve been ready since five.” Sam traced the outline of her face in gentle kisses, ending finally at her mouth where the kiss wasn’t gentle at all. “I’ve been ready since yesterday,” he amended when he pulled away.
“Why is this so difficult?”
“Because I’m a difficult person.” Sam held her face tilted up to his, wanting her to understand. “I’m exactly the kind of man I’d warn any woman not to get involved with.”
“When I was a child, the only times I ever got into trouble were when someone dared me to do something. I could never resist a dare. I feel an attack of that coming on now.”
He laughed, and the serious expression on his face dissolved, giving her a picture of a younger, happier man. “I’m beyond trying to talk you out of it. Let’s go.”
“Let me check to be sure Tootsie’s got enough food until my neighbor can get over to check on her.”
Sam bent to scratch Tootsie’s head. “Do you want to come with us, Toots?”
The wiggling stump of Tootsie’s tail was answer enough.
Antoinette was surprised and touched by his offer. “Are you sure?”
“My place doesn’t have enough solid ground this time of year to interest her, but my uncle has a dog and more cats than I can count. She can stay there.”
“She’ll love it.”
The drive out of New Orleans took them into the swamps and marshes almost immediately. There were long stretches of elevated interstate with nothing below them except miles of waving grass laced with narrow, winding waterways. There were cabins on stilts and boats with early-morning fishermen aboard. They passed a cypress swamp, eerie in its misty beauty. As untouched as it seemed, Sam told her that more than one of his cases had come to an end in that very place.
“There are places in there even the most experienced swampers haven’t seen. The swamp has a habit of taking what it’s given and devouring it until there’s no sign it was ever there.”
Antoinette shivered. “Are you talking about bodies?”
He smiled a little at the expression on her face and wished his car didn’t have bucket seats. “I was trying to be poetic. Yes, I mean bodies. That swamp’s a convenient dumping ground.”
“How awful.”
“Murder usually is.”
The lead-in was too perfect to miss. Antoinette watched Sam instead of the scenery. “You haven’t said anything about the profile I gave you.”
“I’m still trying to digest it. Has anyone ever told you you’re a perceptive, intelligent lady?”
She was warmed by the compliment. “No one whose opinion mattered quite so much.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment in answer. “I realize you had very little to go on and that most of what you said was nothing more than intuition. But I think your ideas have merit. Right now, though, we’re looking at Omega’s top echelon for answers. Your profile seems to lead in the direction of someone at the bottom.”
She nodded. “A loner, or maybe someone who’s teamed up with one or two others who are equally dissatisfied. Someone who feels alienated from the mainstream of decision making and has no other alternative than to strike out in the only way he can.”
“Do you think Howard Fauvier could have been part of a p
lot?”
That was one thing Antoinette was sure of. “No. Howard would have told somebody by now. His defenses are down. I know he couldn’t hide anything that serious.”
“Your profile was strongly affected by Laurie’s story. You have to realize that we don’t know if our mysterious heroic Cajun was the arsonist. It’s only a theory.”
“It’s a theory that seems to make sense.”
“Especially to someone who wants to believe that all bad people are really good deep down inside.”
She laughed because his words had been said with no malice. Their jobs gave them different outlooks on human nature. Somewhere along the way they had agreed to disagree with humor.
They turned off the interstate and followed a road along the Mississippi, passing several old plantation homes and many more factories. There were fields of sugarcane and huge cane-processing plants. Tiny bayous with murky brown water were populated by fishermen, some with poles and patience, others with basketball-hoop-size crab traps.
“This is civilization,” Sam warned her. “Where we’re going is one of the most isolated spots in the Atchafalaya Basin. If you ever wanted to know how the Cajuns lived fifty or a hundred years ago, you’re about to find out.”
“This is all new to me. What’s unusual about the way your family lives?”
Sam relished telling the story. “Even as late as the twenties, there were lots of people living in these swamps, fishing, trapping, selling what they could and living off the land. Then there was a big flood, and the Corps of Engineers put up protection levees that raised the water level in the basin. Some people stayed, living in camp boats, but most moved to surrounding towns where they wouldn’t be flooded out each year. Outboard motors made it easy to live along the edges and zip in and out to their trotlines or their traps and be back before supper. People got used to the comforts of electricity and running water. Life changed.”
“Your family didn’t move?”
“They did, for a time. My mother told me stories about the little town where all her relatives went. They’d all gotten along fine until they started crowding in on each other. My uncle Claude decided he couldn’t stand it anymore. He loved the swamps and he hated the town where they were living. So one day after a particularly good day of fishing, he decided his catch was an omen. He refused to go back home. He lived in an old duck blind for six months while he scouted out a place to put together a house.”
Men Made in America Mega-Bundle Page 203