Untitled

by Unlucky (v5. 0) (epub)

  Mallory felt her heart leap into her throat at his words. "But, the voodoo woman said . . . "

  "She said there was no way to take the curse off you," Jake said gently. "She didn't say there wasn't a way to protect me from it."

  "You saw the voodoo woman?" she asked, trying to control the hope quickly rising inside of her. "How? When?"

  "Scooter took me to see her last night. That's probably why he took off so fast when I got here. I think he was afraid you'd come down on him for interfering."

  Mallory stared at Jake in disbelief. "Scooter took you to the voodoo woman? I can't believe it. He's scared to death of that stuff."

  "That he is, but he loves you more than he's scared. He knew I'd never find her without help and figured you wouldn't take me."

  Mallory bit her lip and drew in a breath. "So what did she say?"

  Jake reached inside his shirt and pulled out a string with a tiny pouch on the end. "She said that if I wore this, it should protect me - against the curse, anyway. She didn't have a protection against falling desperately in love with you." He placed one hand on her cheek and leaned in, gently placing his lips on hers.

  Mallory relaxed in his kiss, every nerve in her body tingling from his touch. "You're sure," she said as he drew back and placed a finger on the pouch. "If this protects you from me, will it work for others?"

  "It better not."

  Mallory stared at him. "Why on earth wouldn't you want my friends and family protected?"

  Jake placed his hand over hers. "I would, but the voodoo woman said this protects me because of the scope of our relationship. I took that to mean in a biblical sort of way." He grinned. "Now if you want to work something like that out with Amy, I might consider it."

  Mallory swatted him on the shoulder but couldn't keep from smiling. "You wish." She drew in a breath, trying to absorb everything he was saying. "What about your job? You know I can't leave here - "

  Jake placed one hand over her mouth to stop the barrage that was most certainly about to spill out. "I've resigned my position with the FBI, and I'll be relocating to Royal Flush as soon as I can pack up my apartment and schedule a moving truck."

  Mallory stared at him in disbelief. "But what will you do?"

  "I've been thinking a lot about my work, wondering if it really accomplished what I hoped it would as far as making society a better place. Everything that went down with Mark and Janine kinda clinched it for me. I think I'd rather work with kids - teenagers specifically. Hopefully prevent them from becoming someone I would have arrested."

  Mallory smiled. "I think that sounds wonderful. Do you have any idea where you might work? There are a lot of charitable organizations in New Orleans. I know they could use help."

  Jake shook his head. "I'm planning on starting my own organization. I have a real estate agent trying to locate a warehouse in New Orleans for me. That should give me the room to start."

  A real estate agent? New Orleans? "But, how will you pay for it? Something like that's got to be expensive to get started."

  "I've applied for the usual grants. But I have a long-term plan for continual funding."

  "What kind of plan?"

  "I'm sure you heard about the ATF seizing all of Royal's assets. Well, I have it on good information that the port-a-john plant is going up for auction here shortly. In fact, the ATF has given me an inside deal. If I can come up with the money they want before the auction, I can buy the plant from them at an absolute steal."

  Mallory stared at him for a moment. It had been weeks since the arrests, but the residents of Royal Flush still hadn't quite wrapped their minds around Walter Royal as a gunrunner. The ATF case, however, was solid as a rock. A search of the plant had produced thousands of weapons stored in false bottoms in the port-a-johns. She supposed it made good sense when you thought about it. The port-a-johns were distributed all over the country, and she'd guess no one was going to get overly involved in inspecting a portable toilet, empty or not.

  But Jake buying the port-a-john plant? Surely he was joking. "You want to be the King of Crap?"

  Jake laughed. "Well, I am planning on living in Royal Flush. If you're going to be King of Crap, this is definitely the place."

  Mallory smiled. "Okay, King Jake, any idea how you're going to come up with that capital?"

  "Funny you should ask. I hear there's a poker tournament starting up next week in Vegas. I figure with Amy's card shark training and a little help from you, the other players don't stand a chance. And then there's the added benefit of so many wedding chapels."

  Mallory drew in a breath. "You want to marry me?"

  Jake laughed. "More than anything. But you've got to meet my mother first or she'll kill me. I'm going to have her meet us in Vegas if that's okay with you. I don't think she's quite ready for Royal Flush - I need a little time to prepare her for a visit here, and I would take you to her place in Atlantic City, but she's an artist. She lives and works in her studio and it's probably not the best place for you to meet."

  "An artist, huh? What does she do, paint?"

  Jake gave her a pained look. "She's a glassblower."

  Mallory laughed and threw her arms around Jake, squeezing him hard against her as if there were no tomorrow. "Vegas it is, then."

  The End

  Big city crime meets small-town mentality

  RUMBLE ON THE BAYOU

  (excerpt)

  by Jana DeLeon

  CHAPTER ONE

  "This day just keeps getting better." Deputy Dorie Berenger stared at the alligator in front of her. It had to be the swimming pool.

  Why anyone below sea level and not even a mile from the Gulf of Mexico would install an in-ground pool was beyond her. Even the houses in Gator Bait, Louisiana, sat on fifteen-foot stilts. An in-ground pool was just asking for trouble.

  And trouble was just what they had.

  Maylene Thibodeaux bulged out of a lawn chair next to her pool's cloudy water, jug in hand. She wore a pink bikini and was sitting in stoned silence. Which was rare when you considered her usual mouthiness, but understandable since it was almost evening and she had probably been at happy hour since before noon.

  Dorie stepped right up to the pool's edge and studied the alligator more closely. He was a good-sized one, probably ten or twelve feet and currently floating like the dead in the center of the pool, with what looked like a backpack hanging out of his mouth. His eyes were half-closed, as if he would drop off into sleep at any moment.

  "What do you think?" asked Deputy Joe Miller. Joe had been the first to arrive at Maylene's, but had immediately called for backup. This one was definitely out of his league.

  Dorie blew out a breath. "I think this is not my usual fare. What about Curtis? This is his specialty."

  "I tried. He's still on a call at the shrimp house. Turned out to be three gators instead of just one."

  "Damn it, Joe, that's four times this month. Did Buster get those traps repaired?"

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  “Man, I'm charging him this time. The taxpayers aren't paying us to keep his shrimp house running, and trappers like Curtis don't come cheap."

  "I agree," Joe said, "but what about the problem we have here?"

  Dorie sighed and tossed a sideways glance at Maylene, who was working her jug like a prizefighter with a water bottle. "How much homemade wine has Maylene had?"

  "She was drinking when I got here."

  It figured. Maylene Thibodeaux was hard enough to please sober. Drunk was a whole different story. "You didn't let her give you any, did you? That stuff's worse than drugs." And it seemed to produce the same kind of hallucinations. In the past, they'd been called out for everything from aliens in her garden to unicorns in the bedroom. Dorie had been slightly surprised to learn the gator was real.

  Joe looked shocked. "No way, boss. I'm still thinking that's how she bagged Mr. Thibodeaux."

  Dorie smiled. Joe was probably right. Maylene Thibodeaux had been making her own stash
since she was a little girl. Rumor had it Mr. Thibodeaux had behaved oddly and had a strange tone to his skin on the day of their wedding thirty-five years ago. Folks around town said his skin was the same exact color when they buried him six months ago, making Maylene the most patient hunter in the parish.

  It had taken her only minutes to trap her prey, but thirty-five years to kill it.

  Maylene's ears must have been burning because suddenly she came alive and rose from her chair. Actually, the chair rose a bit with her, and there were a couple of seconds of detachment necessary. Then she glared at Dorie.

  "Damn it," she said. "I did not have this expensive piece of concrete put in to swim with the gators. I could go down to the bayou to do that. And I'm at least a mile from any water whatsoever." She hiccupped and staggered a little toward the edge of the water. "What the hell is this one doing in my pool?"

  "I don't know," Dorie replied. "Did you ask him?"

  Maylene shook a finger at her. "Don't you get smart with me, young lady, or I'll have a talk with your daddy." She pointed back at the gator. "Now, just what are you going to do about that?"

  Dorie squatted for a moment and assessed the situation. At five-foot-ten, she towered over most of the women in Gator Bait and a whole heck of a lot of the men. Sometimes getting an eye-level look at things was the first order of business. She noticed, however, that all six-foot-four of Joe didn't feel compelled to hunch down on the cement with her, but then, standing at the edge of the pool was probably much closer than he ever wanted to be.

  "You poked him with the cleaning brush, huh?" she asked Joe as she rose.

  He nodded. "Not a peep. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he was drunk." They both looked at Maylene.

  "Maylene, you didn't put any of your special brand in the pool, did you?" Dorie asked.

  She looked offended. "Why, I'd no more waste the good stuff on a dumb animal than I would a woman."

  Dorie glanced over at Joe, who tried not to smile, then grabbed the pool-cleaning brush and pushed on the gator's side. His body moved a couple of inches across the water, but only because she was pushing, not because he was helping. She shoved again. Still nothing. He seemed perfectly content to be propelled through the pool.

  Dorie looked at Joe, who shrugged. "Got me," he said. "I ain't ever seen anything like it."

  She continued to push the gator until he was next to the far wall, then crept around the pool, first tapping his tail with the brush and slowly working her way up to his head. When she got to the front, she poked him square in the nose. He didn't even flinch.

  Dorie leaned the brush against a patio table and grabbed the long blond ponytail hanging halfway down her back. Twisting it in a knot, she secured it at the nape of her neck with a pen and rolled her sleeves up over her shoulders. Her usual "uniform" of jeans and a T-shirt would be able to withstand a splash of Maylene's pool water, but she didn't even want to consider what it would take to wash the slimy substance out of her hair.

  Hair and clothes securely in place, she reached down and pulled on the backpack, but it didn't budge. "Damn. He's got it locked in his teeth."

  "I hope he ain't got whoever was wearing it locked in his belly," Joe said.

  Dorie shot him a derisive look. "Joe, you know we would have heard by now if someone's angel hadn't made it home from school. Besides, I haven't seen a kid around here actually carry one book, much less a whole sack of them."

  Joe rubbed his forehead and nodded. "So what are we going to do?"

  She studied the gator again. "Well, first I'm going to try and pry his mouth open with one end of the cleaning brush. Given his altered state, it might work. Then, I'm going to get the backpack out."

  Maylene jumped up again, chair still attached. "Wait a minute," she yelled as she lumbered back toward her house, the piece of lawn furniture trailing with her, swinging from left to right. "I gotta get my camera for this one."

  The chair popped off Maylene's rear as she hurried between the stair railings and up to the house. She was back a minute later, camera in hand. "Okay. Do your stuff," she said, looking excited for the first time since Dorie had arrived.

  "Be careful, Dorie," Joe said from the other side of the pool. She noticed he didn't offer to come any closer.

  Knowing it was now or never, she made the sign of the cross and picked up the cleaning brush again. She gently inserted the pole into the gator's mouth right beside the backpack, then pushed down on the pole, prying his mouth open. To her utter amazement, it worked, and the lethargic animal still hadn't twitched.

  Reaching down slowly, she carefully lifted the backpack from between the razor-sharp teeth, Maylene clicking furiously on her camera the entire time. Dorie rose swiftly with her prize and received cheers from Joe and Maylene.

  Backing a few steps away from the pool, she opened the pack. "I think I found our problem," she said and pulled out a handful of wet plastic bags containing a white substance. She opened one baggie, dipped a long nail into the powder and tasted it, then made a face and spit into the grass next to the pool. "Heroin. He's higher than an eighties rock band."

  Joe stared at her in obvious surprise. "Heroin! We ain't ever had no problem with drugs in this town. Well, I mean, except weed."

  Dorie nodded and began to dig in the pack again. "I know. That's what makes it so interesting" She piled more bags of heroin on the patio table, then brought out a wad of wet money. "Hundreds. It's all hundred-dollar bills, and there's more in the bottom of the bag."

  She looked back at the gator. He still rested peacefully, his mouth propped open with the cleaning brush. She bent down and studied him again just to make sure she hadn't missed anything.

  "Shame everything got wet," Joe said. "We-probably can't get prints off anything."

  Dorie nodded in agreement, then caught sight of something at the tip of the gator's mouth. It was small and cylindrical. About three inches long. "You got any salad tongs?" she asked Maylene.

  Maylene put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "You're not putting my salad tongs in that thing's mouth"

  Dorie looked at the woman's round figure. "Maylene Thibodeaux, when was the last time you actually ate a salad?"

  Maylene glared for a moment, then started toward the house again, stomping as she went.

  "What is it?" Joe asked.

  Dorie shook her head. "I'm not completely sure. That's why I want to check."

  Maylene returned shortly with the salad tongs. She handed them to Dorie who squatted back down next to the Bator and gently put the tongs into his mouth, clamping down on the object and pulling it out. Taking a brief look, she smiled. Joe had finally gotten up a little nerve and crossed to her side of the pool, although he still stood several feet away.

  "Well?" he asked.

  Dorie tossed the object at him. Reflex made him catch it, but when he looked down and saw what he held, he immediately dropped it.

  "Damn it, Dorie! A finger?"

  She smiled. "Guess we can run that print now."

  Purchase Rumble on the Bayou at amazon.com or bn.com

  family can be the death of you…

  TROUBLE IN MUDBUG

  Ghost-in-Law Series – Book 1

  (excerpt)

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Maryse Robicheaux murmured as she stared down at the woman in the coffin.

  Of course, the pink suit was a dead giveaway—so to speak—that the wearer was no longer with them. For the miserable two years and thirty-two days she’d had to deal with her mother-in-law, Maryse had never once seen her wear a color other than black. Now she sorta resembled the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man dressed in Pepto-Bismol.

  “I can’t believe it either,” Sabine whispered back. “I didn’t know evil incarnate could die.”

  Maryse jabbed her best friend with her elbow. “For Pete’s sake, we’re at the woman’s funeral. Show some respect.”

  Sabine let out a sigh. “Maryse, that woman gave you
holy hell. And her son was worse. I don’t even understand why you wanted to come.”

  Maryse stared at the casket again and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just felt compelled to. I can’t really explain it.”

  And that was the God’s honest truth. She’d had no intention of attending Helena Henry’s funeral. Yet after her morning shower, she’d stood in front of her closet and pulled out her dark navy “interview” suit and matching pumps instead of her usual work clothes of jeans, T-shirt, and rubber boots.

  Looking down at Helena, Maryse still didn’t know why she was there. If she’d come for some sort of closure, it hadn’t happened. But then, what had she expected—the dead woman to pop up out of the coffin and apologize for bringing the most useless man in the world into existence, then making Maryse’s life even more miserable by being the biggest bitch on the face of the Earth?

  It wasn’t likely when you considered that Helena Henry had never apologized for anything in her entire life. It wasn’t necessary. When you had a pocketbook the size of the Atchafalaya Basin in Mudbug, Louisiana, population 502, people tended to purposely overlook things.